Nicco - Season 2

19. Make Him Crawl

ARIA

Eyes wide, my dad looks crestfallen and humiliated as he turns to me. "I-I can explain."

He doesn't need to say another word, though.

I already figured it out.

He did it for me.

Fuck.

Anxiously, I try to assure him, "It's okay, Appa. You don't have to explain anything. I don't care about the past anymore. I just want you to focus on getting better, okay?"

My dad begins to weep softly. It's the first time in my life that I've seen him cry. My nails dig into my palms. I resist the urge to hurl my fist into Jaime's face. With every ounce of self-control, I steel my mind, refusing to let him get under my skin. My dad is already on Jaime's blacklist. I can't risk pissing him off too much before the time is right. I'm playing the long game. Nicco will need me to buy him time. I've got to keep Jaime happy and placated for however long it takes to set the stage in London. A trickle of anticipation runs through me as I steal another look at Jaime. Pure hatred burns in my veins. This moment in time will be forever lodged in my mind. It'll serve as the catalyst for the blood I plan to spill. God, I can't wait to watch this fucker play right into our hands.

I'm ready to make him crawl into his own grave.

NICCO

It has been four months since I left Jackson & James.

Four months since Aria left me.

She has not returned to London at all during this time. At present, not even I am in London, either. I am in a fucking helicopter. I glance outside as my pilot begins to descend. I have a headset to block out the deafening noise, but the roar of the propellors continues to pummel my ears. The surrounding trees and bushes are caught in a cyclone of wind as the helicopter lands on the private helipad. Today the sky is an endless stretch of blue in Sands Point. The water appears bluer on this side of the Atlantic as well. The gray of London is nowhere to be seen. That is for sure.

I did not come to New York, I tell myself, because of her. I am here for business. After reviewing the contract that Oliver's team sent me, I signed with Danmore. Apparently, there is a party this afternoon. It is being hosted at Chance Newman's waterfront estate in Mount Cisco, boasting panoramic views of the Croton Reservoir. Newman is one of the top dogs at Danmore in our New York offices. On a whim, I have decided to drop by. I am in the area, after all. It would be a shame to miss out on this opportunity to rub elbows with Wall Street's elites.

I exit the helicopter and head toward the main entrance of Glenn Acres. I purchased this estate just last week, paying my real estate agent and my lawyers an arm and a leg to set the legal protections in place to obtain the property anonymously. I wanted to hide it from Juan Pablo's spies. It was a bit of an impulse buy, I admit, setting me back $12.5 million, not including the fees, but this particular listing checked almost every box on my list. There is a built-in landing pad—check. A private runway—check. An underground twelve-car garage for my babies—check. And the location was simply too strategic to pass up—check.

With Juan Pablo's operations moving from London to New York, I needed a place that was close enough for my men to easily track his movements yet far enough to avoid detection. The fucker's penthouse in Manhattan is only fifty kilometers away. Thirty minutes by helicopter and one and half hours by car.

Anticipation crackles in the air. I cannot believe that I am actually in New York. Juan Pablo is very much within reach, and, more importantly, so is Aria. My heart picks up speed.