Chapter 8 A Dinner of Secrets

Aria had no clue what to expect from the message that came in.

> From: Niccolo Moretti

Time: 3:07 p.m.

Tonight. 8 p.m. - 148 Rue Noir. Dress the part.

No other context. No other explanation. Just a location and a time.

She had begun staring at the screen, willing it to spit out the second part of the message.

It didn't.

For a moment, she thought to ignore him.

Then she thought that maybe she would show up impossible to forget and leave him choking in regret.

She went with the second.

---

The street was one of those hidden away into a Paris-style alley. Almost low-profile, a place very few would find it without searching really hard for it: black façade glimmering slightly from the oily-looking street lights.

Rue Noir. No sign. No street number. Just a careful man in a dark suit, nodding, opening the door, and whispering, "Welcome, Ms. Bennett."

She refused to move just yet.

Dim, luxurious, and incredibly quiet. Every table had a candle, a secret, and a good view of whoever was sitting across from it.

And there, at the distant corner table, sat Niccolo Moretti in a sleek navy suit that seemed so custom-made for him, engineered to ruin her composure.

He rose as she walked toward him, his eyes trailing over her in a manner, which gave goosebumps on her body. "You aren't late," he said.

"And that this isn't a date."

"Neither is it," he said, looking at her.

"Then why the dress code?"

He smiled, slow and confusing. "Because if I'm going to feed my enemies in public, I want to look good doing it."

She raised an eyebrow. "So I am your enemy now?"

"No," he said, "but someone at this table might be."

She turned and froze.

There was a third chair.

And in this chair, sipping red wine as if it were blood, sat a woman Aria had never seen before.

Sleek black hair. Bronze skin. Red lips. A look that could cut diamonds.

"Aria," Niccolo said, "this is Dahlia Valenti."

Valenti.

The name from the surveillance file.

She felt a constriction in her throat.

The woman extended her hand. "It's a pleasure, really. I've heard so much about you."

Aria shook her hand slowly, disguising her frazzled state. "All good things, I hope."

"Oh, darling," Dahlia said, "the most interesting things are seldom good."

The dinner was a silent chess game.

Dahlia used innuendos; Niccolo said little. Aria spoke little and listened more with instincts ringing like a live wire.

By the second course, Dhalia had made three observations.

1] Dahlia was dangerous, but not in the sense of a man with a gun; she was a woman with leverage and secrets.

2] Niccolo did not trust her. He respected her. He feared what she could do.

3] She knew who Aria was by name.

Moreover," Dahlia continued while swirling her wine, "Did you know your charming boss once orchestrated a buyout that bankrupted an entire family of politicians just to get even?"

Niccolo's jaw tightened. "Dahlia-"

"I'm only letting your assistant know what kind of company she keeps."

"I am not interested in gossip," said Aria coolly.

"Then let's talk facts. Fact: three of Niccolo's rivals have completely vanished in the last two years. Fact: of those two were discovered dead. One was never discovered at all.""

"And what's your point?"

"My point," Dahlia leaned in and whispered, "is that Niccolo doesn't do casual. Not with business. Not with people and definitely not with women."

Aria felt a stutter in her pulse.

Dahlia narrowed her gaze, continuing. "So if he keeps you close, it's not due to coincidence. It's a strategy."

The tension in the table had an edge that could cut.

Niccolo finally talked, adding, "You're here for information. Not to interrogate her."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "Then give me something worth my time."

Niccolo pulled out a flash drive from his jeans pocket and placed it on the table like a loaded weapon.

"Shipping manifests. Proof the Russians are cutting into your territory."

Dahlia's eyes glinted. "And you just hand this over to me?"

"Consider it a favor," he pronounced. "Or a warning."

She smiled slowly. "To a man like you, that is no difference."

Then she stood, leaving her untouched dessert behind.

She leaned in close as she brushed past Aria, whispering, "He plays to win. Be aware of what you are betting, though."

They were alone once more, and Aria breathed again.

"What the hell was that?"

"Business."

"She threatened me."

"She tested you," he corrected. "And you passed."

"I'm not playing that game, Niccolo. I'm not one of your pieces."

"No," he said softly. "You are the only piece I can't predict."

And she stood and left the room; she needed air, space-anything but his.

But his voice stopped her at the edge of the table.

"She was right about one thing," he said.

Aria turned.

"I don't do casual."

She stared at him trembling for a good second or two, before replying, "Neither do I."

Then she walked away; heels clicking like gunshots, heart pounding like a warning.

Outside, it was night, cold and dripping with mist.

But Aria did not shiver.

She felt fire in her blood.

And danger on her heels.

Because for the first time since that night...

She was slinking into Niccolo's world-not just reacting in it.

One calculated move at a time.