Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NICO
The look on her face is everything I expected. Shock. Fear. The dawning horror as her plan crumbles around her. It’s a beautiful, terrible thing to witness—the moment a person realizes they’ve lost.
“Close your mouth, Lea,” I say, my voice casual as I walk past her toward my desk, where Julian sits trembling. “Or should I call you by another name? Actress? Traitor?”
Her eyes dart from Julian to Blake by the window, then back to me. I can see her mind working, looking for an angle, an escape.
“Nico, I don’t know what you think?—”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand. “The performance is over. The audience has gone home.”
I circle my desk, running a finger along the polished surface. Behind me, the soft click of her heels. “When did you know?” she asks, her voice a bare thread of sound.
I allow myself a small smile. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
I turn to face her, leaning against my desk. “Blake saw you with the phone. He didn’t believe your story about finding it. He brought it directly to me.”
Her face drains of color. Such a minor mistake. Such massive consequences.
“The phone used military-grade encryption. The kind Isabel favors,” I say, tilting my head. “That was sloppy of her. Or perhaps she wanted me to know. Isabel has always enjoyed her games.”
Her gaze flickers to Julian, a brief flash of guilt crossing her features.
“He talked right away,” he continues, nodding toward the bartender.
“Loyalty is so rare these days. Amazing what a gun to your head can do.” I pause.
“He told us everything. The elevator override. The signal. Moretti right now waiting to walk in and put a bullet in my head while I’m…
distracted. I give us about ten minutes before he’ll be here. We should get started soon.”
Her chin lifts, defiance replacing the fear. Good. I prefer her this way.
“It’s quite the plan,” I acknowledge, moving toward her until only inches separate us. “Simple. Elegant. Using my desire for you against me. And it almost worked.”
“If you knew,” she says, her voice steadier, “why bring me here? Why not just… deal with me at the lake house?”
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She flinches. “Because I wanted to see how far you’d go,” I tell her. “I wanted to watch you play your part, knowing I could see through every lie. The performance in the car was particularly convincing. Tell me, was your orgasm fake too?”
A flush of anger spreads across her cheeks. “You’re a monster.”
“Yes,” I agree. “But I’ve never pretended to be anything else. You, on the other hand… I wonder if you even know who you are anymore.”
“I know exactly who I am!” Her voice rises, rage breaking through. “I’m the daughter of the man you murdered!”
The accusation hangs in the air. Near the window, Blake shifts his stance.
“You killed my father!” She’s shouting now, tears streaming down her face. “You had him run off the road. The car had been tampered with. I saw the proof!”
I stare at her, surprised by the raw conviction in her voice. “You mean the proof Isabel gave you?” I ask calmly.
Her eyes widen slightly. “Yes.”
I nod slowly. “Let me guess. A forged police report detailing how the brake lines were cut? A fabricated financial transaction from one of my shell companies to a conveniently dead mechanic? Maybe a doctored surveillance photo of your father with my handwriting faked on the back, ordering his death?”
Her confidence wavers. “How…?”
“Because that’s exactly how I would have framed someone,” I say. “Isabel is thorough, but her methods are predictable. She lied to you, Lea. She expertly manipulated you.”
I reach beneath my desk, pressing my palm to a hidden scanner. A panel slides open. I withdraw another folder, this one thicker. “Someone did kill your father. It just wasn’t me.”
I spread the contents across my desk. Surveillance photos of her mother meeting with North Korean handlers. Bank records showing secret payments. “Your mother, Eunji Song, has spent almost thirty years as an active North Korean operative.”
Lea’s face is a blank mask. “We’ve been over this. What’s this? More lies to mess with my head?”
I tap a redacted document from foreign intelligence. “Your father figured out who she really was. He confronted her, threatening to expose her. So, her associates eliminated the loose end.”
She stares at the document, her face bloodless. “No,” she whispers.
“You were right all along. The car crash wasn’t an accident,” I continue, my voice gentler. “But I didn’t order it. Your mother did.”
She sways, reaching for my desk to steady herself. Her world is atomizing before her eyes.
“Isabel constructed the evidence to direct your rage at me,” I explain. “She gave you a villain you could hate, someone to blame who wasn’t the mother you grew up with.”
Her legs give out, and she sinks to the floor, her back against my desk. The sobs that wrack her body are the primal sounds of absolute devastation.
I watch her break, and the cold fury inside me transforms. I don’t see a rat or a traitor. I see the ultimate victim of her mother’s treachery. I walk around the desk and crouch beside her.
“They used your love for your father to turn you into a weapon,” I say, my voice low. “But the game isn’t over. Moretti is on his way up. He thinks he’s walking into my execution.”
Her tear-streaked face turns toward me, confusion mingling with grief.
“The elevator,” I explain. “We’ve unlocked it. Moretti is coming, and we need to give him the show he expects.”
I stand, pulling her to her feet. “They wanted a performance. They wanted to see you break me with seduction.” I tighten my grip, forcing her to look at me. “Let’s give them exactly what they want.”
A tremor runs through her. Even broken and betrayed, she is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen. The betrayal stings, but I understand. Forgiveness simmers beneath the rage, but first… punishment. Humiliation. She needs to feel the consequences of what she did.
My hands move to my jacket, shrugging it off. My gaze never leaves her face. I can see the tiny spark of desire flickering back to life despite everything. Good.
Next, my shirt. I unbutton it one at a time, revealing the scars that map my life. Her eyes follow the path of my fingers, and her breath hitches. She knows what’s coming.
“Strip,” I command, my voice low. “You’re with me, or against me.
Your choice.” Blake shifts uncomfortably by the window.
I don’t give a damn. Let him watch. Let Julian see.
This is her punishment: to be laid bare, humiliated in front of witnesses.
But it’s also my forgiveness, wrapped in dominance.
She hesitates, her hands trembling. Slowly, she reaches for the zipper of her dress. The fabric pools at her feet, revealing the lace that hugs her curves.
“Everything,” I rasp, stepping closer, my shirt hitting the floor.
My cock strains against my pants, hard and aching with the need to bury myself inside her, to fuck away the betrayal until only we remain.
Her bra comes off, her nipples pebbling in the cool air.
She hooks her thumbs into her panties, sliding them down her legs. Naked now, glorious and trembling.
I lift her onto the desk like she weighs nothing, papers scattering.
I step between her thighs, forcing them wide, my body shielding her from the elevator but not from Blake or Julian.
Let them see her spread for me. Humiliation colors her cheeks, but her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in.
“Look at you,” I murmur in her ear, loud enough for the room to hear.
“Betrayed me, and still so fucking wet. You need this, don’t you?
Need me to punish you.” My hand slides up her thigh, fingers brushing her clit just enough to make her gasp.
She’s dripping, coating my fingers, and I bring them to my mouth, tasting her—sweet, salty betrayal that only makes me harder.
Her arms snake around my neck, her legs wrapping around my waist. Our bodies press together, skin on skin.
From the elevator’s view, it’s a perfect distraction.
But here, in this moment, it’s real—the heat, the hunger, the love twisted with punishment.
She’s mine to humiliate, to forgive, to fuck until she shatters and reforms in my arms.
The elevator dings.
Showtime.
The doors slide open.
Blake is already moving, his weapon trained on the entrance, but the car is empty.
A cold knot of unease forms in my gut. This is wrong.
A feint. The trap I laid was too simple for them to walk into so blindly.
My mind races, recalculating. Who else knows this office? Who else knows its secrets? Julian.
Before the thought can fully form, there is a soft click from across the room. A section of the mahogany bookshelf swings inward, revealing a hidden service passage—an entrance known only to my most trusted circle.
Dante Moretti steps out, not with the hurried caution of an assassin, but with the arrogant swagger of a king entering a conquered throne room. A triumphant sneer is on his face. He raises his gun, the black metal aimed squarely at my head.
I remain perfectly still, my body shielding Lea, my mind working furiously. Blake is at the window. He has an angle, but too far away. Fifty feet or more. Moretti is focused on me. One wrong move, one sudden flinch, and Lea is in the line of fire.
Moretti’s eyes rake over us, taking in the scene with relish.
“And look at you. Brought down by a piece of ass, just like they all said you would be. The great Nico Varela, half-naked and distracted, ready to be put down like a dog. Alessandro warned you, didn’t he?
Even your dead man, Marco. They told you this woman would be your end. ”
He gestures toward Lea with his gun. “And you, sweetheart. Good performance. You had him wrapped around your finger.”
I feel Lea flinch behind me. I need to keep his focus on me. “You talk too much, Dante,” I say, my voice steady. “If you’re going to shoot, get on with it.”
He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.
This is for my family. For the humiliation you put my cousin through.
” His eyes harden, the humor gone. “After you’re gone, I’ll take my time with her.
Then I’ll take your territory, your accounts.
.. everything. Your whole legacy, gone. Erased. ”
He takes another step forward, raising his gun, aiming carefully down the barrel. I brace myself, my muscles coiling, ready to move, to do anything to get Lea out of the way, even if it’s the last thing I do.
A single, deafening gunshot cracks through the office, but it isn’t from Moretti’s weapon.
The triumphant look on his face vanishes, replaced by pure, uncomprehending shock.
A dark, blossoming circle appears on the chest of his white shirt.
He stumbles forward, his gun clattering to the polished floor.
He looks down at his chest, then back up at me, his mouth opening in disbelief.
He tries to speak, but only a wet, gurgling sound comes out.
He collapses in a heap. Not dead but rendered defenseless.
The entire confrontation takes less than thirty seconds, but it feels like a lifetime.
I look past Moretti. Blake’s still fifty feet away near the window, his posture steady, his weapon still raised, a thin curl of smoke rising from the barrel.
His face is grim, but his aim was true. He didn’t hesitate.
When my trap failed, Blake saw the threat and neutralized it.
He saved my life with a single precisely placed bullet from an impossible distance. Who knew he was such a sharpshooter?
I disentangled myself from Lea, my first instinct being to pull her behind me, to shield her from the sight of the wounded man on the floor.
I grab my jacket and wrap it around her trembling shoulders.
My eyes meet Blake’s eyes across the room.
The silence is heavy, broken only by Lea’s ragged breathing and the gasps from Moretti.
Slowly, I give Blake a single, deliberate nod. It’s more than acknowledgment. It’s more than approval. It’s redemption.
The trap has been sprung. The rival king has fallen. And the board is clear once more.