Cold Green Fire

Clara’s hands trembled as she picked up the box. It was heavy.

She flipped the lid open.

Inside, resting on white satin, was a necklace. It was magnificent. A heavy gold chain encrusted with diamonds, leading to a central pendant—a massive, square-cut emerald surrounded by a halo of smaller stones.

It glittered in the dim light of the dashboard instruments.

"Oh," Clara breathed. It was beautiful. It was worth more than her entire life’s earnings.

"Put it on," Nico commanded.

Clara lifted the necklace. The metal was cold against her fingers. As she fumbled with the clasp, a memory surfaced. A lunch, three months ago. A table at a charity gala.

She had sat next to Bianca Moretti. The wife of a rival associate. A woman in her fifties, elegant, loud, and dripping in jewels.

Bianca had worn this necklace.

Clara remembered complimenting it. She remembered Bianca laughing, touching the stone, saying it was a family heirloom from Sicily. *“My husband says it protects us,”* Bianca had said.

Clara went cold.

"Nico," she whispered, the necklace hanging from her fingers like a dead snake. "Where did you get this?"

Nico watched her, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. "Does it matter?"

"This is Bianca’s," Clara said. "I saw her wearing it."

"Bianca doesn't need it anymore," Nico said flatly. "Her husband got sloppy. They had a... liquidation of assets."

"Is she dead?" Clara’s voice was barely audible.

"She's gone, Clara. That's all you need to know." Nico leaned back, crossing his arms. "I saw it in the inventory pile and I thought of you. Green brings out your eyes."

He hadn't bought it. He hadn't gone to Tiffany's. He had taken it off a dead woman, or a woman who was about to be dead. He had stripped it from a life he had destroyed and wrapped it up as a Valentine’s gift.

"I can't wear this," Clara said. "It's... it's bad luck. It's stolen."

"Everything we have is stolen, babe," Nico laughed darkly. " The car. The apartment. The food in your stomach. Don't grow a conscience now. It’s unflattering."

He leaned forward, his face hardening. "Put. It. On."

It wasn't a request. It was a test. If she refused, she was rejecting him. She was rejecting the lifestyle. And she knew, with terrifying clarity, that people who rejected Nico didn't just get broken up with. They ended up like David. Or Bianca.

Clara raised her hands. She placed the cold gold against her throat. She struggled with the clasp for a moment, her breathing shallow, until it clicked shut.

The emerald settled into the hollow of her throat. It felt heavy. Like a shackle.

She reached up and flipped down the sun visor, opening the vanity mirror.

The light flickered on.

She looked at herself. The dress was too tight. Her lipstick was smudged from his aggressive kiss. And around her neck hung a fortune in blood and emeralds.

It looked hideous.

It looked perfect.

"Well?" Nico asked, watching her profile. "How does it look?"

Clara stared at her reflection. She saw the fear in her eyes, but she also saw the sparkle of the diamonds. She saw the way the green stone caught the light, making her look expensive. Important. Protected.

She touched the stone. It was warming up against her skin.

She turned to Nico. She could scream. She could run into the dark industrial wasteland.

Instead, she forced a smile. It was brittle, sharp, and entirely fake.

"It's beautiful, Nico," she said. "Do I look good?"

Nico grinned, the shark sensing blood in the water. He reached out and ran his thumb over the emerald, pressing it into her windpipe just enough to make it hard to swallow.

"Like a million bucks," he said.

He put the car in gear. As they drove away from the river, leaving the silence behind, Clara touched the necklace again. She realized she would never take it off. She was just as cold, just as hard, and just as guilty as the man driving the car. And the terrifying part was, she liked the way it shined.