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I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, watching him. “You walk away. You leave the mafia. You leave Aria alone.”

His jaw tightens, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He doesn’t look up, and his focus is still on the paper.

“You keep your money,” I say, my voice steady. “I don’t want it. You can live out the rest of your miserable life in peace. But if you so much as breathe in my direction again, the deal is off.”

Marco’s fingers tighten around the paper, crumpling it slightly. He lifts his gaze slowly, but when he does, it’s to meet Aria’s eyes.

Like she can save him.

Like she would.

I glance at Aria.

She holds his gaze, but there’s nothing in her eyes now—no pity, no hesitation. Marco is no longer her family.

She tilts her head slightly, as if weighing something in her mind. Then she speaks, her voice calm and unwavering. “This is mercy.”

Marco flinches at the words, and her gaze never falters. “You deserve far worse for trying to kill my husband. You know that, right?”

I see the exact moment it sinks in—the realization that he has no power here. The sister he thought would always stand by him, someone he could manipulate, has finally turned her back on him.

He lowers his head again, staring at the paper. His shoulders shake, not with tears, but with the kind of rage that can only be suppressed by helplessness. At least, that’s what I can guess.

He swallows, his voice strained. “And my accounts?”

I smile, leaning back in my chair. “What about them?”

His eyes snap up, desperation creeping in. “My businesses. My shares. My men.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have men anymore, Marco.”

His grip tightens on the paper, his knuckles white. His voice wavers as he asks, “Then… what do I have?”

I shrug, unaffected. “Enough money to live like a king. Or a ghost. That’s entirely up to you.”

Marco stares at me for a long moment, the silence thick between us. I can see the fight in him—he wants to argue, throw the paper back in my face, and scream. But he doesn’t. He won’t.

Because there’s nothing left for him to fight for.

I stand, reaching for Aria’s hand. Her fingers slip into mine, as she rises beside me, her posture still perfect, unyielding. I glance back at Marco, who hasn’t moved an inch.

“As a final courtesy,” I begin, my voice cold, “I’ll let you know that we found the man who blew up Aria’s car.”

Marco’s breath hitches, but I don’t know why. He didn’t care enough about his sister to hunt the man down himself. So I don’t understand his reaction.

“Where is he now?” Marco asks, his voice shaking slightly.

I chuckle darkly, the absurdity of the question hanging between us. Someone tried to kill Aria, and I handled it. Does he really think that man is still walking around? “Properly dealt with.”

Beside me, I feel Aria stiffen, though she doesn’t say a word. I glance at her, her lips pressed tight, her fingers twitching slightly in mine. She doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t ask what ‘dealt with’ means.

I give Marco one last slap on the back, more of a shove than anything, before turning and walking out with Aria beside me.

27

ARIA

I wake up feeling warm, wrapped in the lingering comfort of last night. My body aches most pleasantly, a gentle reminder of Nicolas’ touch—his hands, lips, and weight pressing into me.