Aria: Devil's Spawn Book 2

3. Bulletproof

She laughs softly. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Never."

After hanging up, I step off the plane. My heart lingers with Aria. Reluctance grips me. I was not ready to let her go on the phone, but I have little choice in the matter. Criminals like the Beltráns stop for no one, and, left unpunished, they will continue to bend the world to their will, leaving a trail of chaos and violence wherever they go.

My attention snaps back to the task at hand. In front of me sits a commercial van belonging to the cleaning and gardening company, Riveraclean, which services Juan Pablo's villa. One of my men, Pedro, is waiting for me in the driver's seat. He asks warily, "Ready, sir?"

Nodding, I climb into the vehicle. As I slide into the front passenger seat, my gaze darts toward the windows. You can never be too careful in enemy territory. "Is the glass..."

Pedro confirms, "Bulletproof."

"Bene," I grunt. "Now, take me to that fucker's villa."

We drive off. Pedro and I arrive at our destination in less than an hour. Juan Pablo's villa. With a stony expression, I glance out the passenger-side window. I have come to ensure that everything will go according to plan. A petty sense of satisfaction arises when I see that their villa is smaller than ours. It is only two stories instead of three. Topped with a terracotta roof, the stucco walls are painted salmon pink. White columns and balconies wrap around the exterior. The property was remodeled about seven years ago. According to our recon, much of the original stone walls were replaced by cheaper wood frames during the renovation. Wood is far more flammable than stone, which works very much in my favor.

I am about to leave behind my easy life of fast cars and fast women and wade into treacherous waters. There are no black-and-white solutions anymore. Only the gray of what must be done to defeat the Beltráns.

Today also marks the first time in my life that I am not wearing Armani. Instead, I am dressed in a Riveraclean staff uniform alongside Pedro. A pair of white pants with a matching white polo displaying the Riveraclean logo printed across the back. Our lookouts, Antonio and Raul, are disguised as a delivery man and a landscaper.

When we receive Antonio's go-ahead signal, Pedro and I enter through the side door that Juan Pablo's household staff uses on a regular basis. I punch in the key code that Carl's team hacked for me. The door automatically unlocks. After entering, Pedro makes a beeline for the security system and activates a pre-recorded thirty-minute video clip consisting of absolutely nothing happening on camera. This fake footage should hide our activities from Juan Pablo and his men.

Wasting no time, Pedro and I start rummaging through the villa. I sift through the study. Pedro takes one of the bedrooms. Once the coast is clear, Antonio joins us inside while Raul continues to keep watch outside. The three of us move fast. I keep my eye on the countdown.

Fifteen minutes of footage left.

Ten minutes.

Five minutes.

Three minutes.

Our efforts are not in vain.

By the time we reach the twenty-eight-minute mark, Juan Pablo's villa is completely trashed, and I am pleased with what we have found. Now, in my possession are a laptop, three external drives, and several cell phones.

In the final two minutes, I locate the circuit breaker, light a fistful of matches, and set it on fire. Flames roar to life. Time to get the fuck out.

My men and I return to the Riveraclean van and make our getaway. The drive back to mia famiglia's villa feels quietly triumphant. At home, I shower and change back into an Armani suit. I call up Carl and ask him to help me crack Juan Pablo's password on his laptop. Within the hour, I am able to begin combing through the data. The process is mind-numbingly tedious, but I keep at it. Knowledge is power. With every secret I uncover, my strength grows. I will hold more and more of Juan Pablo's life in my hands.

Around 3 pm, an all-black Hummer with tinted windows pulls into my driveway. It has been two hours since I set fire to Juan Pablo's villa. I tuck away his laptop in the hidden safe behind one of the Picassos hanging in the study. The external drives and cell phones are already inside the safe.

Once everything is secured, I head out to the Hummer. Nils Junior sits at the wheel, and I do not hesitate to slide into the backseat. Time to go check on the damage. We return to my crime scene. On my command, the Hummer slows but does not stop in front of the fiery wreckage. As my vehicle rolls by, a golden-red blaze engulfs Juan Pablo's once-beautiful villa.

It is a glorious sight.

This "accidental" fire is meant to mask the traces of our trespassing and theft. I study the damage. The interiors have been decimated. Nothing but ash and rubble remain. Only the blackened stone walls are still standing. A billowing black cloud hovers overhead, darkening the Spanish skies.

A brigade of local firefighters scrambles around, shouting frantically at each other in Spanish as they attempt to salvage what remains of the villa. This is mostly for show. Juan Pablo will find their efforts to be fruitless. Much like Cortez, I have already bought and paid for the cooperation of the fire brigade. By the time Juan Pablo returns home, he will be handed a report stating the cause of the fire to be: Corroded wiring in an outdated electrical system.

Money makes the world go round, no?

Mia famiglia has plenty of it. Throw enough money at a problem, and the problem will disappear. I am sure the Beltráns—paranoid bastards that they are—will find the report to be suspicious, but, without proof of a clear target, they cannot retaliate. They will need to spend some time deliberating before taking action against mia famiglia. By the time they finish their investigations, I will already be ten more steps ahead of them.

From a distance, I stay and watch it all burn to the ground. The destruction calms the rage within me by a fraction. I still want to murder Juan Pablo for what he did to Aria, but, maybe, I will show some restraint and make it a slightly less painful death.

After the disastrous security breach at Balmore, I learned an important lesson: Far more must be expected from myself than others. At the time, I placed the bulk of the blame on Liam, my head of security, for allowing Aria and I to be violated in such a way. Liam became an easy scapegoat for my anger. It was his job to keep us safe. When push came to shove, he was the one who failed to carry out his duty. The Old Nicco would've held on to this grudge and never let go.

But there is nothing to be gained in crying over spilled milk, especially when the crisis is still ongoing. Circumstances have forced me to acquire a somewhat more nuanced perspective.

Perhaps, this is what it takes to become worthy of my Vitale name?

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Everyone's problems have become mine. I must accept Liam's fuck-up as my own. After all, it was me—not him—who failed to vet a better candidate to protect Balmore.

The Hummer continues to creep down the road. My gaze is fixed on the ash and rubble. I leave only when the fires die down completely. Only then am I satisfied with our efforts. Quietly, I order Nils Junior to drive away, and he takes me back to mia famiglia's villa. Upon arrival, I grab the goods retrieved from Juan Pablo and board my private jet. I am looking forward to flying back to London. Aria is waiting for me. My pulse picks up speed like an overeager dog who has been kept away from his mistress for too long. I try to quell my enthusiasm. To calm myself, I pull out Juan Pablo's collection of phones during the flight. They all look like cheap burner phones that one might use for illegal activities. I pick one at random and skim through the most recent texts.

This is when one particular thread catches my eye.

AYS: I mean it this time. I finally have Nicco right where I want him.

Juan Pablo: I don't believe you.