"No," he replies. "She's a mirror. And you're not liking the reflection you see when you look at yourself through her eyes. Or through her actions."
He's not wrong. Nikki is a huge disruption to my life. But not in the way I expected.
She’s not the one unraveling.
I am.
Every smile, every line she speaks toeing the edge of seduction is all deliberate. She's carefully aiming her best shots. And her target is my control.
"You think she's playing you?" Enzo asks.
I shake my head, a slow, grudging admission. "I think she might be winning. And I don't know how to stop her without breaking the illusion we're trying to build."
"You could end this," he offers, presenting it as a simple option. "Make her disappear. The old way. It would be… effective."
"Not without consequences."
The consequences would be monumental. Removing her now wouldn’t just burn the lie. I’d lose something I’m not ready to name.
The thought of her simply being… gone is unimaginable.
He shrugs. "It's up to you, boss. You're the one who gave her a stage. You put the spotlight on her and gave her the power."
He's right.
She’s a spark I lit myself.
And I’m the one standing in the middle of the fire.
CHAPTER 17
NIKKI
Today, we're in the car, gliding through the bustling streets of Milan. Tinted windows, soft leather seats, and enough silence to choke on. He hasn't spoken since we left his villa at Lake Como. Not since he furiously walked away from me as if I'd crossed a line.
Which, to be fair, I probably did. But I'm not sorry.
Not even a little bit.
I sense him watching me again. Not in a fun way, not in a "I want you pressed against this back seat of this car" kind of way, which honestly, I could totally work with. More like a "I'm calculating whether to kiss you or kill you" way.
Honestly, though? I could work with either because this 'in between' state is driving me absolutely insane.
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. My skin is crawling with the silence. He thinks this quiet intimidation works on me. He's wrong. It makes me want to scream, or better yet, make him scream.
“Do you hate me?” I ask. The words come out quieter than I intended, like they’ve been scraped raw from someplace real.
“No.” Just one syllable, and somehow worse than silence.
It’s a lie.
Or maybe it’s a truth too cold to warm me.
"Liar," I reply. "Your mouth says one thing, and your entire body language screams 'I want to throw her out of this moving car but I can't because she's a valuable asset.' I have to tell you, Rafe. This is getting to be exhausting, trying to keep up with your internal monologue. Just admit it. I annoy the crap out of you. Probably more than anyone else in your entire criminal empire. You would love to be rid of me."
"I don't hate you," he repeats. He finally turns his head to look at me. "But I do think you're reckless and unpredictable. You remain a variable that threatens to disrupt every carefully laid plan I have. You're a massive headache to me."
"Yeah, yeah…I know and I've heard it all before. This was all your idea, remember? Didn't you say yourself that you needed a new story, a way to kill the mystery ofMafiaBae? Well, guess what? This is the story. And it's pretty damn entertaining, if you ask me. We're giving the people what they want. Drama with a touch of scandalous romance."
