Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NICO
“It’s a ghost, Nico.”
Alessandro’s voice is flat, the sound swallowed by the large study. He stands by the grand fireplace, swirling a crystal tumbler of whiskey. The ice cubes clink, a lonely, rhythmic sound.
“The intel is fabricated,” he continues, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “My sources confirmed it. No unusual activity in Vancouver. No flagship shipment from Moretti. Isabel played you.”
The words hurt. Played. The Diplomat, sent on a fool’s errand. Heat floods my chest, a bitter, scalding thing aimed not at Isabel, but squarely at myself.
The reason for my failure has a name, and it occupies the space where my judgment should be: Lea.
The storm on the yacht, the punishment, her breaking... the corrosive guilt that followed. It carved out a weakness, a fissure in my armor for Isabel to exploit. She smelled blood in the water.
“Why?” The word is a rasp, forced from my throat. I’m not asking Alessandro. I’m forcing my own compromised mind to work. The answer comes back instantly. “She wants her.”
“She wanted you out of the way,” Alessandro corrects, turning from the fireplace.
His gaze pins me in place. “Unfettered access. An intelligent move.” He sets his tumbler on the mantelpiece with a sharp click, the sound an exclamation point on his disapproval.
“Your focus has been… divided, Nephew. You took the word of a known cartel liaison without verification. That isn’t how I trained you. ”
His accuracy is eating at me. I push past the sting. What lies did Isabel plant? What weaknesses did she probe? The image of Isabel inside Lea’s head, turning her, is a violation I can’t permit.
“I’m going back.” I’m already moving, the decision made. Planning is a luxury I don’t have. This needs a direct response.
“Nico.” Alessandro’s voice is a whip-crack that stops me at the threshold. “A word of counsel.”
I pivot, my jaw tight.
“This is the weakness I warned you about,” he says, his voice lowering, each word landing with precision. “Your obsession with this girl has made you predictable. Isabel saw it. Moretti sees it. If you’re not careful, it will be the death of you.”
I offer no response. His words are true, and that fact burns hotter than any insult. I turn and stride from the room, pulling my phone from my pocket. The door swings shut behind me as I dial Blake.
“Status,” I clip out the moment he answers.
“Sir. All quiet. Ms. Song is in the main living area, reading.”
Reading, calm and composed after a visit from an assassin. “I’m on my way back. Fifteen minutes. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Understood, sir.”
My knuckles clench the steering wheel, the engine a high-pitched whine, during the drive to the lake house. I take the turn into the circular driveway too fast, gravel spraying as I slam the car to a halt and kill the engine.
I storm inside, my boots striking hard against the marble of the foyer. Blake meets me halfway, his expression carefully neutral.
“Sir. The house is secure.”
“Is it?” I stop inches from him, crowding his space. “Is it, Blake? Give me a full report. Every anomaly in the last three hours. Do not omit a single detail.”
Blake’s composure is a fortress, but a flicker of unease in his eyes betrays him.
He knows this isn’t a routine check-in. “Nothing to report, sir. Patrols on schedule. No perimeter alerts. Ms. Song is in the main living area. She was escorted by a guard on a walk to the dock an hour ago, as per your standing authorization for her movement within the grounds.”
A walk. While I was gone, being played for a fool in Vancouver, she went for a walk. My paranoia, already sharpened by Isabel's deception, flares.
“The logs,” I command, heading for the security station off the main hall. “I want to see the footage from that walk. Every camera covering the dock.”
Blake follows. He brings the archives up on the monitor.
I watch the screen, my jaw tight. I see Lea, escorted by one Blake’s men, walk down the manicured path.
He stops at the head of the dock, and she walks to the edge alone, sitting down.
Everything appears normal. She sits there for several minutes, staring at the water.
Then, a figure emerges on the deck of my yacht. Isabel Vega.
A cold fury washes over me as I watch, silent and helpless, as Isabel speaks to Lea from the railing.
I see Lea look up, shocked. I see them exchange words, but the long-range microphones are useless against the wind.
I see Isabel extend a hand. I see Lea hesitate, then step onto my yacht.
They disappear into the cabin together. Minutes later, they reemerge.
Lea steps back onto the dock, and Isabel vanishes as if she were never there.
The breach is absolute. Personal. I rewind the footage, my eyes searching for the failure point. “Who was the man following Lea?”
Blake types, the keyboard clattering. A name appears. Domingo. New. Recommended by Blake.
“Body-cam footage. That window,” I order, my voice dangerously quiet.
Blake complies. The screen flickers to a shaky view of the fence line from Domingo’s perspective. Then, for exactly ten minutes—the precise duration Isabel was on the yacht—the feed cuts to static, after which it resumes.
“A technical glitch with the camera, sir,” Blake offers, but the confidence has bled from his voice.
“No. Get him,” I say. The order is clipped, final.
Blake’s hesitation is barely a hitch in his breath, but it’s there. The realization of a compromised man on his team. “Sir…”
“Now, Blake.”
They bring Domingo into the office flanked by two of Alessandro’s men. His jaw is set, his posture rigid with defiance until I play the footage and tap my finger on Isabel on the yacht. All the blood leaves his face.
“Fifty grand,” he admits, the words a strained murmur. “She offered fifty grand to look the other way for ten minutes. That’s all.”
A strange calm settles over me, cold and complete. This is the price of my distraction. A man whose loyalty was for sale because I was too enmeshed in my chaos to see it.
I turn to Blake. His face is chalky, his failure hanging in the air between us like a physical thing. The name Marco is an unspoken accusation. Marco would have seen the rot in this man weeks ago.
“Take him to the warehouse,” I say, my tone quiet and unarguable.
“He has an appointment with me tomorrow.” I let my gaze drift over the trembling man.
“You used your ears to listen to my enemy, Domingo. And your tongue to swear loyalty to me. Tomorrow, I’ll take both.
A man who cannot hear orders or speak lies can no longer be a rat. ”
A strangled sob escapes Domingo’s lips. The tremor becomes a violent shake as he’s hauled from the office, his choked pleas for mercy cut off by the closing door.
I face Blake. “This happened on your watch. It will not happen again, or you’ll be joining Domingo’s fate. Re-vet every man.”
“Yes, sir.” His voice is strained with the effort of holding himself together.
With the breach handled, I focus on the true target. I walk out of the office and into the great room.
Lea looks up as I approach, her expression a placid mask. She has decided. She’s at peace with it.
I’m too late.
Isabel Vega has already done her damage.
I stop a few feet from her chair, seeing her not as a captive but as a rival queen on the chessboard. The game has changed.
“Tell me about your meeting with Isabel Vega.”
She closes her book, the soft thud of it on the side table the only sound. Her eyes, clear and steady, meet mine. “I was on the dock. She was there. I don’t know how she got past your men.”
“A problem that’s been handled.” I move closer, circling her chair. “You didn’t answer the question. What did you discuss?”
“She offered me a way out,” Lea says, her voice smooth, rehearsed. A performance. “A new identity. A life away from all of this. Away from you.”
“And in return for this generous offer?” I stop behind her, my hands gripping the back of her chair, my knuckles brushing her hair.
She tilts her head back, exposing the elegant, defiant line of her throat. “Information. Your vulnerabilities. Your arrangement with my mother. Your plans for Moretti.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I’m loyal to you.”
The lie is so audacious, it’s almost magnificent. “And?”
“I told her that whatever this is between us, I chose it. Betraying you isn’t an option.”
“You expect me to believe that?” I lean down, my voice an indistinct murmur against her ear, my breath stirring the hair at her temple. “The woman who fled into a thunderstorm to escape me is now the model of loyalty?”
“Things change.” Her voice is steady. “You’ve taught me things. Maybe I’ve learned that siding with you is the only way to survive.”
I move to crouch in front of her, forcing her to meet my gaze. I search her eyes for a crack in the new armor.
“What did she tell you, Lea? What poison did she use?”
“She told me the Vancouver intel was a lie,” she admits, sacrificing a pawn to save the queen. “She said she did it to prove you were distracted. To prove that your control isn’t as absolute as you pretend.”
“And did it work?” I press. “Do you believe her?”
Lea’s gaze holds mine. The earlier flicker of pain is gone, replaced by a dark, unnerving heat. She leans forward, her body close enough that I can feel its warmth.
“Believe she can distract you?” Her voice is a low hum. “Maybe. But she made a mistake, Nico.” She reaches out, her hand landing flat on my chest.
“She thought showing me your supposed weakness for me would make me run to her.” Her eyes never leave mine. “She doesn’t understand. Your obsession, your possessiveness... that’s the only thing in this world that makes me feel safe.”
My own words, the ones Alessandro threw back in my face, are now recast as a virtue.
“Isabel offers freedom,” she murmurs, her voice dropping lower, “but she can’t offer me you.
She can’t offer the one man whose control is so absolute that nothing touches me unless he allows it.
She thought I’d run from the monster, not understanding that I’d rather be owned by the monster I know…
the one I’m drawn to… than be ‘free’ in a world full of them.
She wants a partner. I don’t want a partner. I want a king.”
It’s a flawless performance. If it’s a performance.
Is it a lie?
The question is a venomous hook in my gut. The strategist in me screams trap. But the man—the one who craves her surrender, who wants to believe her brokenness binds her to him—accepts it as truth.
I close my hand over hers, my thumb pressing into the steady, maddeningly calm pulse at her wrist. No fear. Only conviction.
“The lessons are over,” I say, my voice rough.
“And the game?” she breathes back, a clear challenge.
I rise, pulling her up with me, flush against my body. “The game,” I murmur against her lips, “just became a great deal more interesting.”