Nicco - Season 2

1. Pickpockets and Private Jets

ARIA

Ever since Nicco signed his new lease, he's barely shown his face at my apartment. He has yet to completely move out, though. It feels like I'm living with a ghost. I never see Nicco at home, but his presence can be felt everywhere. In the Armani shirts hanging in my closet. In the scent of his cologne on my bedsheets. In the ticking of his TAG Heuer watch resting on my end table. The rhythm reminds me of the world's loneliest heartbeat. Or maybe these disappearing seconds are more of a countdown.

A countdown to heartbreak.

Certainly, my heart is his to break. In a way, I deserve to be forsaken since I'm the one who keeps pushing him away. Yet, this growing space between us has also been a blessing in disguise. It's allowed me free reign to do recon on Manning and set my plans in motion.

I love Nicco, and, because I love him, I can't lose sight of my endgame. No matter what, I need to give Manning control over the Gravinski account so he can fuck it all up and lose Jaime's trust.

This morning, I'm on another mission. It's exactly 7:45 am when I step off the train, right into morning rush hour. London Bridge Rail Station is packed. The clicks of my heels are lost among the noisy, aggressive crowd. Pushing through the throngs of people, I scan their faces. My gaze searches until it locks onto a familiar figure: An older, slightly overweight man who keeps bumping and brushing against other passengers. Barely touching them, though. Yesterday, he wore a hoodie. Today, he's in a T-shirt and jeans. Such a regular-looking bloke. Boring and forgettable. Just another nobody in the masses.

My gaze sharpens.

I started tracking him a while ago. The guy's movements are so quick and nimble, no one feels it when his fingers slip inside their pockets and purses. He's in and out within a second, fishing for wallets, loose cash, watches, and phones. I've been studying him during my commute to and from work, always keeping him in the corner of my eye. Not to protect myself from theft but to assess his skills. This guy isn't the best I've seen, but he seems reliable enough.

He'll have to do.

As more passengers flood the station, I move into his line of sight and leave my purse unzipped. It dangles from my shoulder like low-hanging fruit. I'm baiting him.

Sure enough, a minute later, he starts heading my way. I keep my eyes on my phone, pretending to be oblivious. Amid the hustle and bustle, he approaches me and makes his move. Right as his hand dips into the opening of my purse, however, I snatch his wrist and murmur, "Gotcha."

He immediately tries to get away. "Bugger off!"

I tighten my hold to stop him from leaving. "Wait, please. I need your help."

The man frowns suspiciously. "Excuse me?"

I narrow my eyes and tuck a £50 note into his shirt pocket. "I'll make it worth your while."

Greed lights up his blue eyes. "Worth my while, you say?"

"See this man?" I show him a picture of Ted Manning on my phone.

He glances over. "Uh-huh."

"He has something I want. That's where you come in. £1,000," I offer, "if you can bring it to me within the next few hours..."

***

As I enter the Jackson & James office, I feel somewhat less tense. Granted, I'm still gambling with my life while hoping that luck doesn't run out, but, at least, I've successfully recruited some new talent in my corner. The pickpocket from the Tube will be key in getting my plans underway today.