Of course, he would say no. My best friend here enjoys being an emotional martyr. I, on the other hand, avoid those kinds of situations or feelings. I’m the type to never let you in. Never give you a weapon you can so easily use against me.
Annoyance sparks to life, dragging a deep breath into my lungs, I try to shake it off. It’s not Nico. Everything is pissing me off tonight. I reach out and grab a drink of my own when the waiter passes by us. My eyes fixed on the sea of color-coordinated fabrics—gold, red, and white.
“Where were you?” Nico asks through gritted teeth, his nose slightly flaring with each word. I shrug, contemplating what I should say, only to end up telling him most of the truth, omitting the part where Safra kissed me. “I needed air, you know, I hate being trapped for too long.”
Nico nods before dragging a hand down his face. “Where’s T?”
Hearing his name pulls everything I’m trying to bury straight to the surface. The memory of the kiss makes my lips tingle all over again. I swallow hard, making my Adam’s apple bob with effort.
“Do I look like his handler?” I snap at him, my words coming out harsher than I intended them to. But whatever, it’s not like I can take them back. I bring the glass towards my lips and swallow a large gulp of the champagne. The flavor dances on my tongue, crisp and sweet, bubbles tickling the back of my throat. There’s a quick pause between us before I add, “He should be around, doing his job.” Using air quotations, I lean into my friend, reeling in my anger that seems impossible to shake. “I’m sure he’s handling it,” I add, chuckling at my own pun.
Nico doesn't laugh, though.
But it doesn’t bother me, I’m also focused on something else entirely. My fatal attraction. The way my body still vibrates from the ghost of his proximity. A cruel reminder that—I’m very much attracted to a man like him. To Thiago Safra. Someone who plays the game just as much as his dad. Nico can’t see it, but I can. After all, I’m his personal bitch. I know from experience what they are both capable of doing. The truth is bitter to swallow and heavier to bear when you’re the one who sees reality for what it is.
“Do you think he knows what the fuck that was?” Nico asks, pointing a finger at the stage where Shiloh stands with Peter’s arm draped around her shoulder and a smile plastered on her face. She looks tense, her blue eyes far from here even though she’s grinning from ear to ear. An illusion, one that the Ice Queen is trying hard to sell.
A scoff escapes me, despite my best attempt to hide thesilent ‘I told you so’;my facial expression betrays me. How trusting of him to think Thiago wouldn’t know, and as always, keep us out of the loop. To expect anything different would be adisappointment. That thought has me dragging my gaze over my best friend, something akin to pity and disgust forms at my chest, and I vomit the words, “What do you think, bird brain? That he wouldn’t?”
Nico's response is a glare.
One that cuts through me like a dagger. I hate what this place has done to us. My nose flares, preparing myself for a fist. For anything. But Nico doesn’t move. He only looks at her with a nauseating look on his face. One that screams,“I'm heartbroken.”
I knew it would end this way; this is their life—to them, we are just entertainment. We’re just pawns. Wearedisposable. For him to expect anything else is foolish. Not saying that what Shiloh and Nico have isn’t real. It’s just not feasible. And for Nico to think that she wouldn’t be married off is concerning.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Ezra looking over at us. Beside him, dressed in all black, is Wyatt, who looks just as surprised as we both were.Could it be? That they also didn’t know? Odd.My phone vibrates again, the sensation pulling me out of my head. I don’t check it; I rarely do anyway, unless I need to, and right now, I don't need to. I know enough to know whatever it is —is more bullshit.
The celebration continues around us, the elite continue to mingle and dance while the music plays softly. A melody drifts in the air, making people dance and smile. Not me. Thankfully, it’s not long before the celebration is cut short. And like the true pets that we are, our leash is pulled.
Ezra walks over to us, hands inside his black pants, and he tips his head to the side, motioning for us to follow him. My stomach churns with the anticipation building inside me. Anxious butterflies take flight. Given how long we’ve been doing this, you would think I’d have grown accustomed to it. News flash… I still haven’t, and maybe the real issue tonight is this nagging feelingthat tugs at me whenever Safra is near. My heart lurches inside my chest, blood rushing through my ears like roaring waters. The last thing I want to do is be around Safra tonight, not after what happened outside. Not when I can still feel the weight of his lips on mine and, despite the champagne, the taste of mint still lingers from Thiago’s tongue. I wonder how they will celebrate tonight’s announcement, and my answer comes in a wrong turn. Instead of taking us down the stairs that lead towards the red doors, we’re guided towards the library. Surprisingly, it’s just us.
The five amigos…
Nico, Ezra, Wyatt, I, and right on cue—Thiago.
“What’s up?” I’m the first to ask, hoping for a quick meeting, wanting out of the close space, where his scent soaks up the air, burrowing deep into my lungs. Everyone looks tired, with dark circles and even hollower eyes. Things have been so chaotic ever since June’s death, and then Nico’s arrest, followed by Brad’s suicide, which we all know was a fucking hit. There’s no way someone as narcissistic as that asshole would have the balls to take himself out. Then there’s that other problem; my secret, the one I've harbored alone for quite some time. Unsure what to do with it—it’s not like I can go and tell anyone. Especially not Nico.
Ezra drags a finger around the edge of the mahogany desk as he walks towards the drawer and pulls out a cigar. “I need your services.”
“Services?” I arch a brow as Nico begins to dissociate, his face unreadable as always, as he lets his mind drift away. “What he is saying is we need you to go undercover,” Wyatt adds in, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before leaning into the seat. “I think whoever killed Brad is part of Costa Mar.”
“And we care?” Nico asks, his voice surprising me, my eyes tracking his deliberate steps as he saunters over to the bar and pours himself a drink.
This time, it’s Thiago who answers. “We don’t have to care, but his mother does. And now my father does.”There goes Daddy’s prince, playing the games of the elite, letting us know where we stand. “We just need you to get into the underground fights. The coach is a dead end. Whoever pulled the strings, pulled back.”
I almost forgot about Coach Jensen's involvement in the blackmail. Turns out, being tortured for twenty-four hours motivates people to talk. But he didn’t say much that mattered, only that he was given the assignment by their club president. To get a job at Villalargos and keep tabs on the players and donors, which he did. The issue is he doesn't know who the president is, and neither do we. And honestly, I don’t care for any of it. Unfortunately, I’m forced to by them and byher. This is the only way to keep Nico safe from all of the vultures wanting to destroy him. Too bad they still have their claws deep inside him, and no matter how much I’ve learned, I’m no closer to getting us out.
“What’s the point of me fighting?”
“Getting close to Costa Mar donors,” Thiago replies flatly before turning his face towards the balcony. “I think there’s a mole within us.”
“Like in this room?” Nico asks.
Thiago shakes his head, his hand tussling his perfectly kept waves. “No, not in this room, but the team.”
“So why are we pursuing Costa Mar?”
Ezra plops on the large chair sitting behind the desk, propping his feet up as he takes a deep inhale of the cigar. “We think whoever killed Asher, Brad, and June is attached to Costa Mar.”