Chapter 4
4
NICOLAS
Aria tastes exactly the way she smells—like strawberries. Sweet, tempting, addictive.
Her body feels even softer than I imagined, molding perfectly against mine as I grip her waist and pull her close. My hands tighten around her, grounding us, as my tongue slides into her mouth, finding hers. Our tongues meet. Moving in an all-consuming dance.
When I nip at her lower lips, she moans—a sound that sends heat surging through me. I press her harder against the balcony railing, letting her feel how much I want her.
My hand ventures beneath her dress, cupping her breast. She responds by tilting her head, arching into me, her hips grinding against my growing hardness. The sensation makes my head spin, drowning out any sense of control.
With my free hand, I grab her ass, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, desperate to leave a mark. Her hands claw at my shoulders through my shirt, nails biting into my skin. I don’t know if she’s trying to hold on or push me away.
This is wrong. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I know it is.
But all reason dissolves when her fingers slide up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. There’s only her. Only us.
I push the hem of her blue dress higher, exposing the smooth, flawless skin of her thighs. The sight makes my pulse race and my chest tight with desire. I run my hands over her legs, savoring every curve, every inch of her.
Leaning in, I kiss her again, tracing the line of her jaw, down to her neck, and then to her collarbone. Her skin is warm and soft and tastes faintly of something sweet. I press my lips to the line of her cleavage, letting my tongue explore the valley between.
I wonder how my cock would feel between those soft folds of flesh. Then my fingers graze her panties, and she moans my name.
“Nicolas.”
I pull back, wondering why her voice is suddenly so deep.
“Nicolas,” she says again.
I jerk awake, my chest heaving. There's a sheen of sweat on my forehead, and my dick is practically pulsing in my pants.
What the hell was that?
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at my bedroom ceiling, my pulse refusing to settle. No matter how long I stay like this, the dream clings to me, sticky and relentless.
I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
Aria Rossi. Marco’s sister.
Off-limits.
Not just off-limits—I should hate her as much as her brother. And I definitely shouldn’t be here, having these kinds of dreams about her.
Shoving the sheets off, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor bites at my feet, but it does nothing to cool the heat still simmering in my veins.
She’s in my head, and I hate it.
Frustrated, I head to the bathroom and step under the cold spray of the shower. The icy water pounds against my body, but it barely tempers the fire coursing through me.
As the water cascades down, I close my eyes, my hand sliding down to grip myself. The heat refuses to dissipate. In my mind, she’s there—on her knees before me, her lips parting, her eyes full of defiance and hunger. Her tongue swirls around my cock, and my breath hitches as the fantasy consumes me.
With a strangled groan, I finish, cumming and leaning against the cold tile for support. The relief is fleeting, replaced by an unwelcome wave of shame and anger.
What the hell is wrong with me?
As I dress and leave my room, I make a mental note: I need to get laid. And soon.
The underground garage greets me with its familiar gun oil and smoke mix. The air is heavy, charged with the metallic clang of weapons being checked and magazines being loaded. The sound echoes off the concrete walls, a rhythm as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.
My men are scattered across the open space, each focused on their tasks. Near the back, I spot Luca and Ken.
Ken is impossible to miss—tall and broad, with unruly blond hair that looks like he’s just rolled out of bed and that ever-present crooked grin plastered on his face, even when shoving bullets into a rifle. His sharp tongue matches his sharp aim, but his loyalty is what sets him apart.
Though I'd never admit it outright, he’s one of my best men. I trust him enough to handle all our shipments, and today is no different.
“So, do we finally get to shoot someone today, or is this just another wild goose chase?” Ken says as I approach, his grin widening.
Luca clears his throat, his posture shifting awkwardly. “Boss.”
Ken straightens slightly, though his grin doesn’t falter. “Morning, Mr. Nicolas. Or wait—maybe it’s afternoon? Who can tell these days?”
“Shut up, Ken,” I mutter, brushing past him. I fight the urge to smirk; his antics never fail to amuse me, even when I don’t want them to.
“Checking the shipment?” I ask, keeping my tone businesslike. Ken nods, his hands still busy loading rounds.
Luca steps forward, holding a map and a stack of reports. “He’s not fumbling or stuttering today, and that’s a good sign. Confidence suits him.
“The shipment was intercepted here,” Luca says, pointing to a marked dock on the map. “No signs of a struggle. Just like I reported, whoever did this was in and out before anyone noticed.”
He pauses, tapping the map in three different spots. “That’s why we’ll station men here, here, and here.”
“So, we have another shipment coming in today. As you instructed, our men are already in position. Every corner of the harbor is covered in advance,” Luca says, pointing to the map on the table.
I glance over it, my jaw tightening. The past few days have been chaos—Aria, the intercepted shipment, and that dream this morning. It’s like I’m losing control, and I can’t stand it. I need to get a grip on something. Anything.
“When do we leave?” I ask, my tone sharp.
Ken and Luca exchange glances. Some men in the room stop mid-task, their attention momentarily drawn to me.
“You’re coming, Boss?” Ken’s voice is laced with his usual brand of sarcasm, though there’s genuine surprise in his expression. “Didn’t think fieldwork was your thing. You can’t exactly blend in on the streets.”
I shoot him a cold look. “I need to be there to make sure nothing goes wrong.
Ken whistles, clearly amused. “Well, this should be interesting.”
“There's something in the air,” I say, ignoring his remark. “Word about the missing shipment could have already spread. If we screw this one up, it’ll be bad for business—and worse for our reputation.”
Luca nods, though he still looks a little thrown by my decision. At least he has a good sense of staying quiet.
I turn to the rest of the room, raising my voice so everyone can hear. “Check your weapons. Make sure every gun is fully loaded. If you’re not ready to handle yourself out there, stay back and guard the house. Liability isn’t an option today.”
My gaze lands on Dee, our weapons inspector. He’s short but stocky, with tattoos snaking up his arms and around his neck. “Dee, inspect every weapon we’re taking. I don’t want a single jam out there.”
Dee nods, already moving toward the rows of firearms lined up on the workbenches.
The room erupts into organized chaos as my men spring into action, packing up equipment and double-checking their gear. Ken grabs a rifle, slinging it casually over his shoulder as he heads toward the vehicles.
“Think we’ll find out who’s behind this mess?” he asks, not bothering to look back.
“We will,” Luca answers, his voice firm. “One way or another.”
As the preparations continue, I step out and head back to the main house. I make a quick breakfast in the kitchen, though my appetite is nonexistent.
The entire time, I fight to keep my thoughts away from Aria—and the Rossis altogether.
There’s too much happening right now, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. I need to clear my head.
The day passes in a flash; before I know it, it’s time to leave.
My black SUV waits near the gate, flanked by two smaller trucks. The team accompanying us is larger than I expected. I watch them curiously as they work with precision, tossing the final crates of weapons and supplies into the vehicles.
Ken hops into the passenger seat of the SUV, his signature grin firmly in place. “They’re just hyped that you’re coming along for a pickup—it has been a while.”
Luca moves to take the driver’s seat, but I stop him with a gesture. “I’ll drive.”
His eyes widen slightly, but he steps back without protest. I slide into the seat, adjust it, and grip the wheel.
Luca climbs into the backseat with Ken, who leans over to whisper something. Whatever he says earns him a swift punch in the gut, and he lets out a muffled laugh.
Their banter lightens the tension by a fraction, loosening the knot in my stomach.
Behind me, the rest of the team files into the trucks, engines rumbling to life and breaking the stillness of the night.
My hands tighten on the wheel as unease settles over me.
I never feel uneasy.
But tonight, something feels off.
If there’s the slightest chance that the same people who intercepted Marco’s shipment are behind the theft of mine, then we’re staring down one big fucking problem.
Nobody speaks again as we drive to the docks. The silence is thick, the tension palpable. I go over the plan in my head on a loop: pick up this shipment, monitor the route where the last one disappeared. Simple.
But nothing ever stays simple.
When we arrive, the first thing I notice is the eerie stillness. The docks are usually quiet, but this silence feels…wrong.
It could just be my nerves. Or maybe it’s not. Either way, it does nothing to settle the weight in my chest.
I step out of the car, my boots crunching against the gravel. My men follow, the muted sound of their movements blending with the faint lapping of waves against the harbor.
I take three deep breaths, letting the salty tang of the sea and the cool night air seep into my lungs.
By the third breath, I’m ready.
“Let’s go,” I say, my voice low but firm.
A thin dockworker greets us at the entrance, his forehead glistening with sweat despite the chill in the air. He’s skittish, his movements jerky, his eyes darting like a cornered animal.
Something’s off.
As we follow him, my instincts kick in. My hand drifts toward the gun beneath my jacket. I don’t pull it—yet.
The dockworker leads us to the shipping container, its faded red exterior marred by patches of rust. He stops abruptly, his hands shaking as he points at it.
“Here,” he says, his voice unsteady.
Ken steps up beside me, his usual grin nowhere to be found. His gaze flicks to my hand on my weapon, then to the dockworker.
The change in Ken’s demeanor tells me everything I need to know: he senses it too.
“Open it,” I command, my voice cold and steady.
The dockworker fumbles with the lock, his hands shaking so badly I almost take over. Finally, the lock clicks and the container doors swing open.
Everything explodes at once.
Gunfire erupts, a deafening roar in the confined space. Men burst from the container, weapons raised.
The first bullet slams into my chest, and the impact sends me sprawling. Pain tears through me, white-hot and blinding, as I hit the ground hard. My breath catches, the world tilting violently.
The docks descend into chaos.
The pain in my shoulder screams louder than the gunfire, enough to cripple most men. But not me. I’ve been here before—hell, I’ve survived worse.
Gritting my teeth, I yank my gun free and fire. The sharp recoil steadies me in the storm. Blood seeps through my shirt, warm and sticky, but I shove the pain aside. My shot finds its target—anyone not on my side is fair game.
A mountain of a man barrels toward me, fists raised like sledgehammers. He’s massive, built like a tank. I duck his first swing, the air slicing past my ear.
I drive my fist into his gut. It’s like punching concrete. He grabs my throat, his grip like a vice, and lifts me off the ground. My lungs burn, the world narrowing to his bloodshot eyes.
My free hand lashes out, slamming the butt of my gun into his temple. He staggers, his grip faltering just enough for me to drop. I hit the ground, roll, and come up behind him.
The knife in my boot finds its mark, sliding between his ribs in quick, brutal strokes. His blood sprays hot on my face, and I feel no remorse —only satisfaction as he crumples to the ground with a heavy thud.
As he falls, my gaze locks on the tattoo on his hand—a coiled serpent pierced by a dagger.
The image sears into my mind like a brand.
I don’t have time to dwell on it.
Gunfire rips through the air, relentless.
I scan the chaos for Ken and Luca, my pulse hammering in my ears. Ken finds me first, yelling like a man possessed. He charges toward me, firing as he comes. Two men drop, bullets planted cleanly in their skulls.
“Luca?” I ask, my voice tight.
Ken shakes his head, jaw clenched.
Luca’s gone.
There’s a wide gleam in Ken’s eyes—anger or tears, I can’t tell. Around us, the situation is unraveling fast. We’re outnumbered, five to one. Men seem to materialize from nowhere, like shadows stepping into the light.
It’s a goddamn massacre.
“You need to leave, Mr. Paolo,” Ken says, his voice raw.
“No!”
“Go!” he shouts, louder than the crack of gunfire.
I hesitate, but he doesn’t give me a choice. Ken dives into the fray, his body a blur of motion and gunfire. My heart screams to stay, but my feet betray me. I turn and sprint to the car, every step causing pain in my chest.
I shouldn’t look back.
But I do.
And I see it—the moment one of the attackers lunges at Ken—the glint of a blade. The knife plunging into his neck.
My breath catches. The world tilts.
I throw myself into the driver’s seat, shaking hands fumbling for the keys. Blood slicks my fingers, but I find them and twist. The engine roars to life, drowning out the chaos behind me.
Self-loathing surges in every heartbeat. How did I not see this coming? How did I let this happen?
The car lurches forward as I slam the gas. The docks vanish in the rearview mirror, swallowed by fire and smoke.
And bodies.
The bodies of my men.
Pain claws through my chest, vision blurring. My shirt clings to me, soaked with blood, but I don’t ease up on the wheel.
The tattoo flashes in my mind again—vivid, unmistakable.
The serpent.
I know who’s behind this now.
My hand trembles as I grab my phone, bloody fingertips smearing the screen. Each breath feels heavier, a mix of pain and rage coursing through me.
The line clicks.
Before the voice on the other end can speak, I snap, “We need to meet.”