Nico exhales. "That is why he sent me. Because I was too young, too eager, and too dumb to question him."
His eyes lift to Stephano, fury simmering there, but none of it meant for his brother. "The port deal was a cover," Nico says. "What Gustave really wanted was proof. He suspected Don Silvestre and Donna Margarita were working together. That they were the ones who orchestrated Don Leonardo’s death. He wanted evidenceto expose them both, to weaken Edoardo before Margarita could ruin him."
Even I suck in a breath. Donna Margarita playing puppeteer behind Edoardo's back was a dangerous game, but one I can absolutely imagine.
"I didn’t know any of this," Nico continues bitterly. "He just told me to keep my eyes open. I thought he was trusting me. That he finally saw me as more than your shadow, Steph."
"You were never just my shadow," Stephano murmurs.
Nico smiles, but looks soft and broken. "Maybe not. But at nineteen, it felt that way."
He continues. "I overheard a call between Silvestre and Donna Margarita. They sounded… coordinated. Too coordinated. Talking about leverage. Succession. Edoardo’s weaknesses. I thought I hit the jackpot. But instead, I stepped right into the trap."
My brows narrow. Even I didn’t see that coming. "What trap?"
Nico swallows. "Gustave didn’t just send me to watch Valverde. He staged a call—a fake one—something he knew Silvestre would intercept. A call hinting that the Contis had a spy inside Venezuela. That the spy—me—had found something that could expose Donna Margarita and topple their alliance."
The room goes still. Stephano turns deathly pale.
Nico’s voice drops. "It wasn’t a death order. Not exactly. It was a probe. A test. If Valverde and Margarita had nothing to hide, he’d just slap me around, toss me out, and kick me back to New York. But if they did have something to hide…"
"They’d kill you," I finish quietly.
Nico nods once. "Yeah. And that’s what Gustave was watching for. If they killed me, he’d have his proof. His outrage. His war. A Conti son murdered abroad? The Families would’ve united behind him—no questions asked."
Stephano’s throat works. His face turns gray.
Nico sighs. "Gustave wasn’t sure Valverde would kill me. That’s the part that stings. He didn’t know. He just… gambled. Sent me in as bait and waited to see what kind of monster snapped at me first."
I'm more shook than I like to admit, but I still catch something in Nico's eyes that tells me he’s withholding information, valuable information. Before I can grab on to that thought and voice it, Nico continues. "But Silvestre and Donna Margarita were smarter. They hacked my phone. They heard everything. They realized Gustave was playing them. And instead of killing me…" His voice shakes. "…they kept me alive. Because a living hostage gave them leverage. And Gustave?—"
"Had to play ball," Stephano finishes in a hollow voice.
"Yeah." Nico nods. "He sentmoney. He sent intel. He let them blackmail him. He let them keep me." He looks at Stephano. "He sent some of your programs to Valverde."
"Son of a bitch!" Stephano explodes, running his hand through his hair, "That's how Valverde got his hands on my software. I knew it." He stands abruptly, breath tearing in and out of him like he’s drowning. He turns away, shoulders rigid, fists trembling. "And you… fuck!" Steph rakes his fingers over his face, leaving angry marks. "You could have been killed."
"Steph—" Nico says gently.
Stephano’s fist slams into the wall. Plaster explodes, raining white dust over his knuckles. Blood streaks down his wrist. "I’ll kill him," he whispers. Not shouting. Whispering. Which is worse.
"No." Nico tries to sit up, but I push him back down. "Don’t you dare. He’s mine. And you’re his heir—youcan’t kill him."
"He sent you to die," Stephano snarls. "He chose you. Calculated you. Sacrificed you like—like?—"
"Like a pawn," Nico finishes. "Yeah. I know."
Stephano hits the wall again with the other hand. Blood smears again. He looks like a man whose bones are cracking under the weight of truth. I reach for him, but he jerks away, not from my touch, but from the reality that is suffocating him.
"He lied to me," Stephano chokes. "He fucking lied to me for years. Told me you vanished. Told me you were dead. And all this time, he knew. All this time, he let them keep you."
Nico’s eyes soften. "Steph. I’m alive. Because of you. I’m here."
Stephano shakes his head, eyes burning, voice broken. "No. You’re here despite him."
He presses both bloodied hands to his skull like he’s trying to hold himself together. I step forward and press my palm over his heart. His chest heaves once, a choking sound lodged inside him. This is the moment—the crack—the fracture that will make a king.
I tighten my hand over his heart, feeling every shuddered breath he drags in. He’s shaking. Stephano Conti, who walked through a burning base like a man born of hellfire, is shaking.
