9. 9 Tori
9: Tori
Nico’s car is as sleek and shiny as his lies. Leather seats, tinted windows, and a faint scent of something expensive and poisonous—like cologne bottled just for men who enjoy ruining lives.
I sit stiffly in the passenger seat, my hands folded in my lap like some prim and proper trophy wife. The dress he forced on me is stunning, emerald green and hugging in all the right places, but it feels like a costume. Every inch of fabric is a reminder that I’m playing a part, one I didn’t audition for and sure as hell didn't want.
He wouldn’t tell me anything else about my parents, or who I am. Instead he woke me up this morning, had me shower, and when I came out I was met by some woman with a case of makeup. I was dolled up, hair done, and then placed in this dress with the promise of meeting my father today.
I don’t trust a damn thing that’s happening right now.
Nico's chilling voice breaks the silence, startling me momentarily.
“You understand what I expect from you, don’t you?”
“Smile, nod, and pretend I think you hung the moon?” I reply, unable to keep the venom out of my tone.
Nico chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Good. But let me make one thing clear.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, swiping the screen with a flick of his thumb before holding it out to me.
A photo fills the screen.
Alicia .
My heart stops, then kicks back into gear, pounding so hard it feels like it might break my ribs. She’s tied to a chair, her face covered by her hair, but I’m sure it’s bruised. Her clothes are torn, but what catches my attention most washes me cold. There’s a bomb strapped to her chest, the wires looking too real, too final. I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet Nico’s eyes. He’s watching me, the same way a snake watches its prey.
“I’ve been patient with you, Tori,” he says, his voice dangerously soft. “But if you even think about stepping out of line here…” he changes the screen to the text thread where ‘blow her up’ sits typed out and ready. “…I’ll hit send, and your little friend will go up in flames. Do you understand?”
For a moment, all I can hear is my pulse, a deafening roar in my ears. Then I force myself to nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“Say it,” he commands, his voice like iron.
“I understand,” I manage, the words scraping out of me like glass.
“Good.” He slips his phone back into his pocket, then leans back in his seat. “You better put on the performance of your life, sweetheart. Make me believe it. Make him believe it.”
I’m not an actress, Nico. I was studying cosmetology, and then financing. Nothing about improv there.
How the hell am I supposed to pull this off?
The rest of the ride is suffocatingly quiet, save for the occasional honk of a horn or the distant wail of a siren. I stare out the window, watching the city blur past. My reflection stares back at me, but I hardly recognize myself.
We pull up outside a restaurant that looks far too posh for some meeting with the likes of Nico. It's probably the kind of place where the appetizers cost more than my rent. Nico steps out first, circling around to open my door like a proper gentleman.
The irony almost makes me laugh. Almost.
I take his offered hand, plastering a smile on my face as I step out of the car. It feels foreign, this act of pretending. But I know how to fake it. I’ve been doing it my whole life.
Nico leans in close as we approach the door, his breath hot against my ear. “Remember, darling. One wrong move and she’s dead.”
“Got it,” I murmur, my voice syrupy sweet. “You’re the love of my life, my sun, my stars, my everything. Did I miss anything?”
His grip tightens on my arm, a silent warning. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
We step inside the restaurant, the smell of overpriced entrees and polished wood assaulting my senses. It’s quieter than I expected, the hum of hushed conversations blending with the clink of silverware. The kind of place where no one raises their voice above a polite murmur, even if the restaurant was on fire.
Nico’s grip on my arm tightens as he leads me through the maze of tables, each one occupied by people who probably don’t have bombs threatening their best friends. My stomach churns but I keep my face blank, letting him play puppeteer.
Then I see him… my father. He’s seated at a corner table, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his features. He doesn’t look up as we approach, his focus locked on the leather-bound menu in his hands. The picture of nonchalance, like he has all the time in the world and absolutely no patience for wasting any of it.
My eyes scan his face, looking for any similarities, but I don’t immediately notice any.
“Sit,” he says, the single word clipped and disinterested. He doesn’t even glance at us, flipping a page of the menu with the kind of carelessness that feels deliberate.
I’m sorry, but shouldn’t he be more excited to see his missing child?
If what Nico is saying is true, then I’ve been missing for twenty-two years.
Nico pulls out a chair for me, all performative chivalry, then takes his seat across from the man. I sit beside Nico, stiff and silent, my back ramrod-straight.
The silence stretches, broken only by the rustle of the menu in Diablo’s hands. I focus on breathing evenly, resisting the urge to fidget.
Don't twist your fingers.
Don't tap your leg.
And absolutely do not randomly—and repeatedly—pop your lips.
Diablo’s menu snaps shut, as he finally decides to look up. His dark eyes settle on Nico, his expression a mask of disinterest that doesn’t fool me.
He's agitated.
“You have five minutes,” Diablo says coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Make them count.”
Nico smiles—no, smirks. It’s infuriating how he manages to look smug and charming all at once, like he’s just been told he’s the crime lord of the year. “I appreciate you making time for me,” he says smoothly, his tone carrying just enough humility to not sound mocking.
Diablo doesn’t even blink. “You’re here because I allow it. Don’t mistake that for kindness.”
Oh, he’s a joy. And he’s meant to be my father?
I keep my gaze downcast and my thoughts internal. There’s no point in drawing attention to myself, especially when the air between these two feels like it might ignite any second. When I imagined meeting my father, never once did I envision this.
Well, no shit. No one would dream of this.
No one would imagine their father is the crime lord of the century.
Nico leans forward, his elbows resting on the table like we’re at a casual dinner instead of a gang boss negotiation. “I couldn’t help but notice the little... situation the night before last,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial.
Diablo raises a single eyebrow, his expression unimpressed.
“You mean the attack on your hideout,” he says flatly.
“Exactly,” Nico replies, his grin widening. “An attack orchestrated by some of your men and the Iron Triad, no less.”
I stiffen in my seat. I know I speak English, I know I understand what they’re saying, and yet I have no idea what’s going on. What the hell is Nico getting at? What does he want ?
Diablo doesn’t bother denying it. “The matter has been handled,” he says, his tone making it clear the conversation could end there.
“But what if it wasn’t?” Nico presses, his eyes gleaming. “What if your involvement were to... leak? I think I’m owed something here, Diablo.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses Diablo’s face, but he hides it well, leaning back further into his chair. “Owed? Please. I owe you nothing. And don’t think that threat settles well with me.”
Nico chuckles. “It’s not a threat. I’m just saying that wars are messy, and neither of us really wants one. You overstepped, Diablo.” He makes a show of shrugging, as if the very idea is laughable.
Diablo’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening as he considers Nico’s words. “The man responsible is dead,” he says, his voice sharp. “You have nothing to worry about. This discussion is over.”
Dead? Who? Blaze? Ryder? Thorne?
The rest of the conversation sounds muted as my ears ring, picturing each of the men I love dead. Bile threatens to rise as my stomach turns. It takes everything in me not to break down and cry. But I don’t know that it’s really them he’s referring to, and I’m clinging to that thought to save me.
“What if I told you,” Nico begins, his voice dripping with faux innocence, “that I found your daughter, that she's my wife, and that night, you put her in danger?”
The room feels like it drops ten degrees. Diablo’s head snaps toward him, his eyes narrowing into slits.
So he doesn’t know we’re related.
“You’re lying,” he says, his voice low and lethal. “My daughter has been missing since birth. You wouldn’t even know who she is.”
Nico’s smirk deepens. “Oh, but I do.”
Before I can process what’s happening, his hand snaps up, signaling Marcus, who’s been lingering by the door like some kind of shadow. Marcus strides forward, carrying a file that he places into Nico’s waiting hand.
I watch in horror as Nico flips it open and slides it across the table to Diablo. “See for yourself,” he says smugly.
Diablo hesitates for only a moment before picking up the file. His eyes scan the contents, his expression shifting from disbelief to rage. I can catch a glimpse of its contents, noting some pictures of me and a picture of the woman I’d seen in the photo that Nico had stashed in the box.
And that’s when Diablo looks at me.
His gaze is sharp, piercing, as if he’s trying to peel away every layer of my being with a single look. I don’t flinch, but I can’t stop my mind from racing.
The bridge of his nose—it's the same as mine. The shape of his ears, the curve of his jaw... even his damn eyes. I see it all now.
This is truly my father. What a great way to finally meet him. Maybe we can bond over shared trauma and mob wars.
Fuck me, man.
My mind can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if a man like this raised me. Cruel, dark, cold, lonely. None of it sounds good.
His eyes narrow further, suspicion and recognition mingling in his expression. “Her?” he says, his voice barely more than a growl.
Don’t worry, buddy. I don’t want to be related to you either.
“Yes, her,” Nico replies, his confidence practically oozing out of him.
Before Diablo can say another word, the restaurant door bursts open. The sound is loud enough to make my heart jump, and I turn to see the last thing I expected—or maybe exactly what I was hoping for.
Blaze, Thorne, and Ryder storm in, their faces set with a mix of fury and determination. For a moment, time seems to freeze, the chaos of the situation hanging in the air like a loaded gun.
Their eyes lock on me like I’m their North Star.
I swear guys, your timing has got to be the worst. But also—God, am I happy to see you.
Blaze is the first to speak, his voice rolling out low and gravelly, “We’re taking her.”
His words cut through the tension, and he doesn’t even bother looking at Nico or Diablo. His focus is solely on me, like nothing else exists in this room except the distance it would take for him to get to me.
I see Diablo stiffen from the corner of my eye, his gaze snapping to me and then flicking to Nico, then back to the boys. It’s like some piece of a puzzle has clicked into place, and he’s all the happier for it.
Perfect. Because this situation clearly wasn’t stressful enough.
Nico doesn’t miss a beat. Calm as ever, he leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath against my ear. His voice is a venomous whisper as he lifts his phone out of his blazer pocket—just enough for me to see it—his thumb grazing over the send button.
“Get rid of them,” he hisses under his breath, “Or Alicia dies. One press, Tori. That’s all it takes.”
My stomach twists, nausea rolling through me. The image of Alicia—tied up, battered, and strapped to a bomb—burns behind my eyelids. I force a deep breath and try not to lose it.
Thorne takes a step forward, his dark eyes fixed on mine as I stand. His expression is raw—relief, love, desperation—all tangled together.
“Tori,” he says softly, his voice trembling as he reaches for me.
For one agonizing second, I want to let him touch me. To collapse into his arms and let him carry me away from this nightmare. But I can’t.
Dammit, Tori. Why did you ever agree to that date with Bren?
We could be sitting on the couch watching Studio Ghibli and eating all the unhealthy snacks we want. But no , here we are trying to save your best friend.
I shove him back, harder than I mean to, the motion jerky and ungraceful.
He stumbles a step, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Tori, what are you—”
“You shouldn’t have followed me!” I snap, my voice sharp, colder than I’d like it to be.
Blaze’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes narrowing. “We’re not leaving without you.”
“Why not?” I shoot back, channeling every ounce of venom I can muster even though it hurts to do so. “Why do you even care? You three have done nothing but ruin my life. You think I’d ever love guys who made me miserable for years?”
Ryder flinches, his bright blue eyes widening like I just sucker-punched him. His usual smirk is nowhere to be found, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.
God, please tell me they don’t believe me.
The words feel like shards of glass ripping through my throat, but I force them out anyway. “You were my bullies. The ones who made me feel like I was nothing. So why don’t you just turn around, leave me alone, and let me live my life finally?”
The look on Thorne’s face nearly shatters me. His expression crumples, and I can see the pain etched into every line of his jaw. I know he’s reeling in regret about high school, succumbing to his insecurities—thanks to my words—and hurting inside as I stab at his heart.
Blaze growls under his breath, his fists clenching. “Tori, stop.”
Diablo’s voice slices through the air like a whip, “Enough.”
The room goes still. Even Blaze freezes, his head snapping toward the man who now seems ten times more dangerous. Diablo rises slowly, his imposing presence casting a shadow over the table.
“I’m certain that I told you to leave,” he says, his tone sharp as a blade. “You should’ve listened.”
Ryder’s lips twitch, almost forming a smirk, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well, listening isn't really our thing.”
Diablo’s dark gaze sharpens, and for the first time, I catch a glimpse of the fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You’re playing a dangerous game. Leave now, or you won’t walk out of here alive.”
“We’re not leaving without her,” Blaze snarls, stepping forward without so much as a care for his safety.
Panic surges in my chest. Now it's not just Alicia's life in my hands but Thorne, Blaze, and Ryder's too, with Diablo’s threat hanging in the air.
Time to win an Oscar, Tori.
Nico shifts beside me, his hand tightening around the remote, propelling forward faster.
“Stop it!” I shout, my voice cracking.
All eyes snap to me, and the weight of their collective stares makes it hard to breathe.
“Just stop,” I say again, quieter this time. My hands are trembling, and I press them against my sides, hoping no one notices. “You’re making this worse. Just... go.”
Blaze shakes his head, his dark eyes burning. “No.”
For a moment, I can’t tell if I want to cry or scream.
Both. I want to do both, please.
Instead, I turn to Diablo, who’s looking at the men I love like they’re bullseyes at a shooting range.
“They’re leaving,” I say firmly, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me.
Diablo raises a brow, unimpressed. “Are they?”
“They should be,” I snap, glaring at the three of them, who clearly have no sense of self-preservation. “But apparently, they’re idiots.”
Nico chuckles softly under his breath, and I have to fight the urge to stab him with my fork.
Why the fork?
Because three puncture wounds are better than one!
Diablo exhales, rubbing his temple like this entire ordeal is giving him a migraine. “You have one minute to get them out of here,” he says, his voice low and final. “Or I will.”
The clock is ticking, and I’m on the verge of unraveling.
For all that is holy, will you guys just do what I say for once?
One time, guys. That’s it.
I know what I have to do, but the words I’m about to say feel like poison clawing its way up my throat.
I force myself to look at the three of them, drawing on every ounce of steel I have left. “You’re pathetic,” I spit, my voice cold and venomous. “All of you. Clinging to some stupid idea that I’m yours, like I’d ever want that. Like I’d ever want you after everything you put me through.”
Blaze freezes mid-step, his dark eyes narrowing like I just slapped him. Thorne’s jaw tightens, a flicker of pain flashing in his gaze. But Ryder... Ryder tilts his head, something unreadable flashing across his face.
I take a shaky breath and deliver the final blow. “I thought I was done with you all, but you just keep dragging me back. Don’t you get it? I don’t want you. I never wanted you.”
I let the silence hang for a second too long, then twist the knife deeper, looking straight at Ryder. “Not even you, Blue.”
The words feel like fire on my tongue, burning away any hope they might have left. It’s cruel, but exactly what I need to say to make Ryder understand.
His eyes widen, just for a moment, and I see the flicker of recognition. The name—Blue—is a thread between us, tied to a memory I hope he hasn't forgotten.
His lips part slightly, his brows furrowing as the pieces click into place.
I don’t mean these words. He knows that, right?
He has to know it.
“Guys,” Ryder says suddenly, his voice firm but quiet. His eyes never leave mine as he grabs Blaze’s arm and jerks his head toward Thorne. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” Blaze growls, his eyes blazing with fury. “Are you kidding me? We’re not leaving her!”
Ryder’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, his grip on Blaze ironclad. “She doesn’t want us here.”
“She’s lying!” Blaze snarls, but Ryder’s voice cuts through, sharp and commanding.
“She’s not lying,” he says evenly, his gaze still locked on me. “Listen to her words, man.”
Thorne hesitates, his dark eyes flicking between Ryder and me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Ryder turns to him, his expression calmer than it has any right to be. “Trust me. We need to go. Now.”
Blaze glares at Ryder like he’s lost his mind, but Ryder doesn’t flinch. He’s already tugging both of them toward the door.
I watch them go, my heart shattering with every step they take. Blaze throws one last look over his shoulder, the pain in his eyes almost too much to bear. Thorne doesn’t look back at all, and I don't know if that's somehow worse.
But Ryder... Ryder pauses at the threshold, turning to meet my gaze one last time. His blue eyes soften, just for a moment, and I see it—the understanding, the promise.
He understands.
He's going to figure this out and then they're all going to come back for me.
Then he’s gone, and the door slams shut behind them.
The silence that follows is deafening. Nico leans back in his chair, his smirk smug and infuriating.
“Cruel,” Diablo remarks. “Just like me.” It’s as if he’s tallying all the ways he and I are alike, as if to prove to himself that I really am his daughter.
I’m just standing here, hands trembling at my sides, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Good job, Tori. You just ripped out your own heart to save someone else. Now you just have to sit through the rest of this meeting, pretending like that vital organ isn't missing.