Chapter 238: "Outside"

Outside the waiting lounge, Jeremiah Castellano was having what seemed to be the most emotionally devastating evening of his life. He stood before the lounge entrance, dressed immaculately in white, while two Sartori men held him firmly back from the door.

Nearby stood Leo, who had been entrusted with managing the situation — largely against his will.

"We sincerely apologize, Mister Castellano," Leo said for what felt like the hundredth time. "Don Caio’s instructions were quite clear. You’re to remain outside until Lady Ariana has finished preparing."

Jeremiah turned toward Leo with deeply sorrowful eyes.

"Leo, my dear fellow! Must you keep addressing me so formally? After everything we’ve been through together?"

Leo considered him.

"Sir, we’ve been standing in this corridor together for fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes of persecution! Do you have any idea what that does to a man’s spirit?"

"I’m afraid not, sir."

"Then let me pass, and we can both recover from this dreadful experience."

"No, sir."

Jeremiah sighed in despair, then turned toward the two guards restraining him.

"Gentlemen, can’t you see this delicate soul is utterly devastated, both physically and emotionally? Surely at least one of you possesses a heart?"

Neither answered.

"Not even a little one?"

One guard tightened his grip.

Jeremiah sighed as though personally disappointed in the entire Sartori organization.

"How tragic. A whole collection of handsome men, and not one of you knows the meaning of romance!"

Leo closed his eyes briefly.

’Please, just come out, my lady.’

Jeremiah suddenly leaned toward the door again.

"ARIANA, DARLING! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, YOUR POOR JEREMIAH IS BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY—"

Clack.

The lounge door opened.

Aren stepped out, still smiling faintly at something Jordan had said, her white feathered costume standing out against the unremarkable surroundings.

Jeremiah’s lament stopped in the middle of a breath. For one wonderful second, he simply stared, then every trace of his suffering vanished as though it had never existed.

"My dear Ariana!"

With a sudden burst of energy that seemed entirely incompatible with his earlier claims of physical and emotional devastation, he pulled free of the two guards holding him.

Leo barely had time to step aside before Jeremiah swept forward, arms opening toward Aren in preparation for an enthusiastic embrace.

"Oh, Ariana, how I’ve missed you!"

Jeremiah never reached her.

Caio’s hand shot out.

His broad palm caught Jeremiah squarely on the forehead, stopping him so abruptly that the rest of his body took a moment to catch up.

Jeremiah froze.

Caio’s fingers tightened.

"Enough bullshit from you for one evening, Castellano."

His voice was low, but there was nothing quiet about the threat in it.

"We’re getting this whole thing over with as quickly as possible. Now step the fuck back before I crush that annoying skull of yours."

For once, Jeremiah looked intimidated.

He’d seen Caio angry before. In fact, provoking the man had become something of an entertaining pastime. But the expression on Caio’s face suggested that this time, the entertainment had reached its limit.

"Y-yes, sir!"

He attempted a smile.

"I mean — Caio, buddy!"

He carefully extracted his head from Caio’s grip and retreated several steps.

"Why, I couldn’t agree more! We’re all very busy people, aren’t we? Perhaps we should all proceed directly to the arena?"

Without waiting for further encouragement, he turned and strode cheerfully down the corridor.

─ •?• ─ ? ─ •?• ─

The walk to the arena took them through a series of corridors, with Jeremiah leading the way at a brisk, cheerful pace. He seemed to know every turn of the building, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make certain everyone was following.

At the arena entrance, he directed Caio’s men toward the passage leading to the audience section, gesturing expansively as though welcoming each of them into his own establishment.

Aren stood beside him and waved as the men filed past. Caio and Jordan went with them, and she waited until the last of the group had disappeared into the passage before lowering her hand.

Only then did she turn back toward Jeremiah.

With the others gone, his smile had changed. It hadn’t disappeared entirely, but the exaggerated delight he’d displayed throughout their journey gradually settled into something more natural.

She kept the observation to herself as they continued toward the backstage area, where she would eventually enter the fighting cage.

"Ah, I must say, you have two lovely boyfriends, my dear," Jeremiah said after a while. "I’m delighted to see them getting along so well these days. And I’m rather curious, too. How on earth did you manage it?"

Aren stiffened slightly.

Of all the things Jeremiah could have chosen to discuss, she’d hardly expected him to begin with that.

She doubted anyone who hadn’t witnessed Jordan’s and Caio’s earlier interactions could appreciate just how remarkable the improvement was.

There had been enough hostility between Caio and Jordan to make even the simplest gathering uncomfortable, and she had spent more time worrying about their disagreements than she cared to remember.

"Well, I’m not entirely sure when they started getting along better," she admitted. "But I think it’s because they’ve both made an effort to work together and develop a better relationship. I don’t recall doing very much myself."

"I see."

Jeremiah considered this with apparent seriousness.

"Now I wonder whether, if the two of them can become such good friends, they might eventually welcome me into their little union as well. I’ve certainly done everything within my power to be accommodating toward them, and yet they remain so terribly cold to me."

Aren gave him a wary look.

"Um... was that why you were struggling with Caio’s men outside the dressing room earlier?"

"Of course!"

Jeremiah looked positively wounded that she needed to ask.

"Good heavens, if only you knew how much I adore group activities! You can’t imagine how heartbreaking it was to be excluded while the two of them waited for you to get changed!"

Aren regarded him in silence.

She hadn’t even begun fighting yet, and somehow she was already feeling tired.

She searched for a suitable reply, but as they approached a more secluded section of the backstage corridor, something in Jeremiah’s sorrowful expression faded.

"But, if I may be honest with you, Miss Lombardi," he added, his voice settling into a quieter register, "I was also trying to reach you because there’s something we need to discuss."

Aren slowed to a stop.

The change in his manner was subtle but unmistakable, and she turned her attention fully toward him.

"Something we need to discuss?" she asked, lowering her voice as well. "We’re alone now."

"Indeed we are."

A small, satisfied smile appeared on his face.

"First, I must say I was rather surprised when you negotiated that arrangement on my behalf. I’ll confess, I was so irritated by the proposal itself that it hadn’t even occurred to me to extract any additional profit from it. Yet there you were, doing me an enormous favor and squeezing considerably more money out of that greedy bastard."

"It seemed like the most efficient arrangement under the circumstances," Aren replied. "I’m capable of completing the task, and you’ll receive additional revenue toward your goal, which is also my goal. I thought it was reasonable."

She said it with such matter-of-fact certainty that Jeremiah couldn’t help chuckling.

"You’re certainly one of the most efficient contractors I’ve ever worked with."

He looked her up and down for another moment. Then his amusement softened, giving way to a concern he made no attempt to disguise.

"But tell me something. Are you genuinely confident you can handle fifteen opponents?"

Aren seemed rather surprised he’d even asked. "You proposed twenty," she reminded him.

"With breaks between bouts," he countered. "Not all at once. Those are two entirely different challenges."

"Well..." She tilted her head slightly. "What can I say? Both are within my abilities. I wouldn’t enter into an agreement if I weren’t confident I could fulfill it."

Another small smile rose to Jeremiah’s lips, this time without conscious thought.

By then, he’d watched enough of her performances to know she wasn’t prone to exaggerating her capabilities. He liked that confidence and commitment, admittedly, but they did little to ease his lingering concern.

"I knew I was right to ask for your help," he said pleasantly, though something in his expression changed. "However, there’s another matter I need to bring to your attention before we let you anywhere near that cage."

"What is it?"

"Regarding the arrangement my brothers so generously proposed, I very much doubt they were trying to restore Castellano Club’s reputation or prove the legitimacy of your abilities."

He looked directly at her.

"I suspect they intend to make you incapable of fighting ever again."

Aren absorbed the information without much surprise. Jeremiah had already told her about his rivalry with his older brothers and the conditions surrounding his succession.

Given what she knew of their relationship, it would have been more surprising if Hezekiah and Zachariah had genuinely decided to help him. What concerned her more was how Jeremiah intended to respond.

"Jeremy," she asked quietly, "what do you intend to do if that’s the case?"

Jeremiah didn’t answer immediately.

It wasn’t even the first time she’d called him Jeremy. Since their conversation about his mother, she’d used the name on several occasions when they were alone, always with the same easy acceptance, as though there were nothing unusual about addressing him that way.

He ought to have grown accustomed to it by now. And yet, each time he heard it, the sound still somehow affected him.

For so many years, the name had belonged to a life that no longer existed. Now, someone was speaking it again, quite naturally, in the middle of an ordinary conversation, and he found himself reluctant to let the moment pass too quickly.

"Well, Miss Lombardi," he said at last. "The little rats and snakes may have decided to invite themselves to my party, hoping to hurt my swan. But they’ve forgotten one rather important detail."

The faintest smile crossed his face.

"They’re still little rats and snakes, while I’m the one hosting the party."

He reached for her hand and lifted it toward his lips.

Aren had seen Jeremiah kiss women’s hands often enough to recognize the gesture as one of his favorite forms of flirtation. Usually, it came accompanied by a dazzling smile, some extravagant compliment, and enough theatrical charm to make the recipient forget how ridiculous he was being.

This time, there was none of that.

He merely pressed a brief kiss to the back of her hand, his expression composed as he looked up at her.

"Simply dance for me beneath those stage lights, my queen," he said quietly. "As for everything else, leave that to me."