"She doesn't want to disappear." I move to the large, ornate desk, the polished wood gleaming in the dim light of the office. My fingers trace the cool surface. "She wants to be seen. To stay relevant. To exist in the public eye she desperately craves. We offer her a version of that. A public distraction disguised as a life. It's an offer designed to appeal to her fundamental nature."
"And if she refuses?"
He knows the alternative.
We both do.
"Then she becomes a problem. And I don't let problems linger until they rot. You know my methods. Unnecessary complications are removed. Efficiently. Discreetly."
Enzo nods. "She won't go quietly. She's not like the others. She has spirit. She'll fight."
"She doesn't have to go quietly. She just needs to fucking go. One way or another. My methods are effective. Regardless of her temperament."
The exit plan has worked before, for informants, for people with loose tongues who threatened to expose our operations. It's a proven strategy.
But Nikki Ricci isn't a witness in a courtroom. She's a brand. A face that sells chaos like its couture. A force of nature I hadn't fully anticipated. She's not built to disappear. That makes her dangerous and dangerously unpredictable.
I don't trust her. She's too chaotic, too impulsive. But trust isn't required. Fear will do. And I know how to instill fear.
I review the surveillance footage from earlier today. She moves through the garden with purpose, not panic. Her gaze isn't just restless; it's strategic. She lingers too long near the east gate, eyes tracking the perimeter cameras. At one point, she pauses by a guard on patrol, just long enough to clock the bulge of a sidearm beneath his jacket. She's not wandering. She's mapping. Calculating.
She's not giving up. She's thinking and planning. She's more intelligent, more resourceful, than I initially gave her credit for. And that makes her even more dangerous.
That night, she shows up unannounced to my office again. I told Enzo not to stop her if she wandered by. I wanted to see how bold she’d get.
She waltzes in like she owns the place, as if my office, my private sanctuary, is hers for the taking. She's wearing a silk robe, a vibrant red, the fabric clinging to her curves.
"Before you ask," she says. "I haven't made my decision. Not yet. I'm still weighing my options."
"Then why are you here?"
"To ask what happens if I pick option one and change my mind later," she replies, taking a slow step closer, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. "What happens when your puppet cuts her strings mid-show? What then? What happens when your carefully constructed illusion unravels on live television?"
I give her a faint smile. "Then you no longer get to choose your ending, Miss Ricci. And I no longer feel bound to offer you one. The consequences for rebellion are severe. And entirely irreversible."
Her eyes flash with a mixture of anger. "So that's how it is? No room for error. No second chances. Just absolute control. It's your way or the highway."
"That's how it's always been," I reply. "In my world, there's no room for mistakes. No space for improvisation. Not when lives and empires are at stake. This isn't a game you can simply walk away from, or rewrite the rules to suit your brand."
We stare each other down across the desk.
She doesn’t blink.
Neither do I.
And that’s when I realize she wants me to underestimate her.
But I don’t dare.
I see exactly what she’s trying to become.
And I already know how to destroy it.
CHAPTER 11
NIKKI
The sheer arrogance of that man is mind-boggling. He thinks he's so smart, so in control. But I saw the flicker in his eyes. I saw the crack.
