Chapter 20
ALESSIO
Standing on Nina’s porch feels like stepping into foreign territory.
The red door clashes spectacularly with the blue siding, and I find myself wondering if she chose that color or if some previous tenant had questionable taste.
I’ve been having this internal argument for two days about whether showing up here is a monumentally stupid idea.
But I can’t stop thinking about the look on Nina’s face that night at the club. The fear and darkness in her eyes as I walked her to this very door have been stuck in my head.
The smart move would be to stay away, keep things simple, avoid whatever gravitational pull this woman has on me.
But here I am anyway, holding enough Chinese food to feed a small army and a Happy Meal I grabbed on impulse. Christ. What’s happening to me?
I press the doorbell before I can talk myself out of it again. When the door opens, Nina’s shock is almost comical.
“Alessio?”
“I’m choosing to take this deer-in-headlights look as a compliment.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, but she steps aside. “Very funny. What are you doing here?”
Her living room surprises me. Everything in my place is black, white, or gray—what my decorator called a “sophisticated neutral palette.” Translation: boring as hell. But this space actually looks like people live in it. Bright colors, mismatched pillows, evidence of real life scattered around.
A juice box sits on the end table next to a stack of picture books that have clearly been read to death. There’s a small red cape draped over the back of a chair and what looks like a superhero mask on the couch.
Nina snatches up the mask, her movements tense. “Austin’s obsessed with superheroes,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes as she tosses it aside. “He wears this thing everywhere.”
“How old is he?”
“Uh, five.”
The math hits me immediately, and I can’t keep the edge out of my voice. “So you got back together with your ex after that night? After he left you hanging with his debt?”
Her face hardens. “Did you come here to judge my life choices?”
The possessive anger churning in my gut surprises me. I’ve never given a damn about a woman’s past or who she slept with after me. But the thought of Nina going back to that worthless piece of shit...
It pisses me off more than it should.
“No.” I hold up the bags like a peace offering. “I brought dinner. And...” I lift the red box, feeling ridiculous. “I figured the kid might not like Chinese food.”
Something shifts in her expression. Surprise, maybe. Or something softer I can’t quite read.
“He’s not here. Keshia took him out.”
“Keshia?”
“My roommate. She’s like his aunt.” Nina’s voice softens. “I don’t have any real family, so she’s it for us.”
The loneliness in her words unsettles me. “Guess that means more food for us.”
She tilts her head, studying me with those gray eyes. “You know, this is the last thing I would have expected from you.”
I catch sight of the fading bruises on her neck, and my jaw tightens. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her smile grows wider, like I’ve said something amusing.
“What?” I snap, feeling suddenly off-balance. I’ve taken women to dinner before, but showing up at someone’s home with takeout feels different. More intimate than I’m used to.
“Nothing bad. It’s just...you look completely out of your element right now. It’s kind of cute.”
I scoff. “I’m not cute. I’m dangerous and intimidating and—”
“Cocky?”
Instead of rising to the bait, I brush past her toward what looks like a dining room. Her laugh follows me, and I have to fight back a grin.
We spread the containers across her small table, and I find myself asking questions I normally wouldn’t bother with. About her childhood in foster care, about Eric, about what it’s like raising a kid alone.
She talks easily once she gets going, painting a picture of a life that’s been harder than mine in ways I never had to consider. No family support, no network of people ready to solve problems with violence and money.
“I still don’t get it,” I stab at my fried rice with more force than necessary. “Where the hell is your ex in all this? Shouldn’t he be helping with his kid?”
“Eric isn’t part of my life anymore,” she says firmly. “And he never will be again. We hooked up once after the divorce. That's it.”
At least that bastard stayed out of the picture after that. Good.
When she talks about her son, everything about her changes.
Her whole face lights up, voice going soft with an affection so genuine it’s almost painful to watch.
She mentions the hard parts. The exhaustion, the worry, the constant juggling act.
But she also dismisses them like they’re just the price of admission for something invaluable.
Now I get why she took the job at the club. Everything she does is for that kid.
The realization makes my feelings for her deepen in a way that should terrify me. That little voice in my head is still there, whispering warnings about attachment and abandonment, but for once I’m not listening.
“So what is this?” she asks as we clean up, storing leftovers in her refrigerator along with the untouched Happy Meal. She leans against the closed door, teeth dragging across her bottom lip. “What’s happening here?”
The direct question throws me. I appreciate that she’s not dancing around it, but it also triggers every defense mechanism I’ve spent years building.
“We should keep this casual,” I say without thinking it through. “See where it goes.”
Disappointment flickers across her face before she nods. “Sure. Casual.”
I don’t like seeing that look, but I can’t bring myself to take the words back either. Instead, I step closer, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
“Casual can still be fun,” I murmur, letting my thumb brush across her cheek.
Her smile is small but real. “I suppose you’d know.”
That’s all I need to make my move. Pulling her into my arms, I crush her body against mine as I capture her lips.