Chapter 215: "The Beginning Of The End"

Hearing someone express a desire to kill another person was hardly new to Aren.

In her previous life, nearly every assassination contract had begun with someone wanting a high-ranking officer in an enemy country dead, a strategic facility destroyed, or a factory blown apart in the middle of the night.

The desire to kill itself wasn’t the unusual part. An offer that began with the cheerful declaration that someone wanted to murder both of his parents, however...

That was new.

’What exactly is going on here that I’m not understanding?’

Only a short while ago, Jeremiah had practically thrown himself into his mother’s arms. Whatever Aren thought about the questionable mental stability of every member of the Castellano family, the affection between them had seemed unmistakably genuine.

And perhaps strangest of all was the order in which Jeremiah had presented his plan.

He wanted her help becoming Don.

So that he could kill the current Don and Donna.

Something about that sequence struck Aren as profoundly inefficient.

"...Um."

Jeremiah waited attentively.

"Not that I’m supporting your idea," Aren began carefully, "but wouldn’t it be easier to kill both of them first... and then become Don?"

Jeremiah blinked.

For one remarkable moment, he looked genuinely caught off guard.

He had anticipated objections about morality, familial loyalty, or the murder itself. Logistical inefficiency had not been among them.

"Ah! Of course!"

He burst out laughing.

"Why not simply hire a hitman, finish the job, and take the throne afterward — is that what you’re suggesting?"

Aren nodded several times.

"Yes."

Perhaps that settled it.

Unfortunately, it did not.

Jeremiah’s smile remained, but something beneath it changed.

"But if I did that..." his eyes settled on hers, "...where would the pleasure be?"

Aren blinked.

"...Pleasure?"

Before she could fully process the sudden darkness in his voice, Jeremiah’s charming smile slipped effortlessly back into place.

"Oh dear, Ariana darling, the pleasure is the entire point!"

He clasped his hands behind his back and began strolling leisurely around her.

"Why end everything with two boring bullets when I could first make my parents watch their wonderful, loving son become the one thing they least expect him to become..."

He stopped behind her.

"...and then deliver the encore?"

Aren turned to stare at him.

"But... why would you even want any of this in the first place?"

Jeremiah almost looked sympathetic.

"Ah... the reason. There always has to be a reason, doesn’t there?"

"Usually."

"How tiresome."

He sighed.

"Unfortunately, as much as I’d adore spending the entire night explaining my tragic circumstances while we’re cuddling in some wonderfully comfortable bed upstairs, my dear, I’m afraid I’d rather disclose the details after you’ve agreed to help me."

Aren narrowed her eyes.

Apparently, trying to establish any reliable baseline for this man’s behavior was exhausting.

Minutes ago, he’d addressed her as Miss Lombardi with perfect formality. Now, he’d somehow progressed to suggesting that they cuddle in bed while discussing the murder of his parents.

"Mister Castellano," Aren said, her voice weary, "as much as I would like to be helpful, I’m afraid I don’t feel confident enough to involve myself in any of this."

Jeremiah merely smiled.

"You haven’t even heard what my plan actually is. Or what I’m offering you."

"What you’re offering me," Aren replied evenly, "is a potential war between my House and the rest of Borgata’s underworld. If the other Houses discover that I was involved in killing the Don and Donna of House Castellano, the consequences could be extremely unfavorable for House Lombardi."

Then another thought tugged at her, and her gaze lowered toward the floor.

"And, truthfully..." She hesitated. "I don’t feel comfortable around you at all. I honestly don’t trust you enough to enter another arrangement beyond the one we already have."

With that, Aren turned away and continued down the corridor. She still had no idea exactly where Jeremiah’s promised dessert room was, but fleeing seemed safer than standing there discussing double parricide with him.

She hadn’t taken more than three steps when his voice came from behind her.

"Wait."

Aren stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"What is it?"

"What if I helped you get your revenge on Lucilla Bellini?" Jeremiah asked pleasantly. "Would that make you trust me a little more?"

Aren’s eyes widened slightly.

She turned fully toward him.

"What does Lady Lucilla have to do with me?"

Jeremiah tilted his head, amusement returning to his face.

"Oh, considerably more than you think, darling. Remember that charming little scandal that recently uprooted your life?"

He pulled out his phone, tapped through several screens, then held it toward her.

"Turns out the little bitch planned the entire thing from the beginning. Why don’t you have a look for yourself?"

Aren took the phone.

When a video began playing, she recognized several of the faces almost immediately. They belonged to members of Lucilla’s production team from the press conference — the same people responsible for the giant screen.

Except... they looked considerably different now.

Bruises discolored their faces. Dried blood crusted the corner of one woman’s mouth, while a man’s left eye had swollen almost completely shut.

They seemed to be confined in a private detention room so lavishly furnished that, without the restraints and blood, Aren might have mistaken it for an eccentric guest suite.

The treatment they’d received, however, had clearly been considerably less luxurious. In fact, it seemed to have been so effective that the confessions came freely.

"Please, believe us! It wasn’t an accident!"

"It was Lady Lucilla who gave the order! She wanted the footage shown during the conference! We were told exactly what to do!"

"She had it planned from the beginning! She knew the press would spread it everywhere!"

"Bellini Media was supposed to control the coverage afterward! We’d keep pushing the story through every outlet we could and profit from all the attention!"

The video continued for several more minutes.

Different voices.

The same answers.

No accident.

Lucilla Bellini.

Aren watched everything without speaking. When the video finally ended and the screen went dark, she continued staring at her reflection in the black glass for several seconds more.

"You did all this?"

Across from her, Jeremiah had noticed every minute change in her expression while she watched. Now, he couldn’t have looked more delighted by the subtle shift in her voice.

"Well, if sitting in my favorite velvet chair, pointing at my men several times, and providing Marco with emotional support counts as doing all this..." He smiled. "Then yes."

Aren extended the phone toward him.

"What do you plan to do?"

Jeremiah looked as though he’d been waiting for precisely that question. He accepted the phone with a pleasant smile.

"The interesting thing, my dear Ariana, is that House Bellini has always been rather famous for its expertise in the black market, hasn’t it? As heiress, our dear Lucilla personally oversees some of their most prestigious private exhibitions."

His smile widened.

"Fortunately... both you and I happen to be invited to one a week from now."

Aren nodded slowly.

She knew the broad structure of House Bellini’s business. Its media companies were legitimate and profitable, but they also served another purpose: access.

Access to collectors, socialites, wealthy clients — the kind of people willing to spend millions on objects they weren’t supposed to own.

Behind that respectable public face sat House Bellini’s more exclusive trade: antique paintings, sculptures, treasures conveniently liberated from museums and private collections overseas.

Still, Aren couldn’t see how Jeremiah intended to turn an art exhibition into the kind of revenge he’d just promised.

"So... we’re invited."

Her brow furrowed.

"And?"

Jeremiah noticed her confusion.

Naturally, he was delighted to explain.

"The only problem with these exhibitions is that... everyone in Borgata believes House Bellini specializes in acquiring prestigious art and auctioning it." He tilted his head. "But I’m afraid that’s not quite the whole truth."

Aren narrowed her eyes.

"No?"

Jeremiah slowly shook his head.

"House Bellini’s true specialty is forgery."

Aren stared at him.

"...They’re selling fakes?"

"Exceptional fakes, actually," Jeremiah said with an easy shrug. "Meticulously manufactured bullshit assembled from canvas, pigment, stone, dust, and a compelling story. But still fakes."

"And what exactly are you planning to do?"

Jeremiah’s smile became radiant.

"Imagine, then, if someone arranged a spectacular little revelation in the middle of one of Lucilla’s auctions. The entirety of Borgata’s elite would discover that her House has spent generations taking their money while privately making fools of them, wouldn’t it?"

He spread his hands as though unveiling the spectacle before her.

"Collectors discovering that their priceless treasures are fraudulent. Buyers demanding their money back. Depending on how beautifully everything unfolds... that wouldn’t merely embarrass our dear Lucilla. It could mark the beginning of the end for House Bellini itself."

The words struck Aren as deeply alarming. For several long seconds, she was very certain Jeremiah had gone completely insane.

’Isn’t this basically... a proposal for an actual mafia war?’

She’d expected some form of personal revenge against Lucilla Bellini. What Jeremiah had just proposed was an attack potentially severe enough to destabilize one of Borgata’s Ten Houses.

"...You do realize you’re essentially declaring war on House Bellini yourself, don’t you?"

"If that’s what it takes for you to agree to our little arrangement," Jeremiah regarded her with perfect ease. "What do you say, my dear Ariana? Would that be enough to earn a little of your trust?"

Aren didn’t answer immediately.

Revenge against Lucilla Bellini certainly sounded appealing, but making a deal with a man insane enough to propose destabilizing an entire House as an incentive...

That still seemed very far from a brilliant idea.

Still, a strange confusion settled over her, followed by a deep, uncomfortable ache she couldn’t quite understand.

Jeremiah had spoken about destroying Bellini as though sacrificing another House were merely a bargaining chip. All of that danger, all of that effort — simply to make her consider helping him with something even worse.

’...Just how much does he hate his parents if he’s willing to do all this?’

Her gaze dropped to the floor.

"...I don’t exactly hate the idea," she admitted honestly. "But at the same time... I can’t promise you anything."

Jeremiah didn’t seem to interpret that as a rejection. He reached for her hand and, with impeccable grace, bowed over it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"Believe me, darling..." his voice softened with amusement, "...once you see the spectacle I’m preparing for your little revenge, you may find yourself changing your mind."

Aren frowned down at him, unease creeping through her.

No matter how she examined the situation, what had begun as a simple contract for underground fights was beginning to feel like the start of something she could no longer clearly measure. Something that, once set in motion, might no longer be hers to control.

"...Could we please actually go and have dessert?" She withdrew her hand awkwardly. "I miss Jordan and Biscuit."

Jeremiah looked up and stared at her, surprised despite himself. Before long, his familiar smile returned, and he straightened.

"Of course you do."