35. Unraveling

There is a roaring sound in Jet’s ears. His mind goes numb as disbelief and hurt flood his system, making his stomach churn. An iron band seems to have strapped itself across his ribs and he has to force his lips to form the words.
“COO?” The question comes out as a croak, and Jet clears his throat. “You never mentioned any of this.”
“I told you I worked in corporate before Nightshade.” Luca sighs heavily. “I just didn’t tell you what I did.”
“Until now.” Jet’s voice is tight. A burning sensation flares up inside his chest. “Why is that?”
“Because,” Luca hesitates, then pulls out his phone and hands it to Jet. “Because of this.”
Jet takes the phone with nerveless fingers. Whatever breath he had left is smashed out of his lungs as he stares at the image on the screen. Luca and Chalam, smiling, standing side by side in front of a building he knows all too well.
“He was my mentor most of my life.” Luca mutters. “Old family friend, at least that’s what he told me. After I graduated from university, he took me on as COO. Lots of his board members and my parents objected, said I was too young. But Chalam made me believe if I went into business with him, it would be life changing. How’s that for a cliché?”
Cliché is not the word Jet would use. Betrayal is better. The sting of Luca’s deception is threatening to rip Jet open. Was this how Kai had felt all those years ago? Like he had been hollowed out and left to drown in a sea of white noise?
It wasn’t the same thing. It couldn’t be. Jet had left Kai because he’d thought he had no other choice. Luca had a choice when he’d approached Jet that night. Jet had given him one. At least, he thought he had. What if Luca’s approach had been deliberate, to keep Jet’s mind occupied with something other than OmniVentures? Had Jet been right all along, and Luca really was just a distraction—a way to keep him from digging deeper into Chalam and his activities? If that was the case, it had worked better than either of them could have imagined.
“Jet.” Luca’s push a gentle, widening the aching hole in Jet’s chest.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jet can see one of Luca’s hands reaching toward him. Luca’s phone thunks onto the bench as Jet slides away, widening the gap between them and leaving Luca’s hand reaching for empty air. Neither of them touch the phone. Jet can’t take his eyes of the image on the screen—Luca, smiling at the person he hates the most.
“That photo was in a dossier sent over from the CIA.” Luca's voice is almost inaudible. “I wanted to tell you before anyone else did.”
“Chalam…and you.” Jet keeps his voice steady with an effort. “Is there anything about you that’s real, or was it all just a façade?”
“I never lied.” Now Luca’s voice is tinged with guilt. “I just—kept certain things from you.”
That was an understatement if Jet had ever heard one. “So when you said ‘no games, just honesty’, was that declaration one sided—I tell you the truth and you only tell me half? Were you ever going to tell me? Or was the plan to keep dodging in the hope that I was too distracted by your charms to figure it out?”
Jet still won’t look at Luca’s face, but he can see Luca’s hands clench against his knees.
“I never meant to distract you.” Luca whispers. “Just help you.”
Jet is half tempted to get up and walk away, but something in Luca’s voice and the way his hands clench makes him hesitate. The other man has already begun to divulge his secrets whether Jet is ready to hear it or not, so the least Jet can do is let him get on with it. If Luca wants to talk, then Jet will let him talk. He’ll let Luca talk for no other reason than to get this damn conversation over with. But that doesn’t mean Jet will make it easy.
“All right, fine, Kam asked me to help you.” Luca finally breaks the silence. “He said that you and his brother were on an assignment from Interpol—yes, the Manirat siblings trust me enough to tell me what Kit does, so that should tell you something—and were looking into Chalam and OmniVentures. Kam thought I could provide valuable insight. But…he also said I might have to get you to let your guard down first, so—”
“So you got me drunk.” Jet finishes for him. A statement, rather than a question.
Luca’s expression is pained. “It wasn’t—”
“Luca.” Jet’s tone leaves no room for argument. The details from that first night are finally clicking into place. He’d had two drinks—only two. But then Luca kept talking and filling his glass. Six Black Russians. “The night we met, did you get me drunk?”
Luca’s nod is hesitant.
“Sei un figlio di puttana.” Jet spits, the Italian phrase cutting through the air—You son of a bitch.
Luca flinches. “I didn’t plan it that way.”
“But I’d already had a few drinks, so you decided to keep me going?” Jet doesn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Was that your plan? Make sure I was too drunk to question anything, and do a little seduction while you were at it? Make me one more of Luca Sopasitsakun-Fabricant’s nightly conquests?”
The bench vibrates with Luca’s flinch. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. It wasn’t like that—”
“Then what was it like?” Jet finally looks up. “You do your boss a favor, provide your ‘valuable insight’, and then leave?”
“Initially, yeah.” Luca’s voice is just as hollow as Jet feels. The softness of it threatens to rip Jet open. “But I like you. I’ve liked you since the night I met you. I didn’t want to be some random Interpol resource or some nameless guy you ran into at some nightclub one night. Yes, I wanted to help you. But I also wanted to spend time with you, get to know everything I could about you—”
“Like my coffee order, blood type, and LINE ID?” Jet retorts. “Need anything else for your Little Black Book?”
Luca reels back as though Jet slapped him. “I should have told you sooner.”
“You could have trusted me.” Jet’s points out, voice is heavy with regret. “Told me all of this in the first place. Without the aid of alcohol.”
“Mi dispiace.” The pain in Luca’s voice is almost physical. “Mi dispiace davvero, tesoro.”
“ Don’t ‘darling’ me. ‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough.” Jet’s voice is rough, eyes fixed dead ahead.
Silence hangs heavily between them, broken only by the chirping of some damn bird who wants to participate in this conversation, too. The hollow inside Jet’s chest is full now, bubbling with anger and hurt that makes his body shake.
Luca picks up his phone and slides it into his pocket. He doesn’t look at Jet. “I should go.”
“You should.” Jet snaps. The bench shifts as Luca stands and walks away from him without another word.
Jet remains sitting on the bench long after Luca leaves. His mind is no longer numb. Now it’s turning cartwheels. Kai’s revelation about their parents being undercover had already thrown him for a loop, and after hearing his little brother had been rushed to the hospital, Jet hadn’t been sure he could take any more shocks.
He had been right.
Luca had known Chalam was corrupt from the beginning. He had known about Chalam’s slush fund, and his intimidation tactics, and possibly about his parents. COOs tended to be more aware of the CEO’s personal activities than most of the other employees realized. Jet knows this from personal experience. Had Luca told Nail where Kai was that night, so Kai could be silenced in that back alley? Was Luca currently under orders to distract Jet from further investigating Chalam? If he was, then it had worked—all too well.
The logical part of Jet’s brain reminds him that Luca truly wanted to help him, or why else would he have told Jet his secret? Jet’s pride snaps back that Luca could just as easily be lying. Luca had been Chalam’s mentee after all.
Jet presses his hands against the bench so hard the slats bite into his palms. Anger and disappointment are feelings he should be used to—one of the downsides to his chosen career. Interpol deals with deceit almost every day, but those had been people and corporations without faces he knew. It’s different when the case is personal. Jet had known that—he just didn’t expect it to hit him this hard.
He’s getting so damn sick of all the lies and secrets.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Scotch was Nail’s drink of choice. He was careful not to indulge while working—Chalam discouraged that—but off the clock, he often downed two Scotch and sodas a night, with an extra on really bad nights. Like the day he’d been sent after Mali. His conscience pricked him each time he recalled it: the feel of handlebars under his clenched fingers, thud of tires on pavement, Mali's wide-eyed gaze, her face ghostly pale against the bright sun, frozen between shock and dread. When he’d swerved, the weight of that choice pressed heavily on his chest, his heart pounding as the Kawasaki veered dangerously close to the curb. What if he hadn’t turned in time? What if he’d hurt her?
Chalam’s punishment had been merciless, leaving Nail with bruises in easily concealed places—dark splotches beneath his ribs and a sharp pain in his thigh, reminders of strikes designed to hurt without raising suspicion. The physical pain was nothing compared to the psychological scars—Chalam’s relentless whispers of betrayal worming their way into Nail's thoughts, planting seeds of doubt that leave him second-guessing his every move, trapping him in a cage of his own making.
Nail was grateful the footage on Chalam’s office CCTV lacked a zoom feature. Otherwise, Chalam would have seen his hand shaking over the elevator control panel, knowing that one nod from the CEO could send Mali and Rome crashing to their deaths—or to the hospital with injuries serious enough to prove fatal later on.
Nail was grateful the footage on Chalam's office CCTV lacked a zoom feature. Otherwise, Chalam would have seen his hand shaking over the elevator control panel, knowing that one nod from the CEO could send Mali and Rome crashing to their deaths—or to the hospital with injuries serious enough to prove fatal later on. If Nail hadn't volunteered to take care of Kai himself, Chalam would have made a second attempt on their lives—and probably succeeded. If Chalam discovered Nail's hesitation, there would be more bruises, possible broken bones and deeper scars, a reminder that weakness and conscience had no place in Chalam's world.
The familiar weight of the key in Nail’s hand feels oddly satisfying—the one thing he had absolute control over. He turns the key slowly. The click of the lock sounds louder than usual in the quiet hallway. Pushing the door open, he steps inside.
Darkness greets him, which isn’t unusual. Nail has never liked curtains and the condo is high enough that he can catch panoramic views of Sukhumvit Road, but no one on the streets can see him. Moonlight dances across the surface of the glass coffee and end tables, catching on the marble sideboard with the whiskey waiting to greet him the same way it did every night. The aromas of expensive cologne and newly cleaned leather fill his nostrils.
Cologne?
Nail doesn’t wear cologne, never has. Neither did the housekeeping team. The condo doesn’t smell like bleach. The scent is spicy and earthy and slightly dangerous. Sandalwood.
Only one person Nail knew of wore cologne like that.
“You re-decorated in white.” A low voice sounds in the darkness. “Makes the whole place look anemic.”
Nail flicks the light switch and the ceiling lamps turn on. Luca is lounging on a pristine white couch in the middle of the room, a full whiskey glass in one hand. Ice clinks against the side of the glass as Luca gives him a mock salute.
“Shit!” The word is almost a shriek, slipping out of Nail’s mouth before he can stop it.
“Hello, Nail.” Luca’s smile is grim. “We need to talk.”
Nail has seen that look on Luca’s face only once before. It’s the same expression Nail makes when Chalam sends him to work someone over. No one ever looks pretty after they see that. They end up stomped into the ground, hospitalized or dead.
But Luca wasn’t just someone. He was Nail’s once—someone who’d known him better than anyone, the only one who could break him.
Nail swallows hard against dread clogging his throat. “You’re not my type.”
“You used to like ‘my type’.” Luca isn’t annoyed by Nail’s retort. Actually, he looks amused. “But that’s not the conversation we’re going to have. You should probably lock the door so we aren’t disturbed. I know you’re terrible at coming up with explanations for awkward situations.”
“This is not awkward.” Nail locks the door, surprise turning to irritation. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“You forget.” Luca’s smile is grim as sets the half empty glass down on the coffee table with a clunk. He hasn’t used a coaster. He holds up a key identical to the one in Nail’s hand. “This used to be our condo. I kept the key after we split. Seemed fitting to use it tonight.”
Nail’s gut twists. He’d tried to bury the memories, but now they were crawling back into the open. Our condo. He remembers how they used to laugh about redecorating, argue about little things—until everything shattered the day he chose Chalam over Luca.
“From COO to one of the most powerful CEOs in the city, to a bartender living off tips.” Nail sneers. “You’ve sunk low.”
Rather than join Luca in the middle of the room, he walks to the sideboard. No soda tonight. He’d take the Scotch straight. With ice. He keeps his back to Luca. He doesn’t want to see that damn face. The one that had always seen right through him.
“Your bravado works on other people, Nail,” Luca’s expression remains calm. “But never on me. I know you drugged Kai, and I know why Chalam forced you to do it.”
The ice tongs clink against the rim of Nail’s glass.
“Forced me?” Nail scoffs. “Where’s your proof?”
Luca is on his feet and across the room in three strides. His movements are graceful, deliberate, and his cologne tickles Nail’s nose. His pulse kicks up—not from fear, but from memory. Stop it.
Nail’s feet skid against the polished wood of the floor as he takes half a step back, away from the sideboard and his Scotch.
“I don’t need proof.” Luca’s voice is still calm, but it’s very calmness sends shivers down Nail’s spine. He’d seen Luca get like this before—when things got real, and Nail had learned never to underestimate him. “I know how that shark operates, and I know you. It’s not that hard to figure out.”
Nail clenches his jaw. You don’t know me anymore. But the words stick in his throat, lost in the memories of a time when Luca did know him—better than anyone. Except... the way Luca was looking at him now, it was like he still did. Like he could still see past the lies, the mask, the power.
“What do you want?” Nail hates how his voice sounds, rough with too many suppressed emotions. He wanted to sound in control, like he used to when Luca would provoke him during their fights. This time, it feels different—more real, more dangerous.
“Funny enough, I want to help you.” Luca sounds just as surprised as Nail feels. “You may have chosen Chalam and OmniVentures over me, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring.”
“Caring about me?” Nail laughs, though it’s hollow. The sting of their breakup still simmers beneath the surface. “Why the hell would I ever need or want your help?”
“When you’re head of security for—what did you call him?—the most powerful CEO in the city, you think you’re invincible.” Luca shakes his head, like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. “Chalam manipulates and sucks you dry before discarding your husk and moving on to someone else. You have no value where he’s concerned.”
Nail hesitates, remembering all the other OmniVentures employees who disappeared without explanation. The bruises still aching beneath his ribs scream the truth Luca was pushing.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Our breakup, my resignation and your promotion got us both what we wanted. You got the power and respect you so badly craved. I lost you, but I got to keep my moral code. ” Luca’s voice is softer now, the words hitting harder than any of Chalam’s blows. He takes another step, forcing Nail to look up at him. “I let the last two incidents slide, but if you want to stay vertical and warm, you leave the Saetangmasawats alone.”
Nail stumbles against the end table, Luca’s presence too close, too overwhelming. The man had always had this effect on him, making Nail feel too much, too fast, forcing him to confront the things he didn’t want to feel. But this isn’t about us.
“You know my sister’s already tried and failed to scare me off?”
“Pepper makes threats. I carry them out. You know that better than anyone else.” Luca cocks his head as Nail finds himself up against the locked door. “You know what being a bartender has taught me? Patience and creativity. Also introduced me to box cutters. ”
Nail’s bravado is failing him, and he hates it. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Funny, it’s the only weapon Chalam never had me use, but it’s the easiest to access.” Luca looks amused at Nail’s question. “You’ve threatened Mali, you drugged Kai. If anything happens to Jet, I promise I’ll use that box cutter on you. One good stab and slash in the right place, and you bleed out before you’re even aware of what’s happening.”
Something hard presses into Nail’s side. His breath hitches—because of the danger, not the way Luca still made his pulse race. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Luca’s eyes are boring into Nail’s, and the pressure against Nail’s side increases, forcing his gaze to drop.
One of Luca’s fingers is pressed hard between Nail’s lower ribs.
“I don’t usually carry box cutters around with me.” Luca’s chuckle is dark and icy cold. “But I do know where to find one if I need it. And I will use it.”
Luca isn’t bluffing.
Nail swallows, willing himself not to react. Luca knew how to get under his skin, knew exactly where his weak spots were—physically and emotionally. It had always been like this between them, even before it all fell apart. “Get the hell out.”
“I haven’t finished my drink.” Luca drains remaining whiskey in one gulp. His grimace isn’t because of the alcohol’s burn. It’s a grimace of disgust—maybe pity, too—and it’s aimed directly at Nail. He salutes Nail with the empty glass, places it back on the table.
“I wouldn’t have forced the elevator to malfunction,” Nail isn’t quite sure why he’s confessing, but continues speaking anyway. “Not with Rome and Mali still inside.”
Luca doesn’t blink, doesn’t move.
“And I didn’t lace all the coffee,” Nail continues, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “Just Kai’s mug. I knew he always takes the same one. I only put in a couple of tablespoons of Kahlúa—just enough to trigger a reaction. Otherwise, Chalam would have—I did what I had to.”
“You knew Kai was allergic to alcohol.” Luca’s expression is unreadable, but something softens in his eyes. “Good. That’s a start.”
Nail exhales, the weight of his confession hanging heavy between them. After a moment, Luca breaks the silence.
“The offer’s still there, Nail.” He takes another step back, his eyes lingering on Nail for just a second longer than before. “If you change your mind, I’ll get you out.”
The quiet click of the latch echoes through the condo. Nail stands there, staring at the shards of his life that Luca had so easily shattered—again. The words they’d shared, the confessions, they stick like thorns in his chest.
Power…loyalty…manipulation...fear…
Chalam’s face, twisted with fury when more of his secrets got out…
Rome and Mali’s faces in the elevator, unaware their lives literally in Nail’s hands…
Kai’s face, going slack and then terrified as the alcohol took effect…
Luca’s face, and his parting words. “If you change your mind, I’ll get you out.”
Nail seizes the empty whiskey glass and hurls it against the wall, watching as it explodes into a thousand crystal shards.
But the weight in his chest doesn’t shatter with it.