Chapter 21
21
ARIA
I’m doing this for my freedom.
I repeat the words like a mantra. This is the final step. Once I get this done, Marco will set me free. I’ll finally have control over my life and my choices.
I don’t need to feel bad.
Nicolas himself said this is a hard world.
I’m just doing what I have to do to survive .
I cling to those thoughts as I slip out of the kitchen, moving lightly across the cool hardwood floor. The house is quiet . Too quiet.
The only sound is the soft whisper of the evening wind against the windows.
I stop a few times, glancing around, making sure no one is watching. My heart pounds, each beat a warning I try to ignore.
Nicolas could catch me .
Any of his guards could catch me. I could devise an excuse to throw them off—but that doesn’t mean they won’t tell him I was snooping. I know the risks. I know what I’m gambling with. But something deeper won’t let me stop.
I’m desperate. Like a moth circling a flame— even though I know the burn is coming .
The first place I check is the locked drawer in our room. It’s tucked inside Nicolas’s wardrobe, hidden behind rows of neatly hung suits and perfectly pressed shirts.
The brass handle gleams under the dim light filtering through the windows. I crouch, running my fingers along the edges, searching— feeling —for anything. A weakness. A latch. A trick I can exploit. But it doesn’t budge.
Damn it .
I curse under my breath, pressing my palm flat against the wood.
Nothing.
A faint creak sounds outside the room. My body tenses. I turn toward the door, my breath locked tight in my throat.
Seconds stretch. Silence returns. But it’s enough to remind me—I’m walking a thin line .
I rise to my feet, slipping back into the hallway, moving quickly but quietly . His office is next.
The scent of leather and cedar greets me the moment I step inside. I shut the door softly behind me, but my eyes stay glued to it, half-expecting Nicolas to burst in and catch me.
Nothing.
I exhale, my pulse steadying—just barely—before I turn my attention to the room. His desk is large, commanding. The surface is almost too clean, except for a stack of papers and a bottle of rum.
I move quickly.
My fingers skim across the desk drawers. One by one, I open them, searching. Invoices. Shipment documents. I flip through them rapidly, scanning for anything that feels off .
Every few seconds, my eyes dart to the door. Paranoia crawls up my spine. I’m doing this for my freedom . I remind myself.
I keep searching, sifting through papers— minutes stretch , frustration building. And then— Jackpot.
A black folder. No label. No markings. Different.
I hesitate, my thumb tracing the edge. My chest tightens. Do I really want to see this?
Do I want to confirm what I already suspect?
Yes.
I open it. And the moment I do, I know . I’m holding his master plan in my hands.
The first page is a timeline—calendar dates marked with specific times and locations for raids. The folder suddenly feels heavier .
I flip through it, my pulse pounding. It’s meticulous. So detailed that, for a fleeting second, I’m almost impressed by whoever put it together.
These are the secrets of his empire . Nicolas’ secrets.
I turn another page.
Maps. Schedules.
Strategic plans detailing everything—where his men will be stationed, how they’ll move, which territories he’ll seize first .
My breath quickens as I scan through it all.
He’s methodical. Ruthless . The precision in his planning—down to the smallest detail—sends a chill down my spine.
I take as many pictures as I can, my hands moving fast.
Just the first page alone holds enough information to buy my freedom . But I don’t want to give Marco any excuse to say no . So I keep going.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
When I’m finally satisfied, I shut the folder and return it to its place, ensuring everything looks untouched.
My fingers tremble slightly. I force myself to stay calm. I can’t afford mistakes. Not now.
I run a hand through my hair, glancing around the office one last time.
Deep breath.
First, I need to get out of here. I need to be back in the kitchen before Nicolas gets home .
I sprint towards the door, cracking it open. Before I can even check if the coast is clear-
“Aria?”
My heart stops. For a second, I swear I’m about to pass out . Slowly, I turn. Nicolas stands there, a small frown creasing his brow. My pulse hammers so hard I think it might give me away. But somehow—by some miracle— I manage to pull myself together.
“The cake is ready,” I say, my voice light— too light. Even I’m surprised by how steady it sounds.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at me. No. He examines me. For a few agonizing seconds, it feels like my entire existence hangs in the balance. Then, finally—he nods.
I can’t tell if he buys my act or if he’s simply choosing to let it go . He steps closer,
“Good,” he says. “Let’s see if they’re as good as you say.”
We head to the kitchen, where the chocolate cake sits on the table, perfectly covered. One of the maids must have done it. Two plates rest beside it, making it look like I really had been waiting for him all along. I silently thank the universe.
We sit, and I cut us each a slice. Just as he lifts his fork, I stop him with a smile.
“I need to be sure first,” I say lightly. “Can’t have you mocking me.”
I take the first bite. It tastes like nothing . Guilt, fear, pain, regret— even hope —mangle together in my mind, twisting so tightly that I can’t focus on the flavor.
Across from me, Nicolas watches. His jaw tight. His eyes locked on mine, studying every movement like he’s trying to decode me.
“Good?” he asks.
I force a smile. “Why don’t you try it?”
He chuckles, then lifts his fork and takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. Seconds stretch. Then, to my absolute torment, he smiles. An impressed smile.
A warm wave rolls through my chest— and it only makes me feel worse .
I’m a fucking monster at this point.
“That’s really good,” he says.
And I feel like throwing up .
I manage to hold it together as we finish the cake. We wash it down with orange juice, the sweetness sitting heavy on my tongue.
When we’re done, we both agree we’re full for the day and head to the bedroom.
We talk for hours— or at least, he does. I force myself to respond, nodding at the right moments, offering small comments. But I barely hear a word. Because every time I shift, every time I move , I feel my phone in my pocket.
After a while, I mutter something about feeling sleepy. He pulls me into his arms without hesitation. And like a monster , I find comfort there. I let myself slide closer, soaking in his warmth, his steady breath against my hair.
I’m playing a dangerous game . I know this.
* * *
Morning comes in golden streaks through the windows, spilling light across the bedroom floor. I slip out of bed carefully, every movement precise, controlled. Silent.
Nicolas doesn’t stir. My hands move automatically—jeans, blouse, flats—like muscle memory guiding me through an escape I don’t fully want to make sense of. When I step outside, the air is crisp, fresh in a way that shouldn’t feel suffocating—but does.
I nod briefly to the driver. “I need to go out.”
He doesn’t question me.
As the car pulls away, I stare out at the blurred cityscape, my pulse a steady drum against my ribs.
I tell myself that I may never see this house again. That once Marco grants me my freedom, I won’t want to see Nicolas again. And it’s not just because I’m afraid of what he’ll do when he finds out. It’s because I don’t think I’ll be able to look him in the eyes .
When we pull up to Marco’s house, my fingers tighten around the door handle. The house looms ahead— grand, cold, suffocating . It looks the same as always. But I don’t.
I step inside, my heart pounding, my pulse a steady drum in my ears. Marco is in the sitting room, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up immediately, but when he does, his sharp eyes narrow slightly as he studies me.
“Aria.”
“I found something,” I say, my voice steady. Straight to the point. No hesitation.
His attention sharpens instantly. The phone is forgotten as he leans forward, eyes locked onto mine
“What did you find?”
I sit across from him, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs. The folder replays in my mind like a film reel— over and over again .
“Nicolas is planning to take over the entire terrain.” The words feel heavy leaving my mouth, but I push through. “He’s mapped out every step. Where his men will be stationed. Which families he’ll target first. He’s already set things in motion.”
Marco leans back, studying me. His expression unreadable. He doesn’t look convinced.
“Show me.”
My fingers tighten around my phone. For a second— just a second— I hesitate. I don’t know why . Maybe because once I show him, there’s no going back. Maybe because a part of me already knows what this means for Nicolas.
“Aria?” Marco’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I take a slow, steady breath. Then, finally, I hand him the phone.
He takes it, but his gaze lingers on me. His brows pull together slightly.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Marco nods, but his eyes linger on me for a second longer before turning his attention to my phone.
I watch.
His eyes widen as he takes in the information. Then—slowly—a smile spreads across his face. And after few more seconds, he starts laughing. Full-blown cackling. He even holds his stomach, like this is the funniest damn thing he’s ever seen.
The reaction unsettles me. I don’t laugh. I just watch silently as unease coils my stomach. By the time he finally stops, my hands are trembling, and I’m more confused than I’ve ever been.
“What? Is something wrong with the information?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not at all, dear sister.” His grin is sharp. Cruel. “I’m just imagining the look on Nicolas’ face when I bring his empire down and make him kneel before me.”
A sick feeling twists in my chest.
That’s not a good image in my head, so I shake it off.
“How did you get this?”
I swallow. “I found it in his office.”
Marco raises a brow. “He just kept this lying around?”
I nod. And he laughs again . The sound grates against my skin.
“Oh my.” His smirk deepens. “That man is even dumber than I thought.”
He’s not dumb , I almost say. But I bite my tongue. I’m this close. So close I can almost taste it. I just need to hold my tongue .
He leans forward, grinning at me like I’m his most prized possession. “This is good work, Aria. Really good work.”
I swallow hard. “Now that you have what you need, when can I come home?”
The smile slips from his face. Just like that, I know.
He drops his gaze to the floor, avoiding mine. A flicker of hesitation. A pause that stretches too long.
No .
My stomach tightens, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Marco.” My voice firm now, no hesitation. “When can I come home?” I repeat myself even though we both know he heard me the first time.
He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily before finally meeting my gaze.
“I need a little more time.”
The room tilts. My vision sharpens. I push to my feet so fast the chair scrapes against the floor.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
His frown deepens. “Don’t speak to me that way Aria.”
I don’t care .
He looks at my phone again, rubbing his temple. “Look, I’m sorry okay. But I can’t just tell you to return home. I have to make some arrangements and-”
I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “You said after I gave you this, I’d be done. I’m risking my life here, Marco. Do you even care about that?”
He rolls his eyes , pinching the bridge of his nose like I’m some annoying little problem instead of his sister. “I’m not risking you, Aria. Everything is under control.”
“No, it’s not.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “You’re keeping me trapped . Nicolas isn’t stupid, Marco. He’s going to figure it out, and what do you think he’ll do to me when he does?”
His gaze darkens. “Well, you’re just going to have to take that risk. Don’t forget—you’re working for the family.”
A chill slams through me.
To translate that sentence into action, Marco might as well have spat in my face and shoved me to the ground.
The broken promises. The excuses. The way he always dodged my questions. It all clicks into place, sharp and sickening. My throat tightens, my voice barely a whisper.
“You never planned to get me out, did you?”
His head snaps towards me, his jaw tightening as he bites his lip. He looks angry but… he doesn’t deny it.
Tears burn at the edges of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. “This was always the plan, wasn’t it?” My voice is hollow, stripped of any warmth. “Keep me married to Nicolas so I could keep feeding you information.”
Marco exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated with me instead of himself. “You’re doing what’s necessary for us,” he says, as if that should make it okay.
I shake my head, disbelief cutting through my grief. “What about me, Marco? Don’t I matter?”
His expression hardens, as if I’ve just asked something ridiculous. “This is our life, Aria. It’s what Father wanted. Stop being naive.”
Na?ve.
A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me. “Na?ve” I repeat, shaking my head. “Wanting a normal life makes me na?ve? Wanting a life without fear? Without this constant weight?” I take a step closer, my voice rising despite the lump in my throat. “You could leave this behind. We could leave this behind. We don’t have to do this.”
He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“No,” I snap, my voice steadier now. “I’m being human.”
I step closer, anger and desperation curling in my chest like a storm ready to break. “Marco, please. Let me come home. We can live a different life—one that doesn’t involve-”
He moves before I can finish, rising to his feet in a single, sharp motion. He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he pulls his phone from his pocket, transfers the pictures from mine, and drops my phone onto the chair like it means nothing.
Like I mean nothing.
Then, without a word, he turns and walks out of the room.
I stand there, frozen, the truth settling like ice in my veins. He was never going to let me go.
A shaky breath shudders out of me, and I grab my phone with numb fingers before walking out.
By the time I reach the car, tears are already spilling down my cheeks. The driver doesn’t ask a single question. He just opens the door, and I slide into the seat, curling into myself.
I cry the entire way back to the mansion.
When I step out of the car, I try to pull myself together. Swallow the sobs, wipe my eyes, steady my breath. But it’s useless. The pain is too raw, too heavy, pressing against my ribs like it’s trying to break me apart.
I know walking in like this will lead to questions, but I don’t care. Right now, I can’t bring myself to pretend.
As I step inside, I sniff, rubbing at my damp cheeks, and then I see him.
Nicolas is in the living room, his body tense, his sharp eyes locking onto mine the second I enter. The moment he takes in my face, he stands.
“Aria?” His voice is low, edged with something dangerous as he takes a step toward me.
I force myself to take a breath, to think. I could say I have a headache. I could blame it on cramps, exhaustion—anything. I could go upstairs, crawl under the covers, and hope this aching, hollow feeling disappears by morning.
But when I see the way his fists are clenched, his jaw tight like he’s ready to destroy whoever did this to me, something inside me cracks.
My hands tremble as I press them to my chest. My voice comes out barely above whisper.
“I’m… hurting,” I admit, my breath shuddering. “I’m hurting inside.”
He doesn’t say a word. He just steps forward, pulls me into his arms, and holds me like he’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
“Who did this to you?”