"I don't need your followers thirsting over me," he replies. "Whatever that means." He picks up his glass, swirls the liquid. The ice clinks, a sharp, cold sound.
The ice swirling is a tell of Rafe's I quickly picked up on. It means he's uncomfortable, unsettled. Every glass swirl is a point in my favor.
"Too late," I say, shrugging. "Own it. Embrace your innerMafiaBae. It's your destiny, Rafe. One you were always meant to be."
I watch him, and I swear, I finally see it. The flicker. The glitch in the matrix. A fleeting tightening around his eyes, a barely perceptible clenching of his jaw. He's not unaffected by me after all. He's just very, very good at pretending.
I can't resist pushing him. I lean forward, real slow, as if I'm about to whisper something dirty, something illicit, my words dropping. “I could make you go viral again… for something way hotter than a grainy background cameo.” My gaze drops to his lips, then back to his eyes. The tension in the air is thick,suffocating, yet thrilling. It's a game of chicken, and I refuse to blink first.
His expression doesn't change. But his grip on the glass tightens, the knuckles turning white. I sense the heat radiating off him, a dangerous warmth that reaches me even across the table.
"Careful," he grits out. "You're not immune to consequences. You're playing a very dangerous game and you clearly don't understand the stakes."
"Oh, babe," I lean back, taking a slow sip of my Spritz, trying not to make a face at the taste. My voice is soft, almost a purr. "I understand the stakes far better than you give me credit for. I've been living with stakes my entire life. They just didn't come with private jets and designer shoes."
It's the truth, the ugly truth about Florida trailer parks and scraping by, and it's a direct challenge to his carefully constructed perception of me. It's a glimpse of the real Nikki, the one who fought for every single follower, every single dollar, without any mafia connections.
He stares at me, and for a long moment, the air crackles between us, thick with unspoken words. His eyes, usually so guarded, flicker with something I can't quite decipher. Surprise, perhaps. Or a grudging respect. Or maybe just a fleeting recognition of a kindred spirit, two people playing parts we didn't audition for, both of us in too deep to back out now.
The physical space between us shrinks, not because either of us moves, but because the emotional intensity pulls us closer. I feel a strange pull, a current that flows between us, something dark and potent.
It's terrifying.
And exhilarating.
I crave more.
He suddenly stands, the movement breaking the spell. "We leave in ten minutes," he states. The crack is gone and his wall is back up.
Well, damn. That was fun while it lasted.
"What if I'm not done posting?" I want to keep pushing, keep finding those cracks.
"You're done when I say you're done," he says.
He walks away, leaving me sitting alone, buzzing and entirely too alive. Because he thinks he's in control. He thinks he's pulling all the strings.
But maybe… maybe I’m not just the headline.
Maybe I get to write the story this time.
CHAPTER 14
RAFE
Two days later at Lake Como…
An eerily quietness descends over Lake Como, broken only by the soft lapping of water.
Andher.
The sound of her humming drifts from the infinity pool on the terrace. I should be inside, in the comfort of my office reviewing the upcoming itinerary for our public appearances in Milan. Or preparing for tomorrow's staged breakfast shoot, where we'll fake domestic bliss for a carefully chosen photographer.
Instead, I'm standing in the doorway watching her. She floats like a damn goddess, stretched across an inflatable pink lounger in my pool.
Lake Como glitters behind her, a vast mirror reflecting the last rays of the sun. The water is calm, glass-smooth. And Nikki Ricci is barely contained by a black bikini made from dental floss.
She continues to hum, off-key and carefree. Completely oblivious to the heat she radiates, or perhaps, completely aware of it. With Nikki, it's impossible to tell where the real ends andthe performance begins. She's a master of illusion, a performer so natural that even I find myself questioning everything.
