Chapter 237: "So She Told You"

Jordan had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time he found himself alone in a room with Caio Sartori, though he sincerely hoped future occasions would be less uncomfortable.

For now, they sat side by side on a bench outside Aren’s dressing room, their arms folded across their chests in almost identical postures, each making a conspicuous effort to look anywhere but at the other.

Neither had suggested sitting together.

There simply hadn’t been anywhere else particularly convenient to wait, and moving away now would have made their mutual avoidance even more obvious.

At their feet, Biscuit was having a wonderful time.

He seemed to be expecting Aren to emerge as the beautiful swan princess he’d seen during her previous fight, and every little sound from behind the door made his ears perk up.

Jordan envied him.

At least one of them was having a pleasant time. The silence between him and Caio had stretched well beyond the point of comfort, but Jordan wasn’t about to be the first to break it.

Fortunately, Caio seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

Unfortunately, that mutual understanding didn’t last.

"So she told you."

Jordan turned his head.

Caio was still looking at the wall, his arms folded and his expression unreadable. He’d spoken so casually that Jordan might have mistaken the remark for an observation about the weather, had the subject not been so unmistakably personal.

"Yeah," Jordan said eventually. "She told me. So what?"

"Hm." Caio gave a small nod. "What did she tell you?"

Jordan gave him a sidelong look.

There was something irritating about the question. Caio had known Aren’s secret long before Jordan did, yet now he was asking as though Jordan owed him a report on the conversation.

"Pretty much everything," Jordan replied. "The impossible part. Her real name. Who she used to be. She told you all that too?"

"Nah," Caio replied flatly. "I’m smarter than you. Figured it out myself."

Jordan stared at him.

He had several responses available, none of them particularly polite. In the end, he settled for turning away again.

"Sure. Lucky you, getting first dibs on her the moment she landed here."

Caio’s mouth twitched faintly, though he didn’t rise to the bait.

Jordan might have continued making unpleasant observations about Caio, but his thoughts had already returned to something considerably more troubling.

"Seriously, though..." He unfolded his arms and leaned forward slightly. "Do you think she can actually handle fifteen guys? I know she keeps telling me she could take on twenty without much trouble, but..."

He shook his head.

"I don’t know, man. Something about this whole damn thing just doesn’t sit right with me."

Caio didn’t answer immediately.

Jordan glanced toward him, expecting another dismissive remark about his age or inexperience. Instead, he found Caio staring ahead with a slight furrow between his brows.

"Earlier," Caio said, his voice quieter now, "when those two Castellano brothers were nodding to Cavallo. Did you see it?"

Jordan turned so quickly that the bench shifted beneath him.

"You saw that too?"

He hadn’t imagined it, then.

He’d been watching the exchange closely when Aren demanded a larger share of the revenue, and he remembered the almost imperceptible nods the brothers had given Cavallo before the club owner accepted the revised terms.

At the time, Jordan hadn’t known what to make of it. The gesture was too small to explain anything on its own, but it had bothered him all the same.

"And here I thought I was the only one who noticed," Jordan said. "Why bring it up? You think there’s something strange going on?"

Caio unfolded his arms and leaned back against the bench.

"Everything about this is strange as hell. I know she signed with that bastard Jeremiah, and I never liked this whole one-versus-a-team bullshit to begin with. But now his two brothers suddenly show up and start making suggestions about how many men she ought to fight?"

He clicked his tongue.

"I’ve known Hezekiah and Zachariah long enough to understand how much they hate seeing Jeremiah get ahead. Every time those three showed up at the same party, the older two were looking for some way to give their little brother a hard time. This feels like more of the same."

Jordan frowned.

He couldn’t remember witnessing anything quite like that himself, although admittedly, he’d never paid much attention to the Castellano family’s internal disagreements.

"Um... remind me when that was? I’ve been to those parties too. Never noticed anything like that."

Caio turned toward him with a thoroughly obnoxious smirk.

"Of course you wouldn’t remember. You were only three when Jeremiah started showing up."

Jordan stared.

"Hey."

Caio looked thoroughly satisfied with himself.

"Just saying."

Jordan’s expression darkened.

"Sure. Sorry I wasn’t old enough to understand all the complicated things you ancient gentlemen were discussing back then."

Caio’s head turned sharply.

"This little punk. Who are you calling ancient?"

Jordan smiled with considerable satisfaction.

"I’m sure you can work that out yourself. You’re the smarter one, remember?"

For a moment, Caio looked genuinely tempted to reach over and smack him.

Jordan held his gaze without the slightest intention of apologizing, but then he remembered they had more important matters to discuss.

"Anyway, if you think they’re planning something, what are we going to do about it? You got a plan or not?"

"Not yet." Caio shrugged, almost casually. "But I’ve got enough men here. If anything goes wrong inside that cage, they’ll secure the room immediately. We can work out what needs doing afterward."

Jordan looked at him with renewed interest.

"Thought you brought all those guys to kill Jeremiah."

Caio gave him a flat look.

"And you think I brought them to kill Jeremiah, only for them to stop me earlier?"

"Who knows?" Jordan replied with a shrug. "Maybe you don’t pay them enough."

"Tch." Caio turned away in irritation. "Of course I brought them because I don’t trust this whole shitty arrangement. Use your head, fledgling. You’re never going to survive as Don if you can’t think further ahead than that."

"You—"

Clack.

The sound of the dressing-room door opening interrupted Jordan. Both men turned, and for a moment, neither remembered what he’d been about to say.

Aren stepped into the lounge wearing her white ballet costume, the delicate feathered skirt moving softly around her thighs.

She looked almost exactly as Jordan remembered from her debut. But there was a faint blush on her cheeks tonight, and the smile she gave them was unmistakably shy, particularly when her gaze settled on Caio.

"Caio, this is my fight outfit."

She smoothed a feather at the front of her skirt, then looked up at him.

"How do I look in it?"

Caio didn’t answer.

He’d seen photographs from her promotional work for the Castellano Club. He knew perfectly well what the outfit looked like and had been prepared, or so he’d thought, for the sight of her wearing it.

Apparently, knowing and seeing were two different things.

The white costume suited her in a way that caught him off guard. Perhaps it was the feathers, or the way she stood with that slightly self-conscious smile, waiting for his opinion as though it genuinely mattered.

Caio swallowed.

For one disorienting moment, he found himself imagining a similar dress with a long skirt instead, one that flowed all the way to the floor. Then he finally realized he’d been staring long enough to make a fool of himself and rose from the bench.

"...You look pretty."

He crossed the short distance between them, then reached down and adjusted a feather near her waist.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the feather. He smoothed it anyway.

Aren’s smile brightened.

"Thank you!"

She slipped both arms around him in a delighted embrace, and Caio settled a hand against her back, holding her close for a moment longer than necessary.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked, looking up at him.

He held her a little closer.

"...Yeah."

Over his arm, Aren spotted Jordan, who was still sitting on the bench with a rather complicated expression, and Biscuit, who had finally gotten to his feet, plainly delighted to discover that his expectations had been justified.

"Jordan," she called happily, "are you ready to go too?"

Jordan blinked.

"Yeah. Of course."

He hurried to his feet.

"I’m ready."

He’d already seen Aren dressed like this, but that didn’t make the sight any easier to get used to. He walked over with Biscuit following at his heels, then took one of Aren’s hands.

"You... um..."

For some reason, finding the words felt much harder with Caio standing right beside her.

"I wanted to say... you look really pretty too."

Aren laughed softly.

"Thank you, Jordan."

She pulled him closer until he stood beside her and Caio, looking thoroughly pleased to have both of them there. Biscuit hovered at their feet, apparently sharing the sentiment.

For a brief moment, everything felt pleasantly settled, but then Aren noticed something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

"Oh?"

Her gaze traveled from the bench to the closed door leading back into the corridor.

"Where’s Mister Castellano? I remember him following us here."

The effect was immediate.

Whatever warmth had softened Caio’s expression vanished, while Jordan’s blush disappeared almost as quickly.

The two men exchanged a glance.

Neither seemed inclined to discuss the matter at length. Somehow, without saying a word, they reached a mutual understanding that Caio would provide the explanation.

"Outside," he said.

Aren blinked.

"Outside?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "I had my men keep him there."

As though summoned by the mention of his name, a muffled voice rose from somewhere beyond the lounge door.

"ARIANA! MY DEAR ARIANA!"

It was followed by a sound resembling a man weeping over some unbearable personal tragedy.

"Oh! My darling, my dearest, my most precious superstar! Are you finished? Are you ready? Can I see you? I’m dying to see you, sweetheart, but these terrible people simply won’t let me inside!"