Page 11 of Twisted Devotion

“Duh,” I reply lightly, forcing a grin.

His words sting, though. They cut more than mere sibling banter.Just a pretty thing.

I push the feeling aside, rising from my chair with a smile. Picking up the basket I brought, I place it on the table before him.

“I know we can’t have breakfast today, but will you promise to join me for one meal next week? Breakfast, lunch, or dinner—your choice?”

Marco doesn’t meet my eyes as he mutters, “I’ll try.”

I take that as a small victory and head for the door.

Just as I reach it, Marco’s voice halts me. “Nicolas Paolo doesn’t breathe without an ulterior motive. Stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

I nod, but my thoughts are already spiraling elsewhere.

Dangerous doesn’t even begin to cover it.

* * *

Instead of returning to the big family home, I take a detour to my apartment—a small sanctuary I got for myself when I moved back. As soon as I step inside, I kick off my heels and collapse onto the couch, letting the faint hum of the city filter through the windows.

The brief sense of ease doesn’t last.

A flicker of movement catches my eye. Through the curtains, I notice a black van parked across the street. Two men sit inside, their faces obscured in shadow, but it’s clear—they’re watching my building.

My pulse quickens, and I grab my phone, dialing Marco.

“At what age do I get to outgrow the security detail?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light despite the tension in my chest.

“When you’re ninety,” Marco deadpans.

I roll my eyes. “Come on, but do they have to be so obvious? There’s a big black van parked right across my street?”

“Black van?” Marco’s tone shifts instantly, hardening. “That’s not my men.”

The blood drains from my face. “What?”

“Aria,” Marco says, his voice sharp and commanding. “I’ll call the men I have on you. Stay put.”

Nicolas.

The thought of him watching my home, thinking he can scare me, ignites anger that burns through the fear.

First, he plays me at the gala. Then, he sabotages my brother’s business. And now, he’s sending goons to spy on me? All because he couldn’t handle me talking back to him?

I refuse to let him intimidate me. Grabbing my coat, I storm out of the apartment and onto the street.

The cold night air bites my skin as I march toward the van. It doesn’t move. Good. Whoever’s inside is about to get an earful.

“Who sent you?” I yell when I’m a few feet away. “Is it Nicolas? Tell him I’m not afraid of him and don’t appreciate being followed!”

The moment I get close enough to see the silhouettes in the van, the tires screech, and the vehicle takes off, racing down the street. I stand there, stunned and furious.

As I turn back toward the building, my phone rings.

“Aria,” Marco’s voice is sharp, urgent. “My men aren’t responding. I need you to get out of there and come to the house. Now.”

My blood runs cold, but my legs move on their own. I bolt toward my car. Reaching it, I fumble with my keys, hands trembling.

---