Chapter 5 Back to Reality

The following day did hit harder than the previous one.

Aria all but stumbled into her kitchen at 6:30 a.m., half-awake, dragging a chipped mug everywhere she went like it was a lifeline. Her roommates were already gone: one working the early shift at a hospital; the other, for sure, still at her boyfriend's place. The apartment stood silent, save for the hum of the old fridge and the soft rumble of rain outside.

Her back ached. Her legs were sore. The brain felt like it had done a hundred rounds in a ring last night.

But she was up. And she was going back.

God help me, she thought, staring into the dark swirl of her coffee. I said I wanted a fresh start. I didn't expect it to come wrapped in Armani and danger.

She still did not tell anybody about Niccolo.

Not about the night. Not about the job. Not about the way he looked at her like he knew her darkest secrets and wanted to be one of them.

Buzzing cell phone.

Nico: Driver's outside; you're late.

Her heart did a flip and it danced with annoyance, nerves, and something far more reckless inside her chest.

She didn't respond.

Instead she threw on a black dress and a blazer, touched up her makeup, and grabbed her bag; when she stepped outside into the waiting car, her driver merely nodded curtly before pulling into traffic.

She then stared outside the window for the entire ride.

No texts, no music, and no distraction.

Just a creeping feeling that this job she'd taken was not going to be just a job.

As she entered the office, Niccolo was already at his desk, hands busy hurrying over words on the keyboard with brutal focus.

He pretended not to look up.

"You are late," he said.

"By six minutes," she said sweetly.

He said, "You don't get six minutes."

"It was punctuality part of the contract I didn't realize."

Finally, his eyes looked up, and her heart was literally stopped by a blazing flame of heat cast in his glance.

"Is about discipline," he said.

She forced a smile. "I'm not a soldier, Mr. Moretti."

"No," he said, "but I am a general. And I don't keep people around who can't follow orders."

A beat of silence passed. Aria lifted her chin.

"Then why am I still here?"

He stood slowly and walked around the desk. "Because you're the first person who's ever talked back to me without trembling."

She chuckled softly, though her heart pounded. "Give it time."

"I'm counting on it."

The morning was filled with very punishing schedules. Meetings after meetings. Emails were loaded in faster than she could ever clear. Aria pressed on, determinedly working non-stop, to show that she was not just some pretty girl who had managed her way into this lion's den.

But Niccolo wasn't making it easy.

Every time he passed by her desk or spoke anything in that baritone commanding tone, she'd feel something inside her coiling tighter.

She hated it.

But she liked it.

And that is the problem.

Around noon, a woman blew through the office unannounced. Blonde and long-legged, she wore a red designer dress as if it had been painted on.

Aria looked up from her screen-and instantly wished she hadn't.

The new woman aimed those eyes toward Aria like she was a bug to crush.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Aria Bennett," she said standing tall to offer a handshake with him. "Mr. Moretti's assistant."

The woman ignored her hand. "You are new."

"I am."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm Isabella. Nico's... business associate."

There was too much familiarity in the way she said his name. Too much ownership.

Before Aria could say anything, Niccolò stepped out of his office. His expression just tightened when he saw Isabella.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"You never do," she purred. "I thought I'd surprise you."

Aria was beginning to excuse herself when Niccolò's voice called for her to stay.

He turned back to Isabella. "We're done here. Whatever you came to say, say it through your father's lawyer next time."

Isabella's face darkened. "You're making a mistake."

"No," he said coldly. "I'm correcting one."

She shot Aria a glare that could've turned stone to ash before striding out, her heels clicking like gunshots.

Aria blinked. "Wow."

Niccolò looked at her. "Ignore her."

"Is that your ex?"

He tilted his head before answering. "Does it matter?"

"Only if she's going to murder me in my sleep."

He smirked. "She wouldn't dare."

Aria shook her head and turned back to her desk, muttering, "So much for a well-earned quiet nine-to-five."

---

She rode silently back home that night, as usual. But these thoughts were no longer merely for her survival.

They were for him.

About the fine line between danger and desire and how quickly that line was blurring.

She knew what sort of man Niccolo Moretti was: ruthless, controlling, untouchable.

But when he looked at her, all she could feel is that fire threatening to burn through her defenses.

And down somewhere, a voice whispered: One night wasn't enough for either of you.