Chapter 24: "I Also Like Drugs A Lot"
Accardi District.
7:30 PM, Wednesday.
By the time the Sartori car glided into the underground parking structure beneath the destination tower, Borgata’s nightlife was already in full swing.
Inside the back cabin, Aren sat beside Caio with her notebook spread carefully across her lap, her pen moving steadily across the page.
Caio stole a glance at her.
The crimson dress she wore tonight spilled around her legs like dark wine against the black leather seats, giving her a quiet, almost otherworldly presence, yet she didn’t quite seem to notice any of that.
Her entire focus remained deadlocked on him and whatever she was scribbling down.
He looked away, adjusting the cuff of his black sleeve as he delivered the final part of her briefing.
"Remember," he said evenly, "Ariana hates oysters and fish. Not casually. She hates them enough that most upscale restaurants in Borgata already know it."
"Understood."
"And drinks," he continued. "She prefers cocktails over wine. Strong cocktails. Sazeracs. Negronis. If you order a martini, make it extra dry."
Aren paused mid-writing.
"...Saze... what?"
Caio turned toward her, skepticism plain on his face.
"You don’t drink much, do you?"
Her face brightened instantly.
"I’ve had white wine," she announced proudly. "And apple cider."
For a long moment, Caio simply stared at her.
"Go for anything except white wine and cider tonight," he said at last.
Aren’s expression fell.
"But white wine tastes really good..."
He released a slow breath through his nose. Against his better judgment, the edge in his voice softened.
"...You’re only allowed to drink white wine when it’s just you and me."
Aren blinked. "Why?"
"Because I said so."
"Oh."
She considered the matter carefully. Finding no reason to argue, she nodded obediently.
"Okie!"
The word hit Caio like psychological warfare.
Beside him, Aren was already deadpanning back to her notepad, scratching out a fresh line: No white wine and cider in public.
She glanced back up.
"Anything else?"
"Leo and the others will remain outside the restaurant entrance," Caio replied. "If something goes wrong, fire one shot and they’ll storm the building."
Aren nodded thoughtfully.
"Should I order dinner for them afterward?"
"No."
Her shoulders drooped slightly.
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
The car finally came to a smooth stop.
A few moments later, the elevator carried them toward the rooftop level. When the doors slid open, warm light and soft jazz spilled into view.
The rooftop overlooked nearly the entire Accardi District skyline.
Wednesday night crowds filled nearly every table.
Couples laughed over wine.
Servers moved gracefully between tables balancing trays of wine and desserts.
Near the entrance, Leo and the security detail spread out naturally without drawing attention, while Caio entered the restaurant with Aren at his side.
The moment they stepped inside, heads began turning automatically.
Not toward Caio.
Toward Aren.
The crimson dress alone commanded attention long before anyone recognized her face. Once they did, whispers immediately spread through the restaurant like sparks catching dry paper.
"...That’s Ariana Lombardi."
"Who’s the man she’s with?"
"He’s so young and handsome—"
"She changes lovers like changing clothes."
At the far end of the dining room, a heavyset man in a navy suit rose quickly from his chair and approached with a practiced smile.
"Don Caio," he greeted, already extending his hand.
Caio stepped forward to meet him halfway.
"Mister Lamon."
The two men shook hands firmly.
Pietro Lamon appeared composed enough at first glance, but the restaurant lighting revealed a faint sheen of sweat gathering around his temples.
His gaze shifted quickly toward Aren.
"Lady Ariana," he greeted smoothly.
Before she could react, he lifted her hand and pressed a courteous kiss against her knuckles.
"A pleasure, my lady."
Aren managed a slightly flustered smile.
"Thank you very much."
Across from them, Caio’s expression remained perfectly neutral.
Internally, however, a considerably less diplomatic thought surfaced.
’Take your hand off her before I remove them permanently.’
Fortunately for Pietro Lamon’s continued existence, he released her hand almost immediately.
"Well now, Don Caio," Pietro laughed politely. "You’re full of surprises tonight. I didn’t expect you to bring Lady Ariana."
A faint smirk touched Caio’s mouth.
"Didn’t you complain during our last meeting that bringing security implied I didn’t trust this partnership?"
Pietro laughed a little too quickly.
"Very thoughtful of you, Don Caio."
He gestured toward the prepared table overlooking the skyline.
"Please. Have a seat."
Aren’s gaze drifted past Caio toward the table waiting near the glass edge overlooking the skyline. Just as he took a step forward, she reached out and caught the sleeve of his jacket.
Caio looked down immediately.
"Problem?"
Aren leaned closer.
"Sorry," she whispered. "That table position is bad."
His brow lifted almost imperceptibly.
"Convenient sniper sightlines from those buildings," she murmured, eyes flicking toward two nearby skyscrapers. "Especially the northwest corner. Could we use a private room instead? I noticed several on the way in."
Caio looked at her for exactly one second.
Without a question, he turned smoothly back toward Pietro.
"Mister Lamon, why don’t we get a private room instead?"
At that exact moment, a subtle shift swept across the restaurant.
A nearby couple stopped laughing mid-conversation.
A waiter carrying panna cotta froze halfway across the floor.
Two guests glanced briefly toward Pietro before immediately looking away again.
Then, just as quickly, everything resumed as though nothing had happened.
Music.
Conversation.
Movement.
The waiter hurried toward the kitchen with visible tension in his shoulders.
Aren watched him go thoughtfully.
’Oh.’
’They serve panna cotta here.’
Meanwhile, Pietro’s composure had visibly frayed.
"...Is there a problem?" he asked carefully.
"It’s too crowded out here, don’t you think?" Caio replied smoothly. "Unless you prefer the entire restaurant hearing our business?"
Pietro agreed far too quickly.
"Of course not. Of course not."
As Pietro hurriedly summoned a waiter to prepare a private room, Caio felt unease tighten in his chest.
’Interesting.’
’Last meeting he fought every clause like a starving dog protecting scraps.’
’Tonight he’s suddenly cooperative.’
’Like a man desperately trying not to upset someone.’
A waiter hurried toward them moments later, his posture tense.
"Right this way, gentlemen."
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
The VIP room sat deep within the restaurant, sealed behind two layers of soundproof glass and dark wood paneling.
Compared to the crowded rooftop outside, the space felt unnaturally quiet.
A single table rested beneath warm pendant lights, surrounded by six empty chairs. There were no windows, only a single entrance.
Aren took the seat beside Caio while Pietro settled across from them, already reaching for a napkin to dab sweat from his forehead.
Menus arrived moments later.
Aren accepted hers with both hands and began studying the drink section with intense focus.
The cocktail list looked more complicated than several tactical manuals she had memorized.
Whiskey.
Absinthe.
Gin.
Bourbon.
Rum.
Half the words meant absolutely nothing to her. Eventually, after considerable deliberation, she pointed at a random selection.
"I’ll have this."
Caio glanced sideways toward the menu. Immediately, he suppressed the urge to sigh.
The cocktail she had chosen was viciously strong — strong enough to flatten men twice her size if they drank it carelessly.
Objectively, though, it was exactly the kind of drink Ariana Lombardi would order. So he said nothing.
"I’ll have the same," he told the waiter calmly, handing over his menu.
The waiter bowed and departed.
Across the table, Pietro chuckled lightly.
"I’ve heard Lady Ariana has impressive taste in alcohol," he said with forced amusement. "Tonight I finally see it myself."
Aren nodded seriously.
"I enjoy alcohol very much. The stronger the better."
After a thoughtful pause, she added,
"I also like drugs a lot."
Pietro exploded into laughter so abruptly his chair creaked beneath him.
"Of course!" he wheezed, slapping his thigh. "We all do! Right, Don Caio? Drugs are the entire reason we’re here tonight!"
Meanwhile, Caio nearly dragged a hand down his face.
Instead, with brutal self-control, he redirected the conversation back to business.
Numbers.
Routes.
Distribution percentages.
The deeper the discussion went, strangely enough, the more agreeable Pietro became.
Caio noticed immediately.
’Last month this bastard argued every clause for three hours straight.’
’Tonight he agrees before I even finish speaking.’
The unease in his chest tightened with every passing minute.
Something was wrong.
A few minutes later, the heavy business talk came to a halt at the sound of the door. The waiter returned, carrying drinks and appetizers.
He set down the tray with quiet efficiency, carefully arranging the small plates of starters between the three of them.
As he leaned forward to place the dishes on the table, Aren caught the subtle outline beneath his uniform jacket.
Shoulder holster.
Compact sidearm.
And when his sleeve shifted...
There was knife sheath sewn into the seam.
The waiter avoided eye contact entirely while setting down the cocktails. The second he finished, he exited the room almost too quickly.
Aren’s gaze sharpened.
’Need to follow the waiter.’
’Neutralize the problem before Don Caio notices.’
’Then inform Leo.’
Across from her, Pietro and Caio casually performed poison checks with the kind of familiarity only lifelong criminals possessed.
When nothing was off, Pietro lifted his own drink first and took a careful sip.
Caio followed a second later.
Aren watched them both.
Then, she lifted her own cocktail—
—and swallowed the entire thing in one smooth motion.
Gulp.
Caio slowly turned toward her.
Pietro stared outright.
Aren calmly set the empty glass back onto the table.
"...Excuse me," she said politely as she rose from her chair. "I need to go order another drink."
The moment she turned away, Caio caught her wrist beneath the table. His voice dropped low enough that only she could hear.
"What are you doing?"
Aren leaned closer slightly.
"The waiter is armed."
His grip tightened instantly around her wrist.
The implication behind her words hit him with perfect clarity, yet his fingers dug into her skin, hard and unyielding.
He should have let her go.
That was literally her job. The whole point of the contract. The entire reason behind the five hundred millions of dollars he had paid into House Lombardi’s accounts without hesitation.
He couldn’t.
"Aren’t you supposed to stay here with me instead?"
"This man isn’t armed," she murmured, glancing subtly toward Pietro. "And he started shaking the moment you requested the private room."
Then, as though reassuring an anxious teammate who could perfectly handle a fight but needed a little encouragement, she patted his shoulder gently.
"You’ll be safe."
Caio stared at her for one long second.
’Damn it.’
She had already assessed the room. Already identified the threat. Already made the decision before informing him.
And the worst part — he trusted her judgment completely.
He absolutely hated that.
Before he could find another excuse to stop her, she slipped smoothly from his grasp and disappeared through the door.
