Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LEA
The world narrows to a single, sharp image. Moretti on the floor. Blake’s men materializing. Nico standing over his fallen enemy, magnificent in his half-dressed state. And me—wrapped in Nico’s jacket, my skin still humming from his touch, watching the scene unfold as if I’m floating above it.
The silence in the office is broken only by the ragged breaths from Moretti as he lies on the expensive carpet. His gun has been kicked away. Two of Blake’s men have their weapons trained on him, while Blake himself stands ready, waiting for Nico’s next command.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen violence.
But something has shifted inside me. The woman who entered this office tonight—the one hell-bent on revenge, who thought she knew exactly who the monsters were—is gone.
In her place stands someone who has crossed lines I never imagined.
I killed a man to save Nico. I used my body as a weapon. I helped bring down a crime lord.
What terrifies me isn’t what I’ve done. It’s how alive I feel from it.
Nico hasn’t looked at Moretti once since he hit the floor. His eyes are fixed on Julian, the bartender who betrayed him, now whimpering in the chair he’s been tied to. The intensity of Nico’s gaze makes me cold—it’s the face of a man contemplating how he will dismantle another human being.
“Get him out of my sight,” Nico says, his voice pure ice, nodding toward Julian.
“The warehouse, sir?” Blake asks, his tone professional.
Nico gives a single, curt nod. A death sentence.
Two of Blake’s men move toward Julian, who begins to sob. “Please, Mr. Varela, I didn’t have a choice. They threatened my sister?—”
“Nico, wait.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Every head in the room turns. Nico’s expression is impassive, a mask of cold power that dares me to challenge him in front of his men.
My heart hammers, but I take a step forward, pulling his jacket tighter around me, acutely aware of my nakedness underneath. Yet somehow, I don’t feel powerless.
“You caught me in a trap meant to kill you,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected.
“And you didn’t kill me. You showed me the truth.
” I glance at Julian, at his tear-streaked face, the absolute terror in his eyes.
“He was a pawn. A weak man who was used, just like I was. Don’t kill him. Please.”
Nico’s jaw sets. For a moment, I see the war behind his eyes—the ruthless crime lord battling the man who held me in his arms at the lake house, the man who chose to trust me. The silence stretches. Finally, he gives a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
“Change of plans, Blake,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.
His gaze moves to Julian’s arm, to the elaborate sleeve tattoo that covers it.
“He is so proud of that ink. Take him to the basement. I want it burned off his arm. All of it.” His eyes meet Julian’s, who has frozen in a new kind of horror.
“A permanent reminder of what happens when someone betrays my trust. Then get him out of my city. If I ever see his face in Chicago again, I will kill him myself.”
The mercy is so brutal it takes my breath away. Blake nods. “Understood, sir.”
Julian screams as Blake’s men drag him from the office.
With the traitor dealt with, Nico turns his attention to Moretti. He crosses to him and grabs him by the collar, yanking him up. “Where is Isabel meeting you? Give me her location.”
Moretti’s face contorts into a bloody grin as Nico lands a single, brutal punch. “Fuck you, Varela,” he spits. “I’m no rat. I’d rather die.”
“That can be arranged,” Nico growls.
“I have an idea.” Again, I surprise myself. I move forward, placing my hand on his arm, feeling the coiled power there. “Beating him won’t work. But I can get her to come to us.”
Nico turns to face me fully, surprise giving way to something deeper—respect. He sees what I’ve become: a strategist. His equal. “How?”
“Isabel thinks I’m her new protégée,” I say. “If she thinks this plan worked—that you’re dead and I’m some triumphant victim ready to fall into her arms... we use that. She also knows where my mother is. She has leverage.”
“And you think she’ll come to you?” There’s skepticism in his voice, but also interest.
I nod. “She wants me. She sees me as a trophy. She’ll come if I call. Especially if I say I need her.”
Nico listens, then gives a single, sharp nod. “Set it up.”
He trusts me. He’s ceding control of this crucial move to me.
Blake retrieves one of the burner phones from a drawer and hands it to me. My fingers are steady.
“Put it on speaker,” Nico instructs.
I dial the number Isabel made me memorize. It rings. Once. Twice.
“Yes?” Her voice is cautious.
I close my eyes, summoning every ounce of my ability to lie. When I speak, my voice is shaky, but with an undercurrent of dark victory. “It’s done. Nico’s dead.”
A pause, electric. Then Isabel’s voice, smooth and pleased. “I knew you had it in you, mija . Dante’s there? He confirmed?”
I glance at Moretti, who is watching me with pure hatred. “Yes. Nico never saw it coming.” I inject a note of hollow satisfaction into my tone. “Dante’s taking care of the aftermath. He told me to go to the safe place and wait for you.”
“You’ve made me very proud,” Isabel says. “We can begin our new partnership. Chicago is ours for the taking, unless… you don’t like me.”
I meet Nico’s eyes. He nods encouragingly. I play my final card.
“I do. I’ll be your partner, Isabel,” I say, letting my voice break slightly. “But on one condition. I want to see my mother. After what I did tonight... I’ve earned it. Bring her to me. Please. Once I know she’s safe, I’m all yours.”
The silence that follows is heavy. “Of course,” she finally says, her voice softened. “You deserve that reunion. There is a private viewing room at the Thorne Gallery downtown. It’s closed for an event I control. It’s secure. I can be there with your mother in two hours.”
“I will be there,” I promise. “Thank you, Isabel.”
The line goes dead. I look up at Nico. “The Thorne Gallery. Two hours.”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. “I know it well. Three exits, minimal security.” His eyes never leave mine as he gives orders to Blake. “I want the team in position within thirty minutes. All exits covered. No one moves until I give the command.”
Blake nods and steps aside to make the calls.
Nico crosses to me. His fingers trace the line of my jaw. “You did well,” he says softly. “But you know what this means.”
I swallow hard. “We’re going after Isabel. And my mother.”
He nods. “Are you prepared for what you might learn? For what might need to be done?”
Good question. Am I prepared to confront the woman who raised me, who ordered my father’s death?
“I need the truth,” I say finally. “Whatever it costs.”
Something like approval flickers in his eyes. “Then we should get ready. You can’t go looking like that.” He gestures to his jacket, wrapped around me.
“I’ll have Blake bring you something more appropriate from downstairs,” Nico says. “We need you to blend in.” I nod. “What about him?” I ask, gesturing toward Moretti.
Nico’s expression hardens. “He’ll be coming with us. Insurance. And when this is over,” he says, his voice a low threat to Moretti, “you and I will have a long, private conversation about Marco at the warehouse.” Nico’s eyes meet Blake’s. “Get him to the car,” he orders, turning away.
As Moretti is dragged from the room, Nico’s attention is back on me. “You’ve changed,” he says softly. “The woman who walked into my club months ago couldn’t have done all that you just did.”
I lift my chin. “She wouldn’t have needed to.”
A smile touches his lips. “But I think I prefer this version of you. The one who survives.”
“Is that what I am now? A survivor?”
“You’re whatever you choose to be. But right now, you’re my partner in this.”
Partner. The word resonates through me. “I’ll need a weapon,” I say, surprising myself.
Nico pauses, then nods. “Blake will provide one. Do you know how to use it?”
I think of Vincent falling at my feet. “Yes. I know how to use a gun.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in dark jeans, a simple black top, and a leather jacket that conceals the small pistol holstered at my waist. I barely recognize the hard-eyed woman staring back at me from the mirror.
Nico emerges from his private bathroom, dressed in an impeccable suit. “Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes.”
He steps closer. “Once we leave this room, there’s no turning back. You understand?”
“I know. But I need to hear it from her. I need to know why.”
He nods. “Then let’s go get your answers.”
As we leave the office, his hand finds the small of my back, a possessive, steadying gesture.
We walk toward the private elevator, toward whatever awaits.
I should be terrified. Instead, I feel oddly calm.
I’m not being manipulated. I’m choosing my path.
The elevator doors close, sealing us in together.
“Isabel has chosen her own tomb,” Nico says softly, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
A cold certainty runs through me. “Yes,” I agree. “She has.”
As we descend, I wonder what my father would think of me now, standing beside the man he once investigated, preparing to confront the wife who ordered his death. Would he understand that sometimes; to find the truth, you have to embrace the darkness?