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No One Plays Me

Hypothetical Question: If you had to swap places with any fictional villain, but you had to commit to their evil plan, who would you choose?

Nate

Daddy Death: I have to work late tonight. I’ll be over around 8. Should I pick up some dinner? Chinese?

Queen Carina: Don’t bother. I’m not well.

I frown at my phone. She’s sick?

Daddy Death: I’ll bring some soup over now. Fuck work.

Queen Carina: No!

Queen Carina: I don’t want you to get sick.

Daddy Death: I don’t care about that. Let me take care of you.

Queen Carina: I want to be alone…

Queen Carina: Please, Nate?

Her words stop me in my tracks. Carina never asks for space—not like this. My chest tightens, but I know I can’t push her.

Daddy Death: Okay…

Daddy Death: Get better soon, Princess.

The three dots appear for a second like she’s about to reply, but then they vanish. No response.

Something feels… off.

I try to shake it off and lose myself in work, focusing on the merger with Sanctuary. My first task is cutting dead weight, starting with their director, Siena. But my concentration keeps slipping, her texts replaying in my head like a bad tune I can’t shake.

By seven, I’ve stopped pretending to concentrate. The unease is a living thing now, crawling under my skin.

She wanted space. She asked me not to come.

But I’m going anyway.

It’s a quick ride on the Circle Line, a short walk, and a stop to pick up some soup. If she’s sick, I’ll leave it on the doorstep and walk away. No harm in checking.

By the time I reach her street, it’s just after eight. The air is sharp and cold, my breath misting before me.

And then I see it.

She’s not alone.

There’s a man in her house.

He’s sitting far too close to my girlfriend for it to be innocent, his body angled toward her in a way that makes my blood boil.

She doesn’t look sick. There’s no pallor to her cheeks, no tissues scattered around, no sign of the flu she claimed to have. Why the hell did she lie to me? I squint, trying to make out what they’re both staring at on her laptop. I catch a glimpse of something—my last name.

What. The. Fuck.

My hands tighten around the soup container as fury burns through me. I set it down on her doorstep, my movements rigid, then melt into the shadows to watch.

Pulling out my phone, I type a message.

Daddy Death: I left some soup on your doorstep. Get well soon.

Through the window, I see her freeze. She snatches her phone, her expression shifting to something I can’t quite place—guilt? Panic? She scurries to the door, flinging it open and scanning the street like she knows I’m watching.

She grabs the container, brings it inside… and throws it straight into the bin.

The sight ignites something feral in me. A rage I haven’t felt in months surges to the surface, sharp and unforgiving.

She lied to me. About being sick. About needing space.

About everything.

And now, there’s another man in her house, sitting close enough to touch her, with my name on her screen.

I watch her for a long moment, my breathing steady, my mind cold and calculating.

Whatever game she’s playing, she’s about to learn something very important.

No one plays me.

And when I’m finished, she’ll regret ever trying.

Carina

“You good?” Enzo’s soft Italian American accent wraps around me like a comfort blanket, grounding me for just a moment.

I don’t hesitate as I toss Nate’s soup into the bin. My heart thuds once—too hard, too fast. What if it’s poisoned?

No. That doesn’t track. If Nate wanted to kill me, he's had months to do it. He wouldn’t need soup to do it. And it’s not like he knows I’m onto him.

Still, the gesture sticks in my chest like a splinter. The idea of him leaving it on the doorstep, respecting my request for space, makes something in me itch.

I shove that thought down. This is a manipulation. Another trick is to make me trust him. That’s all it is.

“I’m fine,” I grit out, forcing the words past clenched teeth. The words taste like a lie.

Enzo watches me carefully, his green eyes narrowed. “Are you sure your boyfriend’s playing you?”

“Yes!” I snap, my temper fraying.

His expression doesn’t change. “You sound really convinced, bella 4 .”

I stiffen. “He knew.”

Enzo leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Or maybe he didn’t.” His voice is maddeningly calm. “His whole business is built on taking down men like Edward. What if—”

“No.” I cut him off, my fingers curling into fists. “He knew. He had to.”

Because if he didn’t…

The thought slams into me like a freight train, sudden and brutal.

His logic tries to worm its way into my mind, but I can’t let it take hold. No. Nate must know. He has to. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

What if I’m wrong?

I force that thought down as quickly as it comes, shoving it into the void of everything else I refuse to feel.

I force my breathing steady. I can’t afford doubt. Not now. “Are you on board or not?”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “ Certo 5 , bella . You know I’d do anything for you.”

And I do.

Enzo is the only reason I exist outside of my old life. The man who erased me so thoroughly that I became a ghost.

Other than Nate, no one knows me better than Enzo.

“Remember what you were like when we first met?” he asks, his lips curling into a teasing smile.

“Terrified?”

“You really were,” he says, laughing. His laugh is warm, easy, the kind that makes lines crease around his mouth. “Like a little lamb stumbling into a wolf’s den.”

“I’d only been out in the world for a few months!” I protest, though the memory still twists in my gut.

“I know, bella . That’s what makes it funny. You’re so different now.”

The words settle heavily between us, a quiet reminder of how far I’ve come—or how far I’ve fallen. My mind drifts to that first meeting, the moment I walked into his life as nothing more than a trembling, desperate girl clutching a bag full of cash.

My jeans had felt out of place, too plain against the polished, expensive sharpness of the men sitting at the tables in the dim lights of the bar.

I hadn’t belonged there, and they all knew it.

Enzo had sat in the far corner, a glass of amber liquid in one hand, his presence impossible to miss. Even sitting, he had radiated authority, a man who didn’t need to command respect—it was just given.

My legs felt like lead, but I’d forced them to carry me forward. He’d seen me before I reached him, his sharp eyes locking onto me, sizing me up. He leaned back in his chair, face hard but his eyes betrayed his curiosity.

“E cosa abbiamo qui? 6 ” he drawled; his voice smooth but edged with danger.

“I—I need your help,” I’d stuttered, gripping the strap of my bag tighter.

He’d motioned me closer.

When I reached the table, he didn’t speak right away. He just studied me, his gaze dissecting every inch of me, seeing straight through to my desperation.

“And what makes you think I can help you, bella? ” he asked, his voice like silk laced with steel.

“I need someone to make someone disappear. From every database. Every system. Like they never existed,” I’d said, my voice trembling but determined.

His eyes widened. “Quite the request. And what makes you think you can afford me?”

I pulled the envelope of cash from my bag and slid it across the table, my hands shaking. It was everything I’d had.

He glanced at it, then back at me. “You’re serious.”

I nodded. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You don’t strike me as the ‘anything’ type.”

Heat had rushed to my cheeks, but I didn’t look away. “I’ll prove you wrong if I have to.”

His gaze held mine for a long, suffocating moment. Then he chuckled, low and dark. “You’ve got guts, bella . I like guts. But guts won’t save you if you’re wasting my time. Understand?”

I nodded quickly. “I understand.”

“Good. Then let’s talk about how I’m going to make you disappear.”

I shake my head, the memory fading as a small smile plays on my lips.

I hadn’t known just who he was then. I’d known what he could do for me, but had I known he was Mafia, I might have thought twice about approaching him.

I’m glad I didn’t.

I’m not that trembling girl anymore. I’ve learned to play the wolves’ game—and win.

But right now, I feel like I’m losing.

“I want to make them hurt.” My voice is quiet, the words spoken mostly to myself, but Enzo hears me.

His expression hardens.

I called him as soon as I’d calmed down enough to think straight. He hopped on the next flight. No questions. No hesitation.

Because no matter how tough I am now, I can’t do this alone.

Daddy Death: How are you feeling now, Princess?

Queen Carina: Like shit.

Daddy Death: You sure you don’t want company?

Queen Carina: No… I want to be alone.

Queen Carina: Sorry.

I haven’t seen Nate in three days. Three long, torturous days.

I miss him. I hate that I miss him.

Damn him for breaking through my walls. Walls I spent years building, piece by painstaking piece.

Damn him for making me need him.

Damn him for weaving himself into every corner of my life, for making me crave his presence like an addiction I can’t shake.

He looks nothing like his father. That’s what I keep telling myself. And his personality? It never rang any alarm bells. Not once. But now I wonder if all of it was a mask. A carefully constructed facade tailored to make me fall for him.

Did they build him in Edward’s image? A charming monster, his true nature hidden behind kindness and empathy until the moment the knife was poised at my back?

I don’t know what’s real anymore. Every memory we made, every quiet moment in the dark, every whispered promise—it all feels tainted. A lie. And yet, there’s a small part of me, buried beneath the bitterness and doubt, that wants to believe the Nate I knew wasn’t a creation. That he wasn’t my enemy all along.

I feel so lost.

And I hate myself for it.

“ Bella. ” Enzo’s voice cuts through the storm in my head.

“You ready for this?” Enzo’s tone is calm, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, a quiet warning that what we’re about to do won’t be easy.

My eyes lift to the ceiling, fixing on the small crack in the paint above me. I stare at it for a long moment, forcing a slow, steady breath from my lungs.

“Ready.”

Enzo steps closer, his presence pressing in. “Liar.”

I flinch.

Because he’s right.

I’m not ready. I’m barely holding myself together, teetering on the edge of a breakdown I can’t afford to have right now.

His hand brushes my arm, the touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m here to help. You know that, right?”

“I don’t need help.” The words snap out sharper than I intend. “I just need to make them pay.”

Enzo sighs, amusement and frustration flickering across his face. His dark green eyes crinkle in the corner as his expression softens. Enzo is quite honestly terrifying to look at, if you don’t know him. He’s got a hulking frame, a hard edge to him that tells you he’s seen some shit, and his skills with both a knife and a gun are unparalleled. But… he has this softer side, one that not many people see, that’s the reason I felt comfortable with him from early on. It’s like he has a neon sign above his head flashing: Will absolutely shoot you without hesitation… but also brings snacks for his friends.

I turn away from his scrutiny, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he insists firmly. “It’s loyalty. Maybe you should try trusting someone for once.”

The words cut deeper than they should, and I hate that he knows exactly where to hit me. I’ve trusted before. Look where it’s gotten me.

“Trust is a luxury I can’t afford,” I mutter.

Enzo sighs, the sound heavy with exasperation. “If you’re going to burn the world down, bella , at least let me bring the matches.”

The thing is, he would absolutely help me do it. He has responsibilities back in America, men who rely on him, but he’s here, without hesitations, helping me see through my admittedly amateur revenge plan. I’m surprised he’s not told me I’m being stupid.

A bitter laugh escapes me despite myself. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grins, his usual cocky charm slipping back into place. “What can I say? I’m a poet.”

The humour fades quickly, replaced by the weight of what’s ahead. I force myself to look at him, to meet the unwavering determination in his eyes.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say, my voice steadier now.

Enzo nods, his expression unreadable as he steps aside, gesturing toward the door.

The path ahead feels like stepping into the lion’s den. But I’ve made my choice.

I roll my shoulders back, steeling myself. There’s no turning back now.