Chapter 2
2
NICOLAS
I despise events like this, but not as much as I hate the man standing before me.
Marco Rossi. A man who reeks of an inferiority complex, propped up solely by the legacy his father built. On his own, he wouldn’t be worth my time. But the name Rossi commands attention, whether I like it or not.
Still, I ignore him. My focus remains on his sister.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Marco snaps again, stepping closer.
I roll my eyes, annoyed at the interruption, just when I began to enjoy the fiery back-and-forth with his little spitfire of a sister.
Aria Rossi is a surprise. Her reputation never hinted at the sharp wit or fierce personality she unleashed on me. And her beauty—well, that’s undeniable. She’s the kind of beautiful that men would go to war for, the kind that draws you in even when you know better.
Even now, with her eyes blazing with defiance, I can’t look away. My gaze scans over her—her dark hair swept up, soft tendrils teasing her graceful neck. Her full lips painted a bold red that dares anyone to look too long. Her body is perfection: full breasts, an elegant curve to her hips, every detail designed to captivate.
And it works.
That bold and tempting lipstick makes me wonder how it would look smeared, leaving imprints on my skin. Around my cock.
I shouldn’t be thinking this way, but I’d bet half the men in the room are having similar thoughts. Marco knows it, too.
I’m sure that’s why she’s here: to make men react, stir their blood, and tempt them into saying things they shouldn’t. That’s her weapon, and she wields it expertly. My body’s reaction to her only proves how effective she is.
She almost had me earlier with her pointed comments about falsity. The irony isn’t lost on me—Aria Rossi, queen of deception, accusing me of thriving on lies.
“Paolo,” Marco growls, his voice tight with barely concealed fury. “I asked you a fucking question.”
I arch my eyebrows at him, unimpressed. Few people would dare speak to me like that and get away with it. This is precisely why I loathe the Rossis—all of them, right down to their women.
Marco’s gaze shifts to his sister, and for a moment, she freezes. Her expression is a careful mask—neutral, controlled. Yet, even in stillness, she draws attention like a flame.
I’ve been trying not to look at her since Marco barged in, but now that I do, it’s impossible to resist. She’s captivating.
And as much as I’d like to bend her over this railing, tear that pretty dress off her body, and take her from behind while grabbing those exquisite curves, I’d sooner die than let Marco catch a hint of what’s running through my mind.
“Aria,” he says, her name clipped as though addressing a child.
She doesn’t let him say anything more. With a briskness that almost feels practiced, she brushes past him.
“I’m sorry. I’ll see you inside,” she says, not sparing him—or me—a backward glance.
I force myself to look away as she walks off, knowing full well I can’t afford to see her retreating form. Her voice alone stirs something in me I’d rather not name. If she weren’t Marco’s sister, I’d already be planning how to have her under me by midnight.
First, I’d fuck her with the dress still clinging to her; then, I’d strip it off and claim her again. After that, I’d leave her in nothing but her silver necklace and earrings—still a princess while I make her mine.
Thank God thoughts can’t be read.
“What were you doing out here with my sister?” Marco demands, yanking me from my thoughts.
I meet his glare with deliberate indifference, knowing it’ll irritate him. His reaction doesn’t disappoint—he steps closer, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with rage.
“You don’t belong anywhere near her,” he snaps.
Leaning casually against the railing, I cross my arms and smirk. “If you keep acting like that, I might take your words as a challenge.”
His jaw tightens further, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can feel the barely contained fury radiating off him.
“Stay away from her,” he grits out.
“And if I don’t?” I ask, letting the question hang in the air, savoring how his composure cracks a little more.
Marco and I have hated each other for years. It’s hate rooted in territory, blood, and power—a rivalry carved into our families’ histories. Every word he says, every look he gives me, reminds me of the wars we’ve fought and those still waiting on the horizon.
“Don’t test me, Paolo.” His voice drops, likely intended as a threat. To me, it's laughable.
I push off the railing, closing the space between us until we’re eye to eye. “You’re out of your depth, Rossi. You don’t get to threaten me. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with.”
His glare sharpens, but it doesn’t faze me. When he realizes his intimidation is wasted, he backs away, frustration etched into every line of his face. Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides back inside, leaving me alone on the balcony.
I glance out at the city lights, letting my gaze linger on the spot where Aria stood. I hadn’t planned on being caught up in her orbit tonight, but the truth is, I couldn’t stop watching her. Even now, her presence lingers in the air—a faint blend of strawberries and vanilla that feels too intimate, too consuming.
Strawberries. A pity. I liked them once.
The thought pulls a bitter smirk on my lips as I push myself away from the railing. The party’s lost whatever appeal it had. I step back inside, grab my coat, and signal to my men. It’s time to leave.
* * *
The next morning, the rich aroma of coffee greets me as I step into my office building. It’s a small comfort against the day's weight already pressing on my shoulders.
Luca, my assistant, stands waiting just inside the door. A folder is clutched to his chest, and a steaming cup of coffee is in his outstretched hand.
“Morning, boss,” he says briskly, his tone carrying the efficiency I rely on.
I say nothing. I take the coffee, nod, and walk past Luca. Though I’d caught faint murmurs from the employees before stepping off the elevator, the office now falls silent. The only sound is the rhythmic click of my shoes against the polished floor.
Every person I pass straightens as if on command, their movements sharp and purposeful. No one dares to speak, and that’s how I like it.
When I reach my office, I step inside and close the door behind me. The large space is dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sweeping view of the city below. The sunlight filters through, but I barely register it today. The familiar scent of cigars and lemons lingers in the air, a smell that’s become synonymous with the hours I spend here.
The walls are plain, save for a framed photo of me, my father, and the first three families that swore allegiance to us. It’s an artifact of a legacy I’m expected to uphold. A clock hangs on the opposite wall, its relentless ticking cutting through the room's stillness.
I sink into my leather chair, and the creak of the material is a quiet reminder of the weight I carry. Gesturing to Luca, who stands just outside the door, I say, “Updates on the shipment?”
He hesitates. His fingers tighten around the folder in his hands, and I catch the nervous movement immediately. I don’t like it.
“No news yet,” Luca admits, his voice wavering slightly. “We’re still waiting for confirmation from the port.”
“Still waiting?”
My tone is calm, but I see the tension ripple through him. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if the words physically hurt to get out.
“I—I’ll call them again, sir. Right away.”
“You’ll do more than call.” My voice remains steady, but the weight of my words is unmistakable. “I want answers by noon. If there’s a delay, I want to know why. If someone’s causing problems, I want their names.”
“Yes, sir.” Luca nods quickly, backing out of the room with such haste that he nearly trips over his own feet.
Silence falls again. It usually helps me focus, but it does the opposite today. My thoughts drift where they shouldn’t—back to her.
Aria Rossi.
I open the folder on my desk, but it might as well be empty. Her image fills the space in my mind, vivid and inescapable. The way her lips curved around that shade of red lipstick. The way her blue dress hugged every perfect line of her body. The way her big, expressive brown eyes locked onto mine like they could see every shadow I kept hidden
And… fuck. It was every fucking thing about her.
Even before she stepped out onto the balcony, I’d been watching her. She moved through the party with quiet confidence, like she didn’t care who was looking—but I knew better. She noticed everything.
I’ve seen countless women, but none who made my blood hum like she did. None who made my control feel so impossibly fragile.
And now, here I am, sitting at my desk with nothing but images of her running through my mind.
I scowl and shake my head. She’s the enemy’s sister, a pawn in Marco’s game. Thinking about her is a mistake. Dwelling on her? Dangerous. She’s a Rossi. Off-limits.
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the silence, yanking me from my thoughts. I grab it without bothering to check the caller ID, already irritated by the interruption.
“You bastard! How dare you? Is this some type of statement?” Marco’s voice explodes through the phone, sharp and seething. I momentarily pull the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen as if it might explain his tantrum.
“Marco,” I reply evenly, leaning back in my chair.
“What the hell are you playing at, Nicolas?” His voice is thick with rage, his accent cutting through the static like a knife.
I smirk, unable to help myself. Marco always makes this too easy. “Good morning to you, too. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Don’t play games with me,” he snaps. “One of my shipments went bust, and I know you had something to do with it.”
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under the motion. I have no fucking clue what Marco is talking about, but oh, how much I enjoy hearing the pain in his voice.
“Maybe you shouldn’t let your guard down,” I say, letting my words linger. “You’re in my city, after all.”
“Don’t play games with me, Paolo. You’ve crossed a line.”
“As you have done many times, Marco.” My tone remains calm, almost disinterested, which only seems to infuriate him further. “Consider this a warning. Stay out of my way, and I won’t have to remind you who’s in charge.”
The line goes silent; I know he’s weighing his next move. I wait, unbothered until his voice finally returns.
“This isn’t over,” he spits.
This was exactly why I hated Marco. All he ever did was make empty threats. He didn’t earn the Rossi name; he inherited it, handed down on a silver platter. Yet he struts around like he clawed his way to the top.
“Good,” I reply smoothly. “I wouldn’t want it to be.”
The line disconnects with a sharp beep, and I set the phone down. My smirk fades into a scowl.
Even though I hate Marco to the core, he’s still a Rossi. And now I can’t help but wonder who would have the balls to launch a direct attack on them. Since I didn’t authorize what Marco just accused me of, someone else is pulling strings in the shadows.
Friend or foe? That’s the question.
The door to my office creaks open, and Luca steps inside. His face is pale, and he clutches a sheet of paper like a grenade about to go off. “What is it?”
“The shipment, sir,” he says, his voice trembling.
I arch a brow. “Go on.”
Luca shifts on his feet, his knuckles white as he tightens his grip on the paper. “It’s been intercepted.”
The words hang in the air for a few seconds while I process them. My jaw tightens as I force the heat in my chest into a cold, controlled burn. “Details,” I demand, my voice like the edge of a blade.
“It was the shipment coming in through the Adriatic,” Luca begins, his words careful, measured. “The goods never made it to the dock. The crew… they’re gone. No one was spared.”
I snatch the report from his hand, skimming the messy scrawl on the paper. Each word I read fuels the fire simmering inside me. This wasn’t just a hit; it was a calculated blow. And it wasn’t just any shipment—it was vital.
Twelve containers. Weapons. Cash. Materials promised to our allies across the border. Months of meticulous preparation and millions of euros—wiped out in a single, precise strike.
“Do we know who?” I ask, my voice an arctic calm.
“Not yet,” Luca replies, his face pale. “There were no witnesses and no survivors. It wasn’t… messy. Just efficient. Clean.”
That one word lingers in the room: clean . Not some street-level opportunists. This was professional and deliberate. A move meant to send a message.
I set the paper down slowly, the edges crumpling under my tightening grip. “And no one saw anything?”
Luca shakes his head. “No witnesses, no survivors.”
The chair scrapes against the floor as I rise to my feet, the sound slicing through the tension in the room. Luca flinches, his unease a shadow of the storm brewing inside me.
“Maybe… maybe it was the Rossis,” he ventures, his voice uncertain.
I shake my head. Marco? Not a chance. Unlike him, I’m not impulsive and don’t leap to conclusions without cause. “I doubt it,” I say, pacing toward the window. My reflection stares back at me, sharp-edged and cold. “Rossi doesn’t have the network or the discipline for something like this. He’s… reactive, not strategic. And this? This was top-level planning. Months of it.”
I pause, my thoughts turning. Marco is brawn, no brains. Sure, he’s a thorn in my side, but he doesn’t have the precision or patience for a hit of this caliber. Not unless he’s grown desperate—or smarter.
“Still,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, “double-check. Question every dock worker. Review every camera. I want to know if there’s even a whisper of this leading back to Rossi.”
“Yes, sir,” Luca says, retreating toward the door, his steps quick and uneasy.
My hand clenches into a fist at my side. A ship doesn’t just vanish into thin air. The lack of witnesses, the absence of any trace—it gnaws on me.
“Increase security on all shipments,” I order, my tone leaving no room for debate.
Luca pauses at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. “And Marco?”
I let out a slow, controlled breath. “Leave Marco alone. He’s too stupid to have pulled this off. But keep an eye on him. If he so much as steps out of line, I want to know immediately.”
“Yes, boss.” Luca nods curtly before slipping out of the office, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I sink back into my chair, fingers drumming on the polished wood of the desk as my mind races. Someone out there is playing a dangerous game, stirring the pot, testing boundaries. And it’s not just me they’re targeting. Whoever this is, they aim to fracture the delicate balance between the two most powerful families.
That’s not a game you win.
And then there is Aria…
My fists tighten involuntarily. Her image surfaces in my mind—unbidden, unwelcome. She’s a complication I can’t afford, a distraction I shouldn’t entertain. Yet, there she is, weaving her way through my thoughts, softening edges that should remain sharp.
I shake my head, forcing her from my mind. Focus.
Answers won’t come to me on their own. If I want the truth, I must dig it out myself. And if that means stepping into the lion’s den, so be it.