Chapter 5
5
ARIA
The smell of smoke clings to me like a second skin.
No matter how often I wash my hair, the acrid stench lingers, defying every shampoo and soap. Maybe it’s in my head, but it doesn’t matter —it’s there, haunting me.
It’s been days, and I still feel like I’m suffocating.
I stare into the mirror, my reflection foreign. Dark circles hollow out my eyes, the sheen of fear coating my skin. My fingers shake as I twist my hair into a loose knot, but even that feels futile.
The suite should feel like a fortress. Velvet chairs, a marble bathroom, and guards posted at every possible entrance scream luxury and security.
But none of it matters.
I don’t feel safe.
I don’t think I ever will again.
Someone tried to kill me .
The shrill ring of my phone slices through the silence, sharp and invasive. and I know it’s Marco before I even glance at the screen. He’s the only one with my new number.
My hand hesitates over the phone, but I force myself to pick it up. With a deep breath, I tap the green button.
“I need you to get dressed,” Marco says, his voice clipped. It’s calm on the surface but has a tautness beneath it. Agitation. “Wear something extra nice today. I’m sending a car.”
I open my mouth to protest, to tell him I’m in no condition to be trotted out like a doll again, but the line goes dead before I can get a word in. Typical Marco.
I stare at the phone for a long moment, my chest tight with frustration. But I know him too well to waste time questioning. He never asks; he orders.
I drag myself to the sink, splash cold water on my face, and freshen up before heading to the bedroom. The closet is stuffed with expensive, tailored, impersonal clothes Marco sent after the fire. He replaced everything I’d lost, yet he hasn’t bothered to see me since.
My fingers skim the hangers, pausing on a black satin dress. It’s sleek and fitted, with a slit that rides scandalously high. The kind of dress that screams confidence, even if I don’t feel it. Marco wants perfection? Fine, I’ll give him perfection.
The dress is so tight I can barely breathe, each inhale a conscious effort. I add diamond studs, smooth my hair into soft waves, and paint my lips a bold red. Concealer hides the exhaustion etched under my eyes but not the hollowness I feel inside.
The knock comes, sharp and precise. I steel myself, expecting one of Marco’s drivers.
Instead, my brother himself stands in the doorway, wearing a tailored navy suit. His dark hair is slicked back, his features as sharp and unreadable as ever.
“You’re driving me?” I ask, surprised. Marco doesn’t do the mundane.
He scans me from head to toe, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “You look fine. Let’s go.”
The car ride is suffocating. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken tension. Marco grips the wheel tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather. He doesn’t explain, and I don’t ask.
The restaurant is discreet, tucked away on a narrow street. The wooden sign above the entrance bears Japanese characters, understated but elegant. Inside, the scent of cedar and soy mingle in the cool air.
A hostess bows and leads us to a private room partitioned by sliding paper doors. Marco slides one open and gestures for me to step inside.
“Stay here,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.
“What’s going on?”
“Just wait.” He closes the door before I can press him further.
I sink onto a cushion by the low table, my mind spinning. The quiet amplifies everything—my breathing, my pulse, the nagging sense that something is very, very wrong.
Marco’s business is dangerous; I’ve always known that. But this? The explosion, the fire, and now this cryptic meeting? It’s spiraling out of control, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m caught in the middle of something far bigger than I understand.
The minutes crawl, each one thick with unease. The room feels smaller with every passing second, the silence pressing in like a vice. My thoughts churn, replaying the explosion, the black van, and the flames reflected in the glass.
I can’t take it anymore.
Pushing to my feet, I slide the door open and enter the hallway. The wooden floor creaks under my heels, the air colder out here—or maybe it’s just me.
I turn a corner and freeze.
Marco is in another room, his back to me. He’s not alone.
Sitting across from him, radiating smug arrogance, is a man I never thought I’d see again.
Nicolas fucking Paolo.
My blood runs cold.
What the hell is going on?
I blink, dragging my hand across my eyes, convinced I must be imagining things. But no matter how hard I rub, the scene doesn’t change. My brother is sitting with the man who tried to kill me—or at least the man I suspect of it.
Nicolas Paolo.
His cold, calculating eyes lock onto mine, and I freeze in the doorway, my mind racing to make sense of this surreal betrayal. Nicolas doesn’t flinch. His face is infuriatingly calm, but his gaze never leaves mine. Slowly, Marco stops talking, his shoulders slagging like a man caught in a lie.
When he turns and sees me, his expression shifts to something between frustration and resignation. He rubs a hand down his face, clearly annoyed.
“You should have stayed where I told you, Aria,” Marco says, his tone sharp, like he’s scolding a misbehaving child. “I told you to wait.”
My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I fight the urge to snap back, my voice trembling with restrained fury. “What-what’s going on Marco?”
Marco exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, a telltale sign of his frayed patience. “Now that you’re here, he mutters, gesturing to the room, “just sit down and listen.”
I glance between Marco and Nicolas, who still hasn’t shifted his gaze. His silence is unnerving, and though I can’t meet his eyes again, I feel the weight of his scrutiny. It’s like he’s peeling back every layer, exposing thoughts I’ve worked so hard to bury. Judging me.
With no other choice, I move to the table and sit beside Marco. My heart races, each beat echoing in my ears. My hands tremble slightly, and though fear gnaws at my resolve, I steel myself, refusing to let them see it.
To my surprise, Marco rises and moves to the head of the table. The gesture feels calculated, but to me, it reeks of desperation, like he’s trying too hard to command the room. Nicolas and I exchange a brief glance, his expression unreadable, though I catch a flicker of amusement at Marco’s attempt to assert dominance.
Marco clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is deeper, more deliberate. “About the explosion…” His words send a shiver down my spine. My chest tightens, and the acrid scent of smoke fills my memory for a brief moment.
“Nicolas wasn’t responsible. We’ve confirmed that.”
The words hang heavily in the air. They don’t soothe me; instead, they ignite something raw and angry inside. My jaw tightens as I turn to Marco, my nails pressing into my palms again. From the corner of my eye, I catch Nicolas rolling his eyes, his expression one of mild irritation, as if the accusation is beneath him.
“How did you confirm that?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.
Marco flinches slightly, but his tone is clipped when he responds. “What?”
I straighten my back, forcing myself to appear calm despite the storm brewing inside. “How did you confirm he wasn’t the culprit?”
Marco blinks, his frown deepening as if my question is somehow offensive. “He told me,” he says with a shrug, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant. “He didn’t bomb your car and had nothing to do with my intercepted shipment. Therefore, Nicolas Paolo isn’t our enemy.”
Just like that?
I clench my fists under the table, nails biting into my palms to keep from saying what I really want to. Instead, I take a deep, steadying breath. Marco is clearly trying to make a point, though I can’t decide if it’s out of consideration for me or fear of the man sitting across from him.
“Okay?” I prod, my voice tighter than I intended.
Marco leans back slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line before he continues. “And you know what they say,” he adds, his voice taking on a pointed edge. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing the urge to scream. My patience is wearing thin. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s on fire, but I force myself to stay still, to breathe.
Marco doesn’t notice—or maybe he doesn’t care. He’s too wrapped up in his theatrics. “In life,” he says, as though quoting some ancient wisdom, “sacrifices and compromises must be made for the greater-”
“Stop dancing around it and tell me what’s going on, Marco,” I snap. Marco’s glare silences me, and I instinctively retreat, swallowing the lump in my throat. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to soften my tone. “Please,” I say. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
He hesitates, his jaw tightening as he clenches it hard enough to make the muscles twitch. He’s stalling, searching for the right words, and his reluctance sends a fresh wave of fear through me.
But Nicolas has no such qualms. He leans forward slightly, his movements deliberate, his presence overwhelming. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to meet them.
“To dumb it down for you, princess,” he says, his tone smooth and laced with mockery, “your family and I are building an alliance. And you,” he adds with an edge of finality, “are going to become my wife.”
The words hit me like a freight train, and for a moment, everything stops.
The air feels heavy, the world too still. I close my eyes, trying to block it all out, to pretend I’m somewhere else—anywhere else—but it doesn’t work.
I press my lips together and force myself to take a breath. Then another. And another. Each one trembles on its way out.
When I open my eyes, I’m still here, trapped in the same room with these monsters who seem to think they can play god with my life.
I close my eyes again, forcing another round of deep breaths into my lungs. Each one feels heavier than the last, but I cling to the rhythm, hoping it’ll steady the chaos inside me. When I finally open my eyes, nothing has changed. The room is the same, the suffocating tension hanging thick in the air.
It feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over me. The chill seeps into my bones and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
My head snaps up, and I meet Nicolas's eyes before I can stop myself. Really meet them for the first time tonight.
I don’t know what I expected—anger, smugness, or even cold indifference—but what I see makes me gasp softly.
He looks… hollow. There are dark circles under his eyes, faint but undeniable, as if sleep has been a distant memory for him. His face is drawn tight, his jaw tense, and though his expression remains controlled, there’s something underneath it. Something raw.
Sadness.
He blinks, and whatever vulnerability I thought I saw is gone, erased so quickly that I start to doubt it was ever there. Maybe I was just projecting my feelings onto him.
I drag my attention back to Marco, anger bubbling to the surface. “This is what you meant by ‘sacrifice and compromise’?” My voice trembles, but I don’t care. “You expect me to marry this—this tyrant? This arrogant, selfish, cold-blooded?—”
“Careful,” Nicolas cuts in, his voice like a whip cracking through the room. It’s sharp and commanding, sending a shiver down my spine.
But I refuse to back down. The anger burns too hot, and the words keep pouring out before I can stop them. “You’re a coward,” I snap, glaring at him. “A man who hides behind his power because he’s too scared to face the world without it. And I’m sure in the face of real danger, you scram and hide behind those armed men who follow you around.”
I can see the shift in him immediately. His eyes darken, his posture stiffens, and his lips press into a thin line. It’s the reaction I wanted—except it feels off, like I’ve pressed the wrong button.
Nicolas slams his hand on the table, the sharp crack echoing through the room like a gunshot. I flinch, instinctively leaning back. My chair scrapes against the floor. His eyes—darker than I’ve ever seen—burn with fury, his rage practically crackling in the air between us. I’ve never felt such intense anger radiating from anyone. My body reacts on its own, inching further away from him as my pulse pounds in my ears. He’s trembling, and for the first time, I realize how dangerous he truly is.
“Teach your sister some fucking manners, Marco,” he snarls, his voice low and lethal. “Or I’ll do it myself.”
A shiver races down my spine, goosebumps prickling my skin as the weight of his threat sinks in. His voice is like a blade, cutting through the air with deadly precision. It terrifies me. Yet, as the fear begins to ebb, something more confusing and unwelcome takes place—a spark of heat low in my stomach, a flicker of something I can’t explain in the pit of my being.
What the actual fuck? Disgust churns in my gut, but the sensation lingers no matter how much I want to ignore it.
Marco abruptly shoves his chair back, the screech of wood against the tile breaking the charged silence. “Aria. Outside. Now.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. Without waiting for a response, he stalks toward the hallway. My legs carry me after him on autopilot, my mind still reeling from everything that just happened. The hallway feels colder somehow, or maybe it’s just me shaking as I try to process it all. Marco stops and spins to face me, his expression a volatile mix of anger and desperation.
He grabs my hand, pulling me closer until I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin. “This is temporary,” he says, his voice low and steady. I can detect the bitterness, the salt in his breath. “Do you understand me? Temporary. We need this alliance, Aria. Whoever is behind the attack on your life won’t dare touch you under Nicolas’s protection.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off, his tone sharper than before.
“And while you’re with him,” Marco continues. “I need you to pay attention. Learn everything you can about him—his operations, his men, his weaknesses. Until I can get you out.”
“I haven’t even agreed to this, Marco.”
“There’s nothing to agree to, sister. I wasn’t fucking asking.”
I shake my head, heart pounding as I try to pull away. “This isn’t fair. You can’t ask me to?—”
“I can,” Marco cuts me off, his fingers digging into my arms like claws. “And I am. You owe me, Aria. After everything—after you abandoned me—you owe me this.”
Salt is sprinkled on a freshly reopened wound. His words hit like a slap to the face, sharp and unforgiving.
I swallow hard, my throat tightening as I fight the sting of his accusation. Marco doesn’t wait for a response. He releases me with a forceful push, straightens, and strides back into the room, leaving me reeling.
My skin burns where his grip left marks, and for a moment, I feel like I might collapse. I force myself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind inside me.
When I finally return to the room, both men look at me. Marco stands with his arms crossed, his expression grim and unyielding. Nicolas, seated now, seems to have regained his composure. His sharp eyes follow me, their intensity making my every movement feel scrutinized.
I straighten my shoulders, forcing my head high even as my insides twist with anger and fear. “Fine,” I say, the word leaving my lips like a stone dropped into silence. “When is this supposed to happen?” Nicolas smirks, but it’s hollow, his eyes devoid of humor. “Tomorrow.”