CHAPTER XLIII
S ex with Nico was explosive. I had never experienced anything like it. It was as if his touch washed away my doubts and fears, leaving only raw, unfiltered emotion. Nico had a lifetime of experiences that shaped him into someone who was both captivating and terrifying.
Yet, amidst the intoxicating kisses and the pleasure he brought to my body, the reality of who he was lingered like an unwelcome ghost. Nico was part of the mafia, a man who held the power to extinguish a life with a mere flick of his wrist, and that knowledge terrified me. Was it wrong to fall for someone whose hands were stained with blood, someone who could easily orchestrate the end of my life? What kind of person did that make me? Knowing that I was falling in love with a man who could easily decide whether I was worthy of living, just as my parents’ lives were stolen from me in an instant, should disgust me, shouldn’t it? But in those moments when he held me close, the monster faded away. In its place stood a man who had loved fiercely and lost painfully and a man whose heart was shattered by betrayal.
Nico allowed me small glimpses of his true self that he didn’t offer to anyone else. I saw the vulnerable side, the loving heart, the fierce protector. I saw the passion that burned within him, and I was drawn to the darkness that surrounded him. Who would have thought I’d discover such a wild side, a frisky spirit waiting to be unleashed by his touch?
After my bath, we drifted into a peaceful nap. I snuggled against him, wrapped in his arms, feeling a sense of safety I had never known before. Now, as I awakened, I found the other side of the bed empty and Nico nowhere in sight. Only Demon lay sprawled at my feet, blissfully undisturbed in his dreamland.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the soft fibers of the plush carpet cradling my toes. With a smile on my lips, I rose from the bed, feeling an irresistible pull to find him. I stepped into the hallway, the faint, ethereal sound of a piano drifted up from below.
I reached the doorway of the piano room and leaned against the frame, my breath catching in my throat. There was Nico, my dark and twisted prince from hell, sitting at the piano with a glass of whiskey resting beside him. He was clad in jeans and a simple white short-sleeved shirt, no socks, his hair a deliciously disheveled mess. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him, and yet he was still utterly captivating.
He played “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron, and the haunting melody wrapped around me like a velvet cloak. I watched, entranced, as his fingers glided over the keys, his muscles flexing with each note. The tattoos on his arms rippled to life, telling stories of a past filled with shadows and secrets.
When the final note faded, he turned his head slightly as if he could sense my presence. A gentle smile graced his lips, and I took that as my invitation to step closer. I noticed a replica of the Antonio Stradivari Cremonee violin resting against the antique music stand, waiting to be played. He bought me a new violin? My heart swelled with disbelief and love.
For someone I’d known for such a short time, the impact of his thoughtfulness was overwhelming. It was not just a gift; it was a reflection of how deeply I mattered to him.
At that moment, I felt special.
He thought of me.
He saw me.
He made the effort.
He began to play a verse of “Angel by the Wings” by Sia, and though he didn’t speak, I understood his silent request. With eager hands, I lifted the violin from its stand and tightened the bow. Then I tuned the instrument and positioned it against my collarbone, resting it against my jaw. When Nico struck the chorus, I joined him.
Everything else faded away. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the music. Each note became a shared confession, a language of its own, expressing what words often failed to convey.
I was the angel that fell in love with the devil.
But could the devil fall in love with the angel?