Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nico
"He what?"
The words come out quiet. Controlled. The kind of quiet that makes men reach for weapons.
Dante's voice crackles through the phone. "Grabbed her arm. Wouldn't let go until I stepped in."
My grip tightens on the device. The leather of my desk chair creaks as I lean forward. "Where are they now?"
"I put Kristen and Lily in the car. They're fine. Shaken up, but fine."
Fine. Kristen's arm. His hands on her arm. The image burns through my skull like acid.
"Bring them to the compound."
Silence stretches across the line. Then: "You sure that's a good idea?"
I close my eyes. Count to three. It doesn't help.
"Dante." My voice drops to something barely above a whisper. "You know where you can put your good ideas? Somewhere the sun doesn't shine. Now do as I said."
"Copy that."
The line goes dead.
I'm already moving before I realize I've stood up. My feet carry me through the study, down the hallway, toward the front entrance.
Jack Walker put his hands on her.
Jack Walker, who stole $80,000 from his own wife. Who let her believe she owed money to the Russian mob. Who left her struggling in a shithole apartment while he fucked his mistress in Manhattan.
Jack Walker touched her.
My knuckles crack as I flex my fingers. The scars across them ache with phantom memory—the satisfying crunch of bone, the wet warmth of blood. I haven't hurt anyone in weeks. The urge sits heavy in my chest now, coiled and waiting.
I reach the foyer just as Vittoria appears on the stairs.
"What's wrong?" She reads my face instantly. Always could. "Nico, you look like you're about to murder someone."
"Not yet."
Her eyes widen. "That's not reassuring."
I don't answer. Through the tall windows flanking the front door, I watch the iron gates at the end of the driveway. Waiting.
Three minutes. That's how long it takes for Dante's black SUV to appear through the trees. Three minutes of my blood pressure climbing, my thoughts spiraling into darker and darker territory.
The car stops at the front steps. Dante emerges first,. Then the back door opens.
Kristen climbs out with Lily in her arms.
The kid's face is buried in her mother's neck. Kristen's holding her like she'll never let go. Her hair's escaped its ponytail, strands sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes find mine through the window.
She looks terrified.
I open the front door before they reach it. The November air bites at my skin, but I don't feel the cold.
"Inside." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Both of you. Now."
Kristen flinches. Lily's arms tighten around her neck.
Fuck.
I force myself to take a breath. Soften my expression. It feels like cracking stone.
"Please," I add. The word scrapes my throat.
Kristen hesitates for a heartbeat. Then she moves past me, carrying Lily into the foyer.
Vittoria descends the last few steps, her dark eyes darting between me and Kristen. "What is going on?"
"I'll tell you later." I don't look at my sister. My attention stays fixed on Kristen, on the way she's holding Lily like the kid might evaporate if she loosens her grip even slightly. "You can take the room next to mine for tonight. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
Kristen's grey-blue eyes meet mine.
"I'll come find you," she says finally. "When Lily falls asleep."
She doesn't wait for my response. Just walks past me.
Then she's gone, climbing the stairs with Lily still wrapped around her like a barnacle.
I watch them disappear down the second-floor hallway. Count her footsteps. Wait until I hear the guest room door click shut.
"Nico." Vittoria's voice cuts through the silence. "What. Happened."
I turn to face my sister. She's got her arms crossed, chin lifted, that stubborn set to her mouth that means she's not letting this go.
"Jack Walker," I say. The name tastes like ash. "Lily's father. He showed up at the playground. Grabbed Kristen's arm when she tried to leave."
Vittoria's expression shifts. Her crossed arms drop. "He grabbed her? In front of Lily?"
"Dante handled it."
"Dante handled—" She stops. Takes a breath. When she speaks again, her voice is careful. Measured. "Okay. So you brought them here. That's... that's good. Smart. But Nico..."
I know what's coming. Can see it in the way she's tilting her head, studying me like I'm a puzzle she can't quite solve.
"What?" I ask.
"Maybe controlling her life right now isn't what she needs."
I blink. "I'm not controlling—"
"You brought her to the compound." Vittoria ticks off points on her fingers. "You put her in the room next to yours. You're already talking about figuring out 'the rest' like you're the one making decisions for her." She pauses. "That's control, Nico. Even if you don't mean it that way."
My jaw tightens. I don't have a response for that.
Vittoria steps closer. Her voice softens.
"I'm happy you're helping them. A woman and a kid in a bad situation—of course we should help.
That's what our family does." She hesitates.
"But this isn't something you'd normally care about personally.
You handle construction. Logistics. Numbers. You don't..."
Get involved, she doesn't say. Feel things, she doesn't say.
"I don't what?" My voice comes out flat.
"You don't do this." She gestures vaguely at the space Kristen occupied moments ago. "The protective hovering. The intense staring." Her head tilts further. "Why does she matter so much to you?"
The question hangs in the air between us.
I should have an answer. Something logical. Something that makes sense within the framework of how I operate, how I've always operated. Kristen saved our mother's life. She's an employee. She's under our protection now because of the debt situation with the Bratva.
All true.
None of it explains why my blood pressure spikes every time she walks into a room. Why I memorized the exact shade of grey-blue in her eyes. Why the thought of Jack Walker's hands on her arm makes me want to find him and break every bone in his body, slowly, one by one.
"I don't know," I say.
The admission costs me something. I can feel it—a crack in the wall I've spent thirty years building. Small, but there.
Vittoria's eyebrows rise. "You don't know?"
"That's what I said."
"Nico Sartori, the man who knows everything, who sees every pattern, who questions every alliance—" She stops. Stares at me. "You genuinely don't know why you care?"
I don't answer.
I can't answer. Because the truth is uglier than ignorance. The truth is that I've spent my entire adult life avoiding exactly this—whatever this is. The wanting. The noticing. The way my chest tightens when she smiles at her daughter.
Wanting a woman more than just having fun with her, is a liability. I've watched it destroy men smarter and stronger than me. I've seen what happens when someone in this life lets themselves feel too much.
And yet.
And yet.
"I need to check on something," I say. The words sound hollow even to my own ears. "Keep an eye on things down here."
Vittoria opens her mouth to argue.
I'm already walking away.
But even as I close the study door behind me, I know I'm lying to myself.
Because the only problem I'm thinking about is in the room next to mine.
Kristen
The bedroom door clicks shut behind me, and my brain explodes.
Mom told him where we were.
I press my back against the cool wood, watching Lily bounce on the massive four-poster bed like it's a trampoline. The mattress alone is probably worth more than six months of my rent. Egyptian cotton sheets. Actual throw pillows that serve no purpose except looking pretty.
And my mother—my own mother—gave Jack our location.
She knew. She watched me count pennies for groceries. She brought us casseroles because Lily didn't have enough to eat. She held my daughter while I cried about money, about being scared, about wondering if I'd ever dig myself out of this hole.
And she picked up the phone and told Jack exactly where to find us.
My chest squeezes so tight I can't breathe.
"Mommy, are we gonna live in the castle now?"
Lily's voice cuts through the static in my head. She's standing on the bed, Sir Floppington clutched to her chest, gray-blue eyes wide with that specific brand of hope only four-year-olds can manufacture.
"No, baby." I push off the door, forcing my legs to carry me toward her. "We're just... visiting."
"But it's so pretty." She flops backward onto the pillows, spreading her arms like a snow angel.
I sit on the edge of the bed, reaching over to brush hair from Lily's forehead. My hand trembles. I hope she doesn't notice.
Dante was following us.
That thought crashes into me like a second wave. The silent driver who barely speaks, who I assumed was just doing his job, was watching us at the playground. Before Jack showed up. Which means someone ordered him to be there.
Which means someone knew we might be in danger.
Which means—
Why do I feel safe here?
I should be terrified. I'm in a compound owned by people who have armed guards and security systems and probably bodies buried somewhere on the property. This family speaks in coded language and meaningful glances. There are rooms I'm not allowed to enter and questions I'm not allowed to ask.
I'm not a fool. I know that so much money must have been earned not only by restaurants and construction companies.
And yet.
When Nico said take the room next to mine, something in my chest unknotted for the first time in months. Maybe years.
I hate it.
I hate that I feel protected by walls built probably with blood money. I hate that Lily is safer here than in our own apartment. I hate that my mother's betrayal hurts less than it should because I'm too exhausted to feel anything except relief that someone else is handling this.
I hate that I'm already dreading going back to real life.
"Mommy?" Lily tugs my sleeve. "You're making your sad face."
"I'm not sad, baby." Lie. "I'm just tired."