Ruthless Heart

Hell, I was even like that. But Nero brought me down to Earth. He showed me that there was more to life than fancy clothes and lunches with the girls. He was real.

He still is. Underneath this oozing charm, he’s still the same guy, which is why I can’t stay away.

“I love your earrings,” I tell Fiona. She has a cluster of diamonds surrounding a large ruby in each earlobe. They complement her red dress perfectly. I have to admit, I like her style. “Are they Cartier?”

Fiona smiles, her fingers going to her ear. “Sterling Cross, actually. Ian got them for me on our tenth wedding anniversary.”

She beams at her husband, and I can see the love shining in her eyes. This is my first time interacting with the couple privately like this, and I can see just how much she loves him.

I think of my suspicions about Brittany and Ian and try not to wince.

Beatrice comes in to announce that dinner is ready, and we all move into the dining room. Nero pulls my chair out, just as McKenna does the same for his wife. There are salads on the table in front of us and Beatrice comes around with a bottle of insanely expensive wine to pour into our glasses.

I take a sip of it, prepared to complement it as well, but Nero speaks first.

“So, Ian, I know that the zoning board is meeting in a few days to make a decision on my property. Can I count on your vote?”

His request is so abrupt that I nearly choke on my wine. I send him a silent look. What the hell is he playing at? I thought he understood that he can’t be that direct with this man.

The atmosphere in the dining shifts on a dime, becoming thick with tension. Fiona’s eyes are darting back and forth between the two men while McKenna looks almost offended. “Well, really…” he splutters. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this. It’s quite inappropriate.”

Nero shrugs. “I’m sick of beating around the bush. I figure, let’s cut the bullshit, talk straight, and then enjoy a good meal.” He sits back, looking supremely confident. Like this is his house.

Like McKenna is already in his pocket.

But the politician has other ideas. “If you must force the issue, then… No. I won’t be supporting you with my vote. Nothing personal against you,” he adds, “But I need to think of appearances. It would be political suicide to go on the record supporting you. Hell, they’d crucify me for the rest of my political career. Say I was in bed with a Barretti.”

His voice drips with disdain, and I flinch, expecting Nero to lose his shit.

But Nero just gives a relaxed shrug.

“Appearances, huh?” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit. “Funny you should be so worried about associating with me. When it’s your other associations that might do more to hurt your political ambitions.”

Nero pulls out a sheaf of photographs and tosses them one-by-one on the polished dining room table for us all to see.

I gasp. They’re surveillance photos, showing Ian—and Brittany. In some luxury hotel, together. Shot through an open strip in the drapes, in the throes of passion. Naked on the bed, Brittany riding him, her bare breasts bouncing. Ian fucking her from behind over the bed. On his knees, eating her out.

Fiona makes a noise of distress, clapping a hand over her mouth. I can see her heart breaking, and I want to tell Nero not to do this, but my voice is caught in my throat. It’s like watching a train wreck. I can’t look away.

“Tell me, Ian,” Nero continues, voice so friendly, it sends a chill down my spine. “How do you think a dirty affair will play with the voters? Think they’ll still show out for you on election day when they learn you’ve been fucking your side piece all over the city? Not that I blame you,” he adds. “She’s a real fine piece of ass, isn’t she? But I don’t need to tell you that, you’re clearly an ass man. Wait, let me find it…”

He flips through the photos until he pulls one showing Ian on all fours on the bed.

And Brittany, behind him, fucking his ass with a strap-on.

Fiona lets out a devastated sob, standing so abruptly that her chair topples over. Her eyes are wild that they dart around to each of us, her chest heavy. It’s horrifying to watch a woman that’s always so put together coming completely undone.

“Fiona—”

The sound of McKenna saying her name seems to trigger something inside of her and she spins on her heel before fleeing the room.

“Fiona!” This time McKenna shouts her name as bolts after her. We hear the sound of frantic footsteps on the stairs, followed by the slamming of a door—and then yelling, and pleading voices.

I sit there, stunned, at the empty table. “I can’t believe you just did that,” I tell Nero, reeling.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He takes another gulp of wine, like it’s no big deal. I can hear Fiona crying upstairs and McKenna knocking on the door, begging to be let in.