57 | Stay here
The phone's shrill ring yanks me out of my sleep.
My hand fumbles across the nightstand, fingers brushing against the cool glass of my screen before I grab it.
The room is dark, heavy with the silence of the Costa mansion, and Luciano's steady breathing beside me is the only anchor keeping me from spiraling.
His hand, as always, is curled around my wrist, his grip loose but unyielding, like he's afraid I'll slip away even in his dreams.
I squint at the screen, unknown number.
My stomach twists, but I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear with a groggy, "Hello?"
"Aurelia?" The voice is hesitant, familiar in a way that makes my blood run cold.
My heart stumbles, and I sit up, the sheets pooling around my waist.
It's her.
Lotte, my ex-best friend, the one who turned her back on me a year ago when I needed her most.
The one who called me a liar when I told her about Ciara, that scheming bitch who slipped into a wig and played pretend to seduce Lotte's boyfriend, Nate.
I haven't heard Lotte's voice since she screamed at me to get out of her life, and now it's here, crawling through the phone like a ghost.
"What the fuck do you want?" I snap, my voice low to keep from waking Luciano. "Why are you calling me after a fucking year?"
His fingers twitch against my wrist, but he doesn't stir.
I slip out of bed, padding barefoot across the cold marble floor to the window, the moonlight casting long shadows that feel like they're watching me.
"Aurelia, I... I'm sorry," Lotte says, her voice cracking. "I was wrong. I should've believed you about Ciara. I—"
"I don't give a fuck about your sorry," I cut her off, my grip tightening on the phone.
The anger surges, hot and sharp, the same rage I felt when she chose Nate's lies over me.
"You made your choice, Lotte. You don't get to call me up now and act like it didn't happen."
"I know, I know," she rushes out, desperate. "But I had to tell you, someone sent me a video. Of Ciara and Nate. They... they weren't just messing around, Aurelia. They were fucking."
"What?" The word slips out before I can stop it, and I hate how it betrays me, how it shows I care. "You said Ciara only gave him a blowjob. That's it, right? That's what you told me when you kicked me to the curb."
"I thought that's all it was..." Lotte says, her voice small, shaking.
"Nate swore it was just that, and I... I believed him.
But this video, it's them, Aurelia. Full-on.
I sent it to you. I got it a few days ago, and I didn't know what to do, but then I heard about all the drama with you and Luciano from Chase, your brother, and I thought—"
Chase told her? Figures.
"You're a little fucking too late, Lotte. You should've sent me that video months ago when it could've mattered," I interrupt, my head spinning.
"I'm sorry," she whispers again, and I can hear the tears in her voice, but they don't move me. "I didn't know what to do, and—"
"Lose my number," I say, my voice flat, final. "Don't call me again."
I hang up before she can respond, my thumb jabbing the screen so hard it hurts.
The silence rushes back and I stand there, staring at the phone like it's a bomb about to go off.
My chest is tight, my pulse hammering, and I know I shouldn't look, but I do.
I open her message, and there it is, a video file, stark and accusing in the dim light of the screen.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering before I press play.
The video is grainy, shot in some cheap motel room with peeling wallpaper and a flickering light.
But it's clear enough, Ciara, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, no wig this time, straddling Nate on a creaky bed.
The sounds hit me first, raw and unmistakable, and my stomach churns.
I was wrong. All this time, I thought Ciara had just gone down on him, a desperate act to ruin my life and my friendship with Lotte.
For me, a blowjob was as good as fucking, same betrayal, same stain, but this... this is more.
Ciara's hips move with purpose, her hands braced on Nate's chest, and there's no mistaking it. They're fucking, unapologetic and brazen, and the date stamp in the corner is months before everything went to hell.
I pause the video, the frozen image burning into me.
Ciara wasn't a virgin. She never was. Not when she wormed her way into Luciano's bed, not when she played the innocent victim to trap him.
The lie that forced his hand, that chained him to her with a ring and a vow, it was built on nothing.
Luciano never had to marry her.
Wait a minute... So, if I understand this correctly, I no longer need to stay married, or pretend to be married to Luciano, right?
There's no reason for me to continue this charade of a marriage with him anymore. After all, it turns out he won't lose his position as the Don just because he slept with Ciara. Yes, he did sleep with her, but he didn't take her virginity or do anything that would compromise his standing.
So, I'm free to move on from this whole situation now, aren't I?
A rustle behind me snaps my head up, and before I can react, Luciano's hand closes over mine, swift and unyielding.
He pries the phone from my grip, his touch hot against my skin, and I freeze, caught off guard.
His eyes, dark and glinting in the moonlight, flick from me to the screen.
My stomach twists, he's awake, and I didn't even hear him move.
He's always been like that, a predator in the shadows, and now he's seeing it: Ciara and Nate, fucking, undeniable proof of her betrayal.
I brace for his anger, for the storm I know he's capable of.
He'll be furious that she lied to him, trapped him with a vow he never needed to make.
My mouth opens, ready to explain, but his face is unreadable, a mask of stone that chills me more than any rage could.
His jaw is tight, his lips a thin line, but there's no fire in his eyes, no explosion, just something darker, colder.
It's worse than fury.
He doesn't say a word about the video. Instead, he tightens his grip on my phone, his knuckles whitening, and fixes me with a look that pins me in place.
"Stay here," he says, his voice low, rough, like gravel underfoot.
It's not a request, it's a command.
"Luciano—" I start, but he's already moving, turning away, my phone still in his hand.
He doesn't look back at me as he slips out the door, the soft click echoing in the silence like a gunshot.
I'm left standing there, my hands empty, my heart pounding too loud in the dark.
Where is he going? What will he do with that video?
My fingers curl into fists, nails biting my palms, and I don't know what's the truth anymore.