Chapter 14
14
NICOLAS
I hate how smug Marco always looks.
The self-satisfied expression crawls under my skin, setting my teeth on edge every damn time. Or, to be more precise, it makes me want to put a bullet in his fucking skull and be done with it.
We have been waiting for him in this room for almost an hour. When I told Aria this morning that she could join me for a strategy meeting, she was overjoyed—first surprised, then genuinely pleased when she realized I was serious. If this weren’t her first meeting as my wife, and if I hadn’t seen that flicker of excitement in her eyes, there’s no way in hell I’d still be here waiting.
But finally, he shows up.
I watch him saunter through the glass door, that smug look permanently plastered on his face. The moment he steps inside, the air is thick with the overpowering scent of his cologne—some heavy, cloying shit that mixes with the lingering stench of cigars and stale coffee. It’s almost suffocating.
He’s dressed in an off-white, sharp, but obnoxious suit, and his hair is slicked back with so much gel that it’s practically dripping. A bead of it slides down his temple, and he dabs it with a silk handkerchief before flashing one of his signature smirks.
Then, he takes a seat—like we weren’t just sitting here, waiting on his ass.
“Hello,” he says simply, flashing a smile. “Sorry, I’m late. I…” He hums, stroking his jaw as if in deep thought. “To be honest, I’m not sure why.”
The three of us exchange the same unimpressed look. Aria tries to mask her irritation, but from my seat at the head of the table, I see the way her small hands curl into fists.
Matteo. sitting on the same side as Marco, doesn’t bother hiding his disdain. His sharp gaze flickers with barely contained anger, and I know he’s probably fantasizing about putting a bullet between Marco’s eyes.
And honestly? I can’t blame him.
Marco always goes out of his way to be seen. To be noticed. To be heard. It’s pathetic. He doesn’t understand that a real leader commands respect through discipline and power—not bright suits and suffocating cologne.
I exhale slowly, my chair creaking faintly as I lean back. The tension in the room is thick, like it always is when Marco and I share the same air.
Aria crosses her arms, her sharp gaze flicking between us. She’s studying me, waiting to see how I’ll respond.
I lean forward, inhaling deeply before speaking. “Welcome, Marco.” Then I glance at Matteo and Aria. “Can we start the meeting now?”
Matteo looks like he wants to object, his jaw tightening, while Aria stares at me like she can’t believe I just let it go. A flicker of irritation sparks my chest. Do they really think I’m so petty that I can’t handle Marco without letting my emotions get in the way?
“Yes, boss,” Matteo replies, though his tone is clipped.
“Yes. We can,” Aria echoes, still watching me closely.
Marco doesn’t respond immediately. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and his usual smug expression is gone for once. When he finally speaks, his voice is serious. “This Caldarone mess isn’t going away.”
Good. At least he’s focused.
“Some of my men went missing while selling our products in my territory. Their bodies were found in a trash can two days ago. Large doses of our own drugs were in their system.”
Matteo doesn’t even hesitate. “And you’re sure it’s not a case of your men getting high on their own supply? Overdosing and losing their damn minds?”
Marco shoots him a glare, but for once, he doesn’t take the bait. A faint sheen of sweat forms on his forehead, betraying his nerves. “That’s not what happened,” he says sharply before turning his attention to me.
“They’ve been testing us—the ambush at your docks, the bombing of my sister’s car, and now this. The Caldarones are waiting for us to retaliate. And we shouldn’t waste any more time.”
“They’re not just waiting for us to retaliate,” I say, my tone flat but firm. I frown slightly, surprised at how naive Marco sounds. Does he really not see the bigger picture?
“They’re testing us,” I continue. “Hitting our shipments, our men, our family members. They’re looking for weaknesses, Marco. Watching how we react to see where it hurts the most. We'll play right into their hands if we launch a reckless, head-on attack without proper strategy. That would be fucking stupid.”
Marco’s jaw tightens, and he rolls his eyes. “So what do you suggest we do? Sit on our asses and let them keep… poking us or whatever the fuck they’re doing?”
“No, we can’t.” I exhale sharply, barely keeping my irritation in check. “But we've already been over this, haven’t we? That’s exactly why I married your sister—to consolidate our resources, to combine our strengths, and to take down a common enemy. You do remember that, don’t you?”
I tilt my head slightly, watching him.
Marco scoffs. “Uh, duh. I’m not stupid. Of course, I do.”
I see Aria close her eyes briefly, exhaling like she’s praying for patience. I share her sentiment. If Marco really wasted an hour of our time just to say we should retaliate , I might actually lose it.
Matteo steps in before I can respond. “While we’re running our investigations, how about we do a little poking of our own, boss?”
I glance at him. “I thought of that too.”
“We don’t go in too hard—nothing that looks like a full-blown retaliation,” Matteo continues. “Just enough to remind them who the fuck they’re dealing with.”
I nod, weighing the idea. “A direct hit won’t be enough. They’ll expect that. We need to force their hand. Draw them out.”
Aria leans forward, listening intently. Marco is uncharacteristically silent for once.
“We set the bait,” I say, thinking aloud. “Make them take a risk. Something that not just any mindless goon can handle. Something that forces a higher-up to intervene. Then we strike.”
Matteo smirks, already on the same page. “And get him in custody.”
“Exactly.”
Now that is a plan.
“And how do you plan to do that?” Marco asks, probably just trying to stay relevant in the conversation.
I consider reminding him that he’s not here to interrogate but to contribute. Before I can, Aria shifts in her seat.
She clears her throat, her expression thoughtful. “What if you staged a false shipment?”
Silence.
All eyes turn to her.
Marco frowns, caught between surprise and confusion. His gaze flicks from me to Matteo as if expecting us to share in his disbelief. When he finds no support, his expression darkens. His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into the thin line.
Then he turns to Aria. “Aria, dear,” he says with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t talk when men are talking. I’ve told you this many times.”
What. The. Fuck.
Don’t talk when the men are talking? To an international diplomacy graduate who was ten times, no, a hundred times smarter than him?
I must have misheard.
“I was just trying to-”
“I don’t think anyone in this room needs to hear what you were trying to do, Aria. I’m not sure why you’re even here, but-”
“Shut up,” I say, my voice firm as I clench my fists, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling inside. The tension in the room thickens, and I feel like I’m about to explode. He’s been irritating enough with his smug attitude and useless contributions, but this? I won’t tolerate it. I want to fly across the table and punch him in the mouth over and over again. If I didn’t stop him before he finished his sentence, I’m fairly certain I would have killed him. The room goes silent for a few seconds, and I use the time to pull myself together.
I remind myself that I’m a rational man, not ruled by his emotions. I repeat it a few times in my head, and when I’m sure I’m okay, I speak.
“Let her speak,” I say, my tone firm. “And don’t you ever speak to my wife like that again. Do you understand?”
Marco stares at me for a beat, clearly weighing whether or not to push back. After a moment, he leans back in his chair, as if reluctantly acknowledging the point, and gestures for her to continue. ‘Sure,” he mumbles, pride clearly hurt.
Aria looks at me, her eyes betraying a flicker of surprise and something that almost feels like gratitude. She straightens up, gathering her thoughts.
“You’ve mentioned that they’ve been targeting supply lines,” she begins, her voice calm and controlled. “Both yours and Nicolas’. We need to give them a supply to target.”
Matteo and I share a look, silently giving her the go-ahead. She’s onto something, and I like where this is going.
“What if we set up a fake supply? Something large enough to grab their attention. Make it seem like an easy, unprotected shipment.”
“Low security could raise red flags,” Matteo interjects, his brow furrowed. “We’ve never done anything like that.”
Aria pauses, considering, and I start thinking along the same lines as her.
“What if we make it a joint shipment?” I suggest.
She looks at me with wide eyes, and that smile of hers—too charming for its own good—spreads across her face. “Yes. It’s not a secret; the Paolo’s and the Rossi’s have some type of alliance. We could stage a joint shipment.”
“Since they’re targeting both families, they won’t be able to resist. It’ll feel like killing two birds with one stone.”
“Poking,” Aria mutters, then giggles softly to herself. It’s one of those innocent, endearing moments that I can’t help but find charming.
“What?” Matteo asks, clearly confused.
Aria blinks at him, a little sheepish. “Poking two birds with one stone. Because, you know, Nicolas said earlier that they were… well, never mind,” she waves her hand dismissively, “Forget it. I got too carried away.”
I can practically see the wheels turning in Matteo’s head, and I do my best to keep my amusement in check. Meanwhile, Marco’s still not contributing much—just glaring at his sister.
“How do we make sure they take the bait?” he asks, his voice tinged with frustration.
“Leaks,” Aria responds confidently. “Controlled ones. We spread information about the shipment through the right channels. Make it seem like an inside slip-up, like it’s accidental.”
Marco snorts, shaking his head. “You think they’ll buy that?”
I fix him with a steady glare. “It would be foolish not to agree with such a smart plan, wouldn’t you say?”
His smirk falters, and he laughs nervously, nodding. “It’s a good plan. I’ll give you that. But it’s risky. If they catch on?—”
“They won’t,” I cut in. “Not if we play it right.”
“You’ve got contacts in their circle—people who can feed them the information without raising suspicion.”
Marco nods reluctantly. “I can make it happen.”
Finally, some use.
Matteo leans forward, eyes narrowing. “And the shipment itself, boss?” “What do we put in it?”
“Nothing real,” I reply. “Fake goods. Enough to make it look convincing but worthless in reality. Guns that don’t fire. Counterfeit cash. Let them think they’ve scored a win.”
Marco raises an eyebrow. “And when they show up?”
“We’ll surveil them from a distance, track the person giving the orders. Once we identify them, we attack and take them alive.”
The room falls into a heavy silence, everyone’s mind working overtime, searching for ways to refine the plan.
Matteo speaks first, breaking the stillness. “We’ll need to choose the location carefully. It should be isolated but still believable—a place where we can control everything.”
“Agreed,” I reply, my voice steady. “And the timing has to be flawless. We can’t afford any missteps.”
Marco nods, his expression grim, and adds, “I’ll start pulling strings. The Caldarones won’t know what hit them.”
The meeting continues, details falling into place one by one—the location, the timing, the players involved. Aria listens intently, her eyes flicking between us as we speak. But she remains silent, not offering any further input.
When we finally wrap up, I feel a sense of satisfaction with the direction we’re heading. As Marco gathers his things, I catch Aria’s gaze. She’s nervously biting her full lips, her eyes darting toward her brother.
I place my hands over hers, and she looks up at me. “You did well,” I say quietly, and from the corner of my eye, I see Marco glance in our direction. Aria’s lips part as though she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she offers a small, almost hesitant nod.
Marco leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes flicking between Aria and me. A faint smirk plays at the corners of his mouth like he thinks he’s about to win something.
“I want to see my sister tomorrow,” he says, emphasizing the word sister part. “I trust that’s okay?”
Aria glances toward him, but I cut in before she can respond. “That depends,” I reply cooly, meeting his gaze. “On whether it’s convenient for my wife.”
Marco’s smirk falters just a fraction. He glances at Aria, probably expecting her to back him up. But she doesn’t meet his eyes.
She stays silent, her gaze fixed on the table, and I can sense the tension in her. Her silence isn’t submission—it’s control. Something Marco can’t seem to grasp.
He exhales sharply through his nose, pushing himself to his feet and adjusting his suit, trying to regain his composure. “Fine. Let me know when she’s free.”
I nod once, dismissively. “We will.”
His gaze lingers on Aria for a moment longer before he turns and walks out of the room. Matteo follows him, seeing him off.
The second the door clicks shut, Aria leans back in her chair, arms crossed. Her eyes soften, and she smiles at me. “Thank you.”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “For what?”
“For not being as much of an asshole as usual.”
Matteo returns to the room, followed by three of my men. They stand by the door, waiting for orders. I turn to Aria.
“Are you ready to leave?”
She smiles mischievously. “Why? Can’t wait to run off and scribble in your little pink diary about how stressful today was?”
The atmosphere in the room shifts. I glance at my men, and they look at Aria as though she’s sprouted a second head.
I laugh, the sound catching me off guard.
The men exchange uneasy glances, unsure whether they should follow my lead. A few chuckles escape, but they quickly fall silent as I glance their way, a silent command to keep it together.
“Out,” I say, and they leave without hesitation, the glass door clicking shut behind them.
Now, it’s just the two of us.
I lean against the table, arms crossed, and study her. She’s still sitting, her arms resting on the armrests, her head tilted just slightly. She looks amused, confident—and entirely too comfortable challenging me.
“Why did you listen to me earlier?” she asks.
“Because you were right,” I reply simply. “And because you’re my wife.” I pause, letting my words settle between us. “And the smartest woman I know.”
Her eyes widen just a bit, but she quickly masks her surprise.
I step closer, watching the way she shifts in her seat. “Why did you make that joke in front of my men?” I ask.
She smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Because I felt like it.”
I shake my head, moving behind her. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that.”
She shifts as if to move away, but I’m quicker. I brush the back of the chair, steadying her without touching her. Her breath catches, and I catch a glimpse of the subtle tension in her posture. Then my hand tangles in her hair, yanking it back firmly. Her breath catches, and I see the slight shiver that runs down her spine. My cock hardens almost immediately at how fast her reaction to me is.
I lean in, my lips grazing her neck. “Actions,” I murmur against her skin, “have consequences.”
She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she tilts her chin up, her defiance unwavering. “I stand by my actions,” though there’s a slight tremor in her voice. I know she hates how much her body betrays her.
I smirk, my grip tightening on her hair. “Good.”
My lips press against the soft curve of her neck, tasting her skin, and then I suck down hard till she moans. When I pull back, a flush has bloomed where my lips were. A part of me wishes I could leave traces of this moment all over her.
Her breath quickens as I trail slow, deliberate kisses along her neck, feeling the steady pulse beneath my lips.
“You’ll have to bear those consequences,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes.
She doesn’t get a chance to respond. I jerk her up from the chair with her hair, guide her forward, and bend her over the table's edge. Her palms press against the table as she steadies herself, her gaze locked on mine, waiting—challenging.
“You don’t get to disrespect me in front of my men,” I say, my hand trailing slowly down her back.
Her breathing is uneven, and she turns her head slightly, glancing at me over her shoulder.
I shake my head and press a steady hand to her lower back. “Stay still.”
She tenses but doesn’t move, her obedience laced with defiance.
I let my palm land against her backside, firm enough to command attention but not to hurt. A reminder.
She gasps, her head dipping just a fraction.
“Learned your lesson yet?” I murmur, my voice low.
“What lesson?” she challenges, her tone edged with something unreadable.
I chuckle, shaking my head. She’s pushing boundaries, testing me.
I bring my hand down harder on her ass. She moans, and her body vibrates.
Oh, I see. She can take more.
I yank her dress up to her waist, and her soft, red ass cheeks are exposed before me. Then I spank her again.
This time, she yelps. I tilt her head to the side, wanting to see her face. When I do, I freeze. A streak of precum spurts through my cock.
She’s smiling .
Holy hell.