NICCO

Pale morning light drifts through my bedroom windows. Groggy and half-asleep, my hand stretches across the mattress in search of her warmth and softness. To my dismay, I find nothing. The sheets are cool to the touch. Her spot is vacant.

That is when disappointment hits.

My eyelids open fully, and I am instantly awake as I come to realize that—I am alone in bed. Fuck. I roll off of the mattress and shuffle out of my bedroom. A gloomy, gray London sprawls before me as I pass by a panoramic windowed view of the city. The gloom and grayness reflects my mood. It is soon confirmed by the emptiness of my apartment that Aria left without saying goodbye. Disgruntlement coils around my heart, but her flighty disappearance is not a surprise to me. It is actually predictable. I likely pushed too hard last night, and Aria withdrew from me as she typically does.

Frustration courses through me. Frowning, I drag a hand through my hair. Just when I thought Aria was about to trust me a little more, she retreats. It is always one step forward and two steps back with this girl. I do not know why I keep wasting my charms and efforts on her. Yet, all of my very valid arguments to stay away from my assistant seem to fade with each passing day. I did not know it was possible to feel so much for someone in such a short amount of time.

I wonder if this was how my father fell for my mother?

Was it love at first sight for them?

Or did their affections burn, long and slow, over time?

Either way, I miss Aria when she is not with me. Like right now. She makes every minute at Jackson & James all the more bearable. I must give credit where credit is due. As of late, I may be putting in more effort as manager, but everything in my department is running smoothly thanks to her. She is so fucking incredible. Each time Aria enters my vicinity, I find my gaze drifting toward her. She is the moon to my tide. Her mere existence calls to me. I have become far too invested to turn away at this point. I am beginning to care about life in a whole new way, and I am not only talking about this troublesome infatuation with my beautiful gray-eyed assistant.

Last night, Aria told me that people can change only if they want it bad enough. I must agree. Because I have become one of those people. Yet, it is not tragedy that fuels my transformation. For reasons that I have yet to comprehend, the shift extends beyond my feelings for Aria. Believe it or not, over the past few weeks, I have been delving deeper into the behind-the-scenes operations of Jackson & James.

In fact, whenever I am not preoccupied with Aria, I have been busy working in my office and at home. And, when I say "working," what I really mean is—investigating Ted Manning. Mamma always taught me to study my enemies before I strike. I started looking into Manning's connections and dealings since Aria's ill-fated run-in with him on her first day. At the time, I was only preparing to put the man in his place for behaving like such an asshole in front of my girl. But Ted Manning is turning out to be far more than a nuisance at work. He may very well be a threat to mia famiglia. I have discovered a bit more than I bargained for where Manning is concerned.

Mamma's warning has been lingering on my mind: Your papà is right. Do not take our privileges for granted, mijo. There may come a time when it will be up to you to stand against everyone who wishes to strip us of our good fortune...

Cappuccino in hand, I sit down on the couch and pull out my laptop. I check my emails and scroll through the latest reports from Todd. The ones detailing the Gravinski deal. Upon closer inspection, I have discovered that the Gravinski deal is not really tied to anyone named Gravinski.

The cash that has been flowing into this account can be traced back to several inconspicuous sources. Sources that, I believe, are shell companies. Sheep farms. Beauty salons. Restaurants. All fake businesses that have probably been housing profits from illegal sources. The bulk of their financial transactions seems to originate from offshore accounts.

As I look over the damning documents on my screen, red flags keep popping up one after another. A grim look falls over my face. For now, I believe I have gathered sufficient evidence. It is time to confirm my theory. I pick up my phone to make a call.

After several rings, I hear a familiar grunt from the other end of line, "Pronto."

"Ciao Monte," I murmur, "sono Nicco."

The rest of our conversation continues to flow in Italian.

My father's most-trusted bodyguard asks, "What can I do for you, patatino?"

His nickname for me is both endearing and embarrassing. I am may be a grown-ass man of twenty-six, but, in Monte's eyes, I will always be a little potato.

"Tell me," I demand, "the real reason why Papà sent me to Jackson & James."

I chose, intentionally, to contact Monte about this matter instead of my parents. I already know that they will not give me a straight answer.

"Your father did so to help you become a man. It was past time for you to learn how to stand on your own two feet."

I scoff, "That is what Papà told me as well, but I think he had something else in mind."

There is a pause on the line. Monte then urges, "What makes you say that?"

I explain, "I have been looking into Manning's background these past few weeks, and I suspect that he has been helping one of his clients at the expense of Jackson & James."

"Be more specific."

"They are attempting to funnel dirty money through the Gravinski account. To legalize otherwise illegal assets."

Another pause.

This time, though, there is a trace of approval in Monte's reply when he mutters, "Bravo, Nicco. Your parents and I were wondering how long it might take you to figure this out."

A scowl tightens across my face. I knew it. My instinct was right. "So... Papà assigned me to this post with a hidden agenda, after all."

"But of course," Monte grunts again. "Your father has been eyeing Manning for quite some time. It may be necessary to intervene and do some damage control before things get out of hand."

Concern furrows my brow. "What do you mean?"

"Your father and I believe the Gravinski account can be traced back to the Beltráns."

"The Beltráns?"

"Sì, are you familiar with Alvin Beltrán?"

"No, I am not."

"His father was an old associate of your grandfather. From Colombia."

My grandfather, Vincenzo Vitale, only had one kind of relationship with the Colombians that I know of. More pieces click in place. My jaw locks. "You mean... the cartel?"

"Precisely. I believe his son was recently released from prison. He was supposed to serve ten years for drug trafficking. They got him out early through their connections. Alvin's son may be the one driving this new money laundering channel for his family."

My pulse picks up speed as understanding sets in. "I was not sent to Jackson & James for a fucking paycheck, was I?"

"No," Monte answers swiftly, this time, in English, "your father expects you to take care of this little problem for him. Get it done, Nicco. Or else we will all suffer the consequences."

***

ARIA

After slipping away from Nicco's place, my mind becomes a mess. Every nerve feels frayed as I make my getaway. Yet, this 2 am walk of shame—well, more like Uber-ride of shame—back to my flat also leaves me feeling strangely bereft. There's a new kind of hollowness inside. Because I didn't want to leave Nicco's side, like, at all. This regret seems to be the only thing strong enough to push against the memories threatening to pull me under. Lately, my demons have started clawing at the door, and it's all I can do to hold them at bay. I can no longer deny it. My mind has been avoiding every fucked-up thing that happened at Hawkins for far too long, and I'm beginning to suspect that there's only so much pain the human heart can carry before it breaks.

Something has to give.

With heavy feet, I drag my sore, spent body up the stairs to my tiny studio apartment. The light clicks on the moment I walk in the front door. I wince as my vision adjusts to the sudden brightness. In the same second, my eyes widen with dismay when I see Appa sitting on my couch.

Shit.

My dad has a spare key to my place in case of emergencies, and he sometimes stops by without texting. His impromptu visits already annoy me under normal circumstances, and I'm definitely not in the mood to deal with him in the dead of night. "What are you doing here, Appa?"

My dad's arms are crossed over his chest. He looks very displeased. "I forgot a flash drive here last time. I came to retrieve it."

I frown. "Your flash drive couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?"

"I needed it for work."

"Why are you still here?"

Appa glares at me. "Because it was getting late, and you weren't answering any of my texts or calls. I felt worried."

I shrink under his scrutiny, feeling about two inches tall when I mumble, "I'm twenty-four years old, Appa. I didn't realize I still had a curfew."

Right on cue, he snaps, "Age doesn't matter. I'll always fear for my daughter's safety. Where were you all night, duwa?"

I do what I do best. I lie to him, "I was... working. Late. But, as you can see, everything's fine. I'm home now. Safe and sound. You should head out and get some sleep."

"You shouldn't stay out so late next time."

"I know," I agree with my dad, clinging to the alibi I texted him earlier, "but my team and I have some important deadlines coming up. We were working overtime. Then, we went out for drinks."

"You were out drinking," he challenges with a look of disbelief, "until now?"

I manage to nod with a straight face. "Yes."

As always, I had no choice but to make shit up. Appa would never approve of what I'm really doing in my free time. Can't say I blame him. Fucking my boss isn't exactly something I want announced to the world. I don't approve of my behavior, either. But I also hate being lectured like some sixteen-year-old who broke curfew. That's why I always end up sweeping the truth under the rug. The truth about tonight. And the weekend I spent in Nicco's apartment. Appa still believes that I went on a two-day getaway to Bath to meet up with some old schoolmates from Hawkins. At this point, I'm swimming in a pool of white lies.

"Didn't you just go to a happy hour? Too much alcohol isn't good for you," chides Appa.

If only he knew how much I drank back in my freshman year of college.

"You're right, I should tone it down," I assure him. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

Appa's dark eyes linger on me for a moment before he releases a sigh. "It's alright. I know you are a smart girl. You are also an adult now. I shouldn't treat you like a child."

He gives a pause then. A hesitant look appears on his face as though there's more he wishes to say but doesn't know how to proceed.

I prompt, "Yes?"

Appa clears his throat awkwardly. "I noticed that you seem a bit off your game lately. Is everything alright? You can talk to me if there is something on your mind."

"I'm fine. Everything's fine," I reply while averting my gaze. "I'm simply tired, you know, from work."

The last time I tried to talk to my dad about something that mattered ended in disaster. I don't trust him anymore. Or my mum.

"Are you sure?"

I hum, "Mm-hmm."

I was seventeen the last time I opened up to my parents. I'd been deeply depressed because of Jaime and borderline suicidal after Maya's death. For the first time ever, my grades were starting to slip. Appa asked me what was going on in school. I didn't dare tell him about Jaime. I was too scared to speak up. Jaime was known to be a dangerous, vengeful fucker, after all. But I told my dad about Maya's fatal accident and how much I missed her. I even opened up about the bad dreams that kept returning every night.

Instead of offering support, Appa lost his shit and told me that my friend's death was no excuse to ruin my future. He then called Māma about it so that she could set me straight. It was always mind over matter with them. My mum warned that I'd worked too hard to fuck up my college apps over some dead girl. They sent me to a therapist who put me on antidepressants. The meds turned me into a zombie. I became numb inside.

You'll have a lifetime to grieve your friend after graduation, Māma had reprimanded me, but you only have one chance to get into the right college.

Exactly, my dad had interjected during our FaceTime call, your mum is right. For once. You're about to graduate high school. Don't lose sight of the finish line right before you cross it.

My seventeen-year-old self didn't know any better, so I took their advice to heart and threw myself into my schoolwork, pushing aside the worst of my grief and anguish to focus on my future. I was accepted to Princeton, UCLA, and Yale. Much to my parents' disappointment, however, I turned down Princeton and Yale. After the hellish years I endured at Hawkins, I was adamant about attending UCLA. I had very good reasons for avoiding Princeton and Yale like the fucking plague, and I refused to explain them to anyone.

My decision to go to UCLA was the first and only time my parents caved to my demands. Once I moved to LA for college and broke free from my parents, I stopped popping pills and started fucking around and drinking to numb the pain instead.

With a crease between his brow, Appa starts, "Aria—"

An epiphany hits me just then. I realize, now, that I've been spiraling ever since Maya died. I simply never allowed myself to process all the terrible, hurtful emotions.

Because my parents never gave me the chance to feel them.

Staring Appa right in the eye, I don't let him finish, "Do you mind if we chat tomorrow? I'm kind of exhausted, and I need to wake up in three hours for work."

Appa frowns. The worry in his eyes has yet to fade, but he agrees to my request, "Of course. Get some rest."

"You, too, Appa."

As I head toward my bedroom, he suddenly calls out, "Wait."

I glance over my shoulder. "Yes?"

"There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. I know this is rather sudden, but..."

"What?"

Appa grimaces. "Work is sending me to Shanghai in two days for an extended business trip."

My eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"I'm expected to be out of the country for three weeks. Maybe longer. If needed."

But...

We had plans to travel to Cornwall later in the summer.

I remind him, "I thought we were going on holiday together?"

"I know, I am sorry. Maybe we can still go if I come back early enough."

"Hopefully."

Disappointment sinks in, but I'm used to it. Appa has always prioritized his work above all else, and, as much as I resent my dad for being such an insensitive hardass, I still crave his attention and approval for some reason.

He looks at me expectantly. "I feel bad. I know you were looking forward to our trip."

"It's alright, I understand."

"I'll make it up to you."

"I know."

We both know this is a lie, but Appa is too prideful to be honest, and I'm too tired to call him out.

He coughs uneasily. "Good night, Aria."

I sigh. "Night, Appa."

We part ways for the night. He heads out the front door, and I go to my bedroom. The moment I close my bedroom door, I throw myself onto the mattress. I suddenly feel like crying. I resent Appa for never being present when I need him. I also don't want him to go to Shanghai. And I miss Nicco.

That's when I hear a chime on my phone. For a moment, anticipation flutters in my chest.

Is Nicco texting me?

Eagerly, I grab my phone to check the notification. A grimace tightens across my face. Disappointment strikes again. The message isn't from my boss, after all. I scan the text, and my mood takes a sharp downward dip. Dread immediately surges through my veins, and my heart lodges in my throat.

Unknown Sender: Hello, Ari. Did you miss me?