Chapter 26
26
NICOLAS
The wound is ugly.
I stand in front of the mirror, studying the angry red mark near my shoulder. It throbs—a dull, insistent ache radiating through my skin. I’ve had worse. My back and sides bear the proof of past battles, each scar a silent reminder of the wars I’ve fought and the men I’ve buried.
I exhale slowly and tug on a clean shirt. The fabric drags over my raw skin like sandpaper against a fresh bruise, but I don’t flinch. Pain is an old companion.
This wound isn’t my first and won’t be my last. But something about it feels different. I know I’ll never forget it—because of what I was fighting to gain and the people I was fighting to avenge.
I pull the towel from my waist, letting it drop to the floor as I grab a fresh pair of trousers from the dresser. That’s when I hear it—the soft rustle of sheets, the whisper of bare feet against the wooden floor.
I don’t turn. I don’t need to.
Aria.
Her presence fills the space before she even touches me. That familiar strawberry scent—sweet, intoxicating—wraps around me like a warm embrace. Then, her fingers brush over my shoulder, featherlight, tracing the jagged lines that mar my skin
She leans in, kissing the small, puckered scar near my spine. Then another. And another. I hold still, letting her touch me in a way no one else ever has.
She moves slowly, her lips ghosting over each mark, each faded reminder of the past. When she reaches the fresh wound, she hesitates. Her breath skates over the bruised skin before she presses the softest, most deliberate kiss to its edge.
Pain and pleasure blend, a sharp contrast that sends a shiver down my spine. I exhale slowly, controlled, but my body betrays me—heat coils low in my stomach, my cock is already twitching beneath my trousers.
“Try not to get hurt anymore,” she whispers against my skin. Her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. A quiet plea wrapped in a demand.
I lift my gaze to the mirror, meeting hers in the reflection.
Worry lingers in her dark eyes, the same concern that laces her voice. She stands behind me, swallowed in one of my shirts, the fabric draping over her small frame. The sleeves are too long, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, exposing just enough of her bare legs to make my blood burn.
Her hair is tousled from sleep, a few wild strands falling over her face, but looks perfect. Ethereal. Like something no man should be lucky enough to claim.
My goddess.
“I’m not ashamed of my scars, and I’m not afraid to earn more,” I say, holding her gaze through the mirror. “But more importantly, I don’t like seeing that worried look on your face. So I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you never have to see me like that again.”
She smiles, and something inside me tightens. The need to see that smile again, to keep it there, swells in my chest.
So I add, “And now, when I look at these scars, I won’t remember the pain. I’ll remember the way your lips feel on my skin. So thank you—for turning something painful into something sweet.”
Her eyes soften, her lips parting slightly before she catches them between her teeth. Slowly she wraps her arms around my waist, her fingers lacing together against my stomach.
“You mean it?” she murmurs.
I nod. “I do.”
Turning to face her, I brush a stray strand of hair from her face, my fingers trailing gently down her cheek before I cup her jaw. My thumb strokes her skin, savoring her warmth.
She blinks up at me, then shakes her head with a soft laugh. “These days, it feels like you always know exactly what to say.”
“It’s the truth,” I reply. I never knew I was capable of saying—or feeling—things like this. But since I met Aria, I’ve been discovering parts of myself I never thought existed.
Her arms stay wrapped around me, holding me together like no one ever has. It’s as if she thinks I’m fragile—fragile, of all things. The last word anyone would ever use to describe me.
But maybe, I guess that’s just what love does.
She loves me, right?
I lean down, pressing my lips to hers—slow, deep, unrushed. As always, she melts into me like ice against fire. Her fingers grip my shoulders, careful of my injury, while I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her as close as I can. Her grip tightens, as if she can keep me from ever leaving her again.
And maybe… maybe I want to be held like that.
I let her cling to me for as long as she needs before finally pulling back.
I brush a strand of hair from her face again—because I can’t stop touching her. Because I don’t want to. And because of what I’m about to say next.
“I have a meeting with your brother.” My voice is even, controlled. “I plan to decide his fate for what he did.”
She inhales sharply, her lashes fluttering, but she doesn’t step back. “I want to come.”
I tilt my head. “You’re sure?”
She swallows, nodding once. “He’s still my brother. I need to be there.”
I button my shirt, and she steps back to grab my jacket. My arm twinges, a sharp reminder of the wound that hasn’t fully healed, but I push the pain aside.
I wait as she freshens up and changes to a skirt and a flowing chiffon top. Then, without another word, we leave together.
At the car, I open the passenger door for her. She slips in, adjusting her skirt as I settle into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles to life, and I pull onto the long driveway. Trees line the path, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.
With every turn of the wheel, my shoulder tightens, the dull ache spreading—but I keep going.
Aria stares out the window, her fingers twisting in her lap. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against my thigh. The sun casts a golden glow over the city, washing the buildings in warmth—an odd contrast to the cold weight settling in my chest.
She glances at me. “You’re quiet.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “I’m thinking. There’s something you should know.”
Her brow furrows. “Is it about Marco?”
I shake my head. “It’s about Elena.”
She stiffens, her hands clasping tighter. I see her brace herself. “Did something happen to her? She hasn’t been answering any of my calls or replying to my messages.”
For a second, I consider keeping quiet—letting her hold on to this moment of peace before facing her brother. But I remember my promise—no more secrets.
I exhale slowly. “She was part of the attack, Aria. She led it. She meant to hurt you.”
Aria’s eyes widen and her frown deepens. She stays quiet for a full minute, as if processing the revelation. From the corner of my eye, I see her glance at her phone before her shoulders slump.
“I never fully understood why she so suddenly took an interest in me—why she was there just the right moment and then gone just as quickly. I figured she was involved in something shady. But… I was just desperately in need of a friend.”
“Aria-”
“I never fully trusted her,” she interrupts, her voice softer now. “But it still hurts.”
I take one hand off the wheel and place it over hers. “I hate seeing you like this.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath. “I’m sad, but I’m not surprised. I should have been more careful.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, glancing at her.
She snorts softly, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I just have a knack for trusting the wrong people. I met her at one of Marco’s parties. I should have known better.”
I allow myself a small smile. “You met me at that party too.”
Her head turns toward me, and I catch the small smile playing on her lips. “You’re different.”
I arch an eyebrow, a grin tugging at my mouth. “Am I?”
She leans over, careful to avoid my injured arm, and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “You’re special.”
As the car slows at a red light, I turn fully to face her. Our eyes meet in the hush of the moment, something unspoken crackling between us. I lean in, and the seconds our mouths connect, she parts her lips, welcoming me in. My tongue slides against hers, and she moans softly into my mouth.
Electricity surges through me—pure, unfiltered. The fire between us will never burn out.
A horn blares behind us. The light has turned green, but I don’t move. Instead, I deepen the kiss, claiming her. Another impatient horn snaps me out of it, and I pull away with a sharp exhale. The urge to get out and put a bullet in the driver's head—or at least break his damn arm—is strong.
Aria chuckles, brushing her thumb over my lower lip.
“Guess we’ll pick this up later,” I murmur.
She settles back in her seat, cheeks flushed with heat, her thighs pressing together. I don’t have to look to know how wet she is.
I grip the wheel, jaw tightening. I need to get through this damn meeting—fast. Them I’m taking her home and fucking her until she forgets her own name. Maybe tonight, we’ll use something from my closet.
I press down on the gas, the car gliding through the streets toward the place where Marco waits. My shoulder throbs with each turn, a sharp reminder that I’m still alive to feel it. I steal a glance at Aria, and suddenly, the pain feels like a gift. I have her—that’s all that matters.
When we arrive, Marco is already seated.
His head is bowed, his hair disheveled. The overhead lights flicker as we step inside, casting long shadows across the room. He looks like a criminal in an interrogation room—because, in many ways, he is.
He’s smaller than before. Not just physically, but in presence. The arrogance is gone. No blindingly bright suit, no suffocating cologne. Just a man stripped of everything, waiting for his fate.
He lifts his head when we enter, his eyes meeting mine. I can’t read his expression. I pull a chair for Aria, and we sit across from him. She shifts, straightens her back, and folds her hands neatly on the table.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her. The steady rise and fall of her chest. The way she holds herself—poised, composed, but I know better.
I take my time to reach out for the document I prepared before this meeting. It’s more than just paper; it’s the thing that seals a once uncertain fate. I open it slowly, scanning the contents one last time, and then I sign my name at the bottom.
The sound of the pen scratching against the paper is the only noise that breaks the heavy silence in the room.
When I finish, I slide the document across the table. It glides smoothly over the polished surface, stopping just before Marco.
His hands freeze momentarily, trembling just slightly, before he reaches out. He lifts the paper, eyes scanning the terms I’ve laid out for him. Aria and I watch in silence, both of us waiting for his reaction.
The seconds stretch on, thick with the weight of what’s to come. Then he exhales—a long, shuddering breath. Defeated.
I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, watching him. “You walk away. You leave the mafia. You leave Aria alone.”
His jaw tightens, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He doesn’t look up, and his focus is still on the paper.
“You keep your money,” I say, my voice steady. “I don’t want it. You can live out the rest of your miserable life in peace. But if you so much as breathe in my direction again, the deal is off.”
Marco’s fingers tighten around the paper, crumpling it slightly. He lifts his gaze slowly, but when he does, it’s to meet Aria’s eyes.
Like she can save him.
Like she would.
I glance at Aria.
She holds his gaze, but there’s nothing in her eyes now—no pity, no hesitation. Marco is no longer her family.
She tilts her head slightly, as if weighing something in her mind. Then she speaks, her voice calm and unwavering. “This is mercy.”
Marco flinches at the words, and her gaze never falters. “You deserve far worse for trying to kill my husband. You know that, right?”
I see the exact moment it sinks in—the realization that he has no power here. The sister he thought would always stand by him, someone he could manipulate, has finally turned her back on him.
He lowers his head again, staring at the paper. His shoulders shake, not with tears, but with the kind of rage that can only be suppressed by helplessness. At least, that’s what I can guess.
He swallows, his voice strained. “And my accounts?”
I smile, leaning back in my chair. “What about them?”
His eyes snap up, desperation creeping in. “My businesses. My shares. My men.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have men anymore, Marco.”
His grip tightens on the paper, his knuckles white. His voice wavers as he asks, “Then… what do I have?”
I shrug, unaffected. “Enough money to live like a king. Or a ghost. That’s entirely up to you.”
Marco stares at me for a long moment, the silence thick between us. I can see the fight in him—he wants to argue, throw the paper back in my face, and scream. But he doesn’t. He won’t.
Because there’s nothing left for him to fight for.
I stand, reaching for Aria’s hand. Her fingers slip into mine, as she rises beside me, her posture still perfect, unyielding. I glance back at Marco, who hasn’t moved an inch.
“As a final courtesy,” I begin, my voice cold, “I’ll let you know that we found the man who blew up Aria’s car.”
Marco’s breath hitches, but I don’t know why. He didn’t care enough about his sister to hunt the man down himself. So I don’t understand his reaction.
“Where is he now?” Marco asks, his voice shaking slightly.
I chuckle darkly, the absurdity of the question hanging between us. Someone tried to kill Aria, and I handled it. Does he really think that man is still walking around? “Properly dealt with.”
Beside me, I feel Aria stiffen, though she doesn’t say a word. I glance at her, her lips pressed tight, her fingers twitching slightly in mine. She doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t ask what ‘dealt with’ means.
I give Marco one last slap on the back, more of a shove than anything, before turning and walking out with Aria beside me.