Crack.
“This is for being a slimy, miserable little man.”Smash. “And this is for betraying Matteo.”
She tossed the shattered remains to the floor with finality.
“Andthat,” she said, standing tall, “Is for leaking that photo. For trying to spin some cheap lie like he’s using me. For thinking you could touchanythingwe’ve built and not get burned.”
Then she turned slightly and pointed back at me. “This man right here? He’s earned every goddamn thing he has. So congrats—you failed.”
Matt’s jaw dropped.
And then she turned to Theo, who was rather calm. “And you might want to watch your back with that one,” she said, nodding toward Matt.
Theo just nodded. The most serious I’d ever seen him.
And then she was marching away.
We all stood there, stunned. I glanced at Matt one last time. “Sucks about your phone, man.”
Alexander snorted, “Shame.”
We regrouped in a quieter private lounge, tucked into a corner of the club. Carlos waved us over, already surrounded by a few other drivers and their friends.
Nicola marched up to him, hugging him tight. “I need a drink.”
Carlos pulled back, eyebrows raised. “Oh God. What did she do?”
“Matt leaked a photo,” Lucia said cheerfully, because she was clearly riding the high of having a chaotic best friend. “Nic smashed his phone.”
Carlos looked appropriately proud. He bumped her shoulder. “Hell yeah, you did. Let’s get you that drink, Moretti.”
“About damn time,” she muttered, collapsing into the couch.
“You’re so badass,” Lucia said, flopping down beside her. “Like, terrifying, butinspiring. I want to be you when I grow up.”
Nicola cracked a real smile then. The tension eased slightly. Carlos flagged a waitress. Drinks started flowing, and slowly, the buzz of celebration returned.
I kept watching her. Trying to read her. Trying to figure out how much of tonight had actually shaken her.
And then, about an hour in, she leaned in and whispered, “Let’s go talk.”
She nodded toward a hallway lit by a neon sign pointing to the restrooms. My heart stuttered. I followed her in silence.
The hallway was dim and hushed, the music just a faint thump in the walls. A few modern art pieces hung crookedly on the plaster, bathed in low light.
She stopped and turned to face me. “Hey.”
My throat tightened at the softness in her voice.
“Hey, Princess,” I said quietly, trying to smile. My heart was a mess—thrumming too fast, too loud. Was this it? Was she going to end it?
“I wanted to talk…” she started, voice tentative. “I’m not good with feelings. Like,reallybad. But I need you to know it’s not you. Any of this—it’s not you.”
I exhaled, shoulders finally dropping.
“I’m sorry about the photo,” I said. And I meant it. Every syllable.
“No. Uh-uh.” She held up a hand, her voice sharp, “You havenothingto apologize for. That piece of shit violated your privacy. You didn’t do anything wrong, not a damn thing. Don’t eventhinkabout carrying that weight.”
