Page 98 of Ruthless Arrangement

I can feel myself swaying, the room tilting around me. A strong hand grips my elbow, steadying me. Nico. I jerk away from his touch as if burned.

“Did you know?” The question scrapes my throat raw. “Is that why you targeted me? Was I just collateral intelligence to you, so you could get first dibs at the biggest fentanyl distribution deal the world has ever seen?”

Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths, with all the calculations and manipulations that have defined our relationship from the beginning. Nico’s face hardens, the vulnerability of moments ago replaced by something cooler, more controlled.

“That’s not how it happened,” he says finally.

A bitter laugh escapes me, sharp and ugly. “Bullshit! You’re the brilliant manipulator, the master diplomat! You’re the one who got me that job straight out of college, got me the dream exclusive just like that, all so you could get close to me and my mother!”

The pieces fit together with terrible clarity. I already knew he facilitated the circumstances so the publisher would assign me, a rookie, to profile Chicago’s most powerful criminal mediator, but of course he also made sure I got the job at The Journal in the first place. Heck, he’s probably even responsible for my accolades in college.It was all a setup, a long con with me as the mark.

But Nico is shaking his head, his expression grim. “You’re right that I arranged the expose, but I didn’t get you that job, Lea.”

“More lies? Really?” I spit the words at him, fury burning away the shock, cauterizing the wound with white-hot rage.

Alessandro shifts uncomfortably behind the desk, exchanging a look with Nico that sends a fresh wave of dread through me.Something worse is coming. Somehow, impossibly, there’s more.

Nico nods almost imperceptibly. “Show her.”

Alessandro hesitates, actual concern flickering across his aristocratic features. “Are you sure? This will?—”

“Show her,” Nico repeats, his voice leaving no room for argument.

With obvious reluctance, Alessandro reaches for a folder on the desk, extracting a single sheet of paper. He places it with the care one might use handling a live explosive.

It’s a handwritten note, the paper high-quality, the ink a distinctive shade of blue that I recognize. My mother has used the same fountain pen with the same indigo ink for as long as I can remember, a gift from my father, she always said.

The note is dated a few weeks before I started at the newspaper. The handwriting is unmistakable, each perfectly formed character a testament to her meticulous nature. The message is brief, devastating in its simplicity:

“Asset now in place at Chicago Investigating Journal, starting 08-22 . Confirmation received.”

My legs finally give out. I sink into the chair behind me, the world narrowing to this single sheet of paper, these nine words and one date that demolish everything I thought I knew about my life.

Not Nico, but my mother. She orchestrated my entire career. The university scholarship that seemed like such a blessing. The internships that led me step by step toward investigative journalism. The sudden job offer from Chicago’s premier newspaper when dozens of more qualified candidates were passed over.

All of it, every achievement I’d been so proud of, every obstacle I’d congratulated myself on overcoming—nothing but careful manipulation, pieces being moved into position on a board I couldn’t even see.

“No,” I breathe, the word a plea rather than a denial. My fingers are numb as I push the paper away. “No, that’s not…she wouldn’t…”

But she would. She did. The evidence is right in front of me, written in her own hand.

The laptop slides from my knees, clattering onto the desk. I barely register the sound, barely notice as Nico lunges to catch it before it falls to the floor. My mind is elsewhere, racing backward through a lifetime of memories, re-examining every conversation, every choice, every seeming coincidence through this new lens.

My mother’s quiet pride when I announced my journalism major.“You have the mind for it, Lea. You see connections others miss.”Had she been grooming me even then? Steering me toward a profession that would give me access to powerful people, to sensitive information?

Her sudden interest in my exclusive with Nico.“Be careful, Lea. Men like him see only assets and liabilities.”Not a warning from a concerned mother, but from a rival operator worried about her asset being compromised.

The mysterious man warning me. The texts about Moretti, had those been from her too? Part of some elaborate game between criminal enterprises with me as an unwitting pawn?

I’m on my feet without consciously deciding to stand, backing away from both men, from the evidence, from the truth that’s shattering me from the inside out.

“Lea—” Nico reaches for me, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it, almost pleading.

I don’t want his pity, or his comfort. I don’t want anything from him or from my mother or from anyone in this godforsaken world of lies and manipulation.

I turn and run, out of the office, down the hallway, bare feet slapping against the cold floor. I don’t know where I’m going, just away, anywhere but here, anywhere but this moment where everything I believed about myself has been revealed as fiction.

Behind me, I hear Nico call my name, his voice sharp with command and something else… concern? Fear? I don’t stop to analyze it. I can’t bear to look at his face, to see the calculation behind his eyes as he decides how best to handle this new development in his grand strategy.

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