Chapter 32
Nicole
The tension in the van is obvious as we ride to the Velvet Mirage. I sit beside Raffaele in the back, his leg bouncing anxiously beside mine. Tom's at the wheel, quiet as ever. The van's side panels are windowless, leaving only the rear door and front windshield to give any hint of where we're heading. I don't bother to look. It doesn't matter which road we take; the destination is fixed, but my fate—and that of everyone involved—feels like it's hanging by a thread.
Raffaele's nerves don't help. He's sweating, his hands twitching, and the jittery way he keeps adjusting his collar makes it clear: he's on edge. And when he's like this, he's unpredictable. I've had enough bruises from testing that theory to know better than to push him when he's wound this tight.
"Remember, Nicola," he says, his voice strained. "All we have is each other in there. We're in this together. That means we leave together, because if they kill us, they leave no witnesses."
His attempt at reassurance feels hollow, his nervousness bleeding through every word. He's still suspicious of me. He knows I could betray him at any moment, and honestly, he's right to think so. Part of me almost admires his survival instincts. Dino's words echo in my head: He won't leave the Velvet . I wonder how much of what Dino said was true. Could he be setting me up as well? Or was Raffaele, for once, right about something—there won't be any witnesses left when this is over. Either way, if taking Raffaele down means everyone else, especially Shane and Jaime, will be safe, maybe that's a price I'm willing to pay. Even if it means going down with him.
"We're here," Tom announces as he pulls into the parking lot.
We jump out of the van quickly, our steps in sync as we approach the side entrance. Dino is already waiting by the door. He gives us a nod, opens it, and walks away without a word, disappearing down the alley between the Mirage and the building next door. We slip inside, Raffaele closing the door behind us.
The hallway we enter feels like the backstage of a theater—narrow and industrial, with paths leading to the club's upper staffing areas, security rooms, and back entrances. The muffled thump of music leaks through the walls, growing louder as we head toward the main club near the bathrooms. Raffaele motions for us to stay close to the walls, avoiding attention as we pass the main dance floor and roped-off VIP sections. The place is already packed, the crowd thick with bodies, and the night is just beginning.
We reach the bar, tucked into an alcove with a darkened room above it, its windows blacked out. I glance up, heart racing as I spot the elevator-marked second-floor Skybox. Shane . He's right above me.
"Come on," Raffaele mutters, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he scans the crowd. He rounds the corner, and I follow, my stomach twisting in knots.
Dino is already seated at a booth, a bottle of champagne on ice and four glasses neatly set out. The moment I see him, some of the tension in my chest releases. For now, it's just another meeting. No bullets, no blood—yet.
We sit down, and Dino pours drinks for all of us. Raffaele and Tom remain vigilant, their eyes darting through the sea of faces in the club, always looking for something—or someone. I try to focus, but my gaze keeps drifting upward. Shane is so close, yet I can't do anything to warn him.
Dino hands me a glass, raising his own in a silent toast. I take it, my fingers trembling slightly around the stem. Whatever happens next, I have to keep it together. If I can play this right, we'll all make it out of here alive.
We sit for a while, Dino talking about the glories of America and how much Raffaele will like it once he's on top. But Raffaele seems distant and uninterested, his mind clearly elsewhere. His nerves are on edge, his eyes constantly scanning the club, looking for threats. He's jittery, and that makes me nervous.
"Hey, when does your boss get here?" Raffaele asks, his voice tense.
"He's on his way," Dino responds, taking a sip of his drink. "Relax, it's a process. Blend in—that's the only way you get close to him."
A waiter comes by and leaves another bottle of champagne and a bowl of popcorn. The normalcy of it feels jarring against the tension simmering beneath the surface.
Just then, Raffaele turns to me. "I don't like this. Something feels off. Do you feel it?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.
It all feels off to me , I think, but I keep my answer neutral. "I'm just along for the ride now, Raffaele," I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady.
Raffaele leans closer, his tone shifting to something almost sincere. "Nicola, listen… what I did to you, I want you to know…"
Before he can finish, something catches my eye. A shadow moving swiftly toward us—no, a man. My heart pounds in my chest. In an instant, he's standing to the side of the sofa, his eyes locking onto mine. Raffaele doesn't see him; the man is standing directly behind him. I see the gun rise, pointed at the back of Raffaele's temple, and I think, This is it. It's the end.
The gunshot breaks the slow rhythm of the club. My ears ring, and I close my eyes, bracing for the inevitable. But when I open them, Raffaele is still in front of me. Instead, I see Tom wrestling with the waiter on the floor, the gun going off again in the chaos. I can't tell who's hit, but I know this wasn't part of the plan.
Raffaele turns to Dino, his face contorted with rage. "You set me up?"
Before Dino can respond, Raffaele pulls his gun and points it at him. Dino raises his hands, staying completely still, not even blinking. Raffaele grabs my arm, yanking me up from the booth, his gun still trained on Dino.
"We're leaving," he hisses, pulling me with him as he backs away from the booth. His eyes flicker toward Tom, who is still struggling on the floor. "Loyal to the end," Raffaele mutters before turning back to Dino, keeping his gun on him until we're out of the booth.
The club is descending into chaos now. People are running, shouting, trying to push their way to the exits. Raffaele tucks his gun into his jacket as he pulls me through the crowd, and for a moment, I think this is my chance. If I can just get him away from the Skybox—away from Shane. But I cooperate, letting him drag me along, waiting for the right moment.
As we near an exit, Raffaele suddenly stops. He's face to face with someone. Someone familiar.
"Shane," is all I hear, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Raffaele reaches for his gun, and Shane moves faster than I expect, pushing past Raffaele and heading straight for me. He grabs me, pushing me down as he struggles with Raffaele. I try to see what's happening, but the crowd is thick, and everything is a blur. I hear a scuffle, and then Shane falls backward, crashing hard onto the floor.
"Get up, Shane!" I shout, scrambling to help him. He's dazed, but I manage to pull him to his feet. My heart is racing, panic rising with every passing second.
Raffaele stands over us, a sick smile on his face. As Shane steadies himself, Raffaele slowly pulls out his pistol, his eyes never leaving mine as he points it at Shane's head.
Time seems to freeze. This is it. I brace myself for the worst, but just as Raffaele's finger begins to tighten on the trigger, someone slams into him from the side, knocking the gun from his hand and sending him crashing to the floor.
I don't even get a good look at the person who saved us. All I hear is a voice telling me, "Get him out of here," and I don't hesitate.
"Thank you," I manage to gasp, pushing Shane toward the exit as fast as I can. Shane turns back, his face dazed, but something in his expression changes.
"Robert?" Shane mumbles, still disoriented, but there's no time for questions. I push him forward, weaving through the crowd as the chaos unfolds around us.
By the time we burst outside, the cold night air hits us like a shock. We're free, but the parking lot is a mess—police cars are everywhere, officers rushing inside as others try to contain the fleeing crowd. Shane leans over, gasping for breath, but I can't stop. I grab his arm, pulling him along.
"We need to keep running," I plead, the fear still choking me. "He'll come after us. He won't stop, Shane."
Shane cups my face in his hands, his voice soft but firm. "You're safe, Nicole. Look around—there are cops everywhere. They're here for him. He's not walking out of there without getting arrested."
His words are meant to comfort me, but I can't shake the feeling that Raffaele will find a way to slip through the cracks. He's always one step ahead. Always.
But then Shane points toward the front entrance. "Look," he says.
I turn and see Raffaele, handcuffed, being led into the back of a squad car. He looks defeated, but I know better than to relax just yet.
"You're safe," Shane says again, pulling me into his arms. I let myself melt into him, the weight of everything finally crashing down on me. "I love you so much," he whispers, his lips brushing my forehead. "More than you'll ever know. And from now on, you'll always be safe."
He kisses me, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe him.
The cold leather seat beneath me is a welcome change from the dungeon floor I'd grown accustomed to. I sit in the back of the squad car, my hands clasped tightly in my lap as I listen to Shane and Mike argue outside. Their voices are muffled, barely audible through the car's thick windows, but Shane's frustration is unmistakable. He's on edge, pacing back and forth as Mike leans against the hood of the car, arms crossed in defense. Despite the tension, I'm the calmest I've been in what feels like forever. For once, I know where I'm going and what's waiting for me when I get there. Even better, I know I won't be facing it alone.
Twenty hours later, after endless questioning, paperwork, and more waiting, we're finally released. Shane stays by my side the entire time, never once pressing me for answers or details. I'm grateful for his silence. He seems to understand that I'm not ready to talk, that I need time to process everything. He's careful with his words, offering little bits of normalcy to hold on to—he talks about Jaime and Marie, and the new nanny. But he never once asks me about what happened. Not yet.
As we drive back toward the estate, Shane glances over at me. "None of it matters right now," he says softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "Whatever you need, it's yours. If you want to get away, if you need space... anything."
I turn my head, watching him in the dim light of the car's dashboard. "I just need you," I say, feeling a faint smile tug at my lips for the first time in days. "Just promise to kiss me the moment we're out of this car, and I'll have everything I want."
Shane's eyes soften. He spots a gas station up the road and pulls in, parking the car in the first spot he finds. The engine cuts off, and without hesitation, he leans over the center console, his lips pressing gently against mine. The kiss is everything I've needed—soft, steady, a promise that whatever comes next, we'll face it together.
When we finally reach home, the house feels eerily quiet without Jaime's laughter filling the space. I take a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the grime and the memories of everything that's happened. Shane orders my favorite takeout, determined to make me feel safe and comfortable again. But despite his best efforts, the house feels incomplete. I miss Jaime. I need to see him, to hug him, to remind myself that the nightmare is truly over.
After the shower, I dry off and sit on the edge of the bed, my mind still a wreck from everything. For the first time in weeks, I check my phone. Multiple missed calls. A number in Italy. My stomach tightens as I listen to the voicemail. I fall back on the bed, tears running down my face.
It's Giovanni, and he's okay.