Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nico
Saturday morning breakfast at the compound is usually quiet. Pietro reads the news on his tablet. Nora sips her tea. Vittoria scrolls through her phone while pretending she's not. I drink my coffee and wonder if I'll ever sleep more than four hours again.
Normal things.
Then Kristen walks in.
She's wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt. No makeup. Hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks like she barely slept, which makes two of us. She's holding a tray.
"Kristen!" Vittoria sets down her phone. "What are you doing? It's Saturday. You're not supposed to work weekends."
Kristen's gaze sweeps the room. It lands on Pietro. On Nora. On Vittoria.
It skips over me like I'm furniture.
"I need to speak with you," she says. Her voice is steady. Professional. "About my situation."
Pietro exchanges a glance with Nora. Even my sister notices something's off, her eyes darting between Kristen and me with that annoying curiosity she can never contain.
"Of course." Pietro gestures to the empty chair across from him. "Sit. Have you eaten?"
"I'm fine." Kristen takes the seat. Still not looking at me. "Thank you."
I set my coffee down making a noise on purpose.
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't acknowledge the sound. Doesn't acknowledge me.
The anger coils in my gut, hot and immediate.
I deserve this. I know I do.
That doesn't mean I have to like it.
"We've discussed your situation," Pietro says, setting his tablet aside. "The debt to the Bratva. Nico informed me of the details."
Still no eye contact.
Look at me, damn it.
"The family has decided to pay it off," Pietro continues. "Consider it settled."
"No."
Fuck.
Pietro raises an eyebrow. "No?"
"You tried to repay me once before." Kristen's hands are folded in her lap, knuckles white. "For saving your mother. I told you then that I didn't want payment for doing the right thing. That hasn't changed."
"This is different," Nora says gently. "This is about your safety. Your daughter's safety."
"I understand that." Kristen finally looks up, meeting Pietro's eyes. Only Pietro's. "Which is why I have a proposal."
I lean against the table, arms crossed. Waiting. She can feel me watching her. I know she can. The tension in her shoulders gives her away.
"I'll accept the money to pay off the debt," she says. "But I'm going to work it off. Every cent. You can deduct it from my salary until it's repaid."
"Kristen—" Vittoria starts.
"That's one hundred and forty thousand dollars," Kristen continues, voice unwavering. "At my current salary, it'll take time. So I'm going to work weekends too. Starting today."
Like hell you are.
The words burn on my tongue. I swallow them down, tasting ash and frustration.
Pietro studies her for a long moment. I recognize that look. He's calculating. Assessing. Trying to figure out what broke between last night and this morning.
His eyes flick to me.
I keep my expression blank.
"That's not necessary," Pietro says finally. "We're not loan sharks. There's no interest. No deadline. We're simply helping someone who helped us."
"And I appreciate that." Kristen's voice cracks, just slightly, before she steadies it. "But I won't be in anyone's debt. I won't let that happen again."
The kitchen goes silent.
I'm thinking about Jack Walker's face when I finally get my hands on him.
"We're not trying to control you," Vittoria says softly. "We just want to help."
"I know." Kristen finally smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "And this is how you can help. Let me earn it. Let me keep my dignity."
"Fine," Pietro says. "We'll set up a repayment plan. But you're not working seven days a week. That's not sustainable, and Giulia would murder us all from Sicily if she found out."
"I can handle it."
"Three days on weekends," Pietro counters. "Saturday mornings. That's it. And you take every other weekend off completely."
Kristen hesitates. Then nods. "Agreed."
"Good." Pietro picks up his tablet again. "Now sit down and eat something. You look like you haven't slept."
Kristen finally sits. Vittoria immediately starts loading a plate with food, chattering about how the bacon is perfectly crispy and the bread is fresh from some bakery downtown.
I watch Kristen accept the plate. Watch her take a small bite. Watch her pretend I don't exist.
This isn't over.
She thinks she can freeze me out. Thinks she can build walls high enough that I can't see over them.
She's wrong.
I've spent my entire life watching people. Reading them. Finding the cracks in their armor.
Kristen Thomas has more cracks than she knows. And I put some of them there last night.
Which means I'm the only one who can fix them.
Not that I deserve to.
But since when has deserving ever stopped me from taking what I want?
Kristen
Lily ate breakfast an hour ago when she woke up, bouncing around the kitchen like she'd lived here her whole life. Now she's curled up on the sectional with Sophia, watching some animated movie about a princess who doesn't need saving.
I shouldn't trust the women in this family. I know that. They're part of this world, complicit in whatever crimes fund this breakfast. But Sophia had red-rimmed eyes when I found her in the kitchen this morning, clutching a coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"Lorenzo left for Sicily," she'd whispered, before I could ask. "He wanted to take me, but things there are... complicated."
Complicated. Such a polite word for whatever mess requires a private jet—because of course the Sartoris have a private jet—and both Lorenzo and Dante disappearing before dawn.
Sophia's worry was so raw, so human, that I'd offered the only thing I could: my daughter's company. Lily has that effect on people. She makes everything feel lighter, simpler. Less like the world is ending.
I butter a piece of toast I don't want and take a bite I don't taste.
Pietro reads something on his tablet, occasionally swiping left. Nora sips her tea, watching me with kind eyes that make my skin itch. And Nico...
I haven't looked at him since I walked in. Not once. My eyes trace the edge of the table, the pattern in the marble. Anywhere but him.
The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. Only the distant sound of the movie playing in the living room breaks it up.
"When can I go back to my apartment?"
The words come out before I can stop them, directed at no one and everyone.
Pietro glances up from his tablet.
But it's Nico who answers.
"Once everything is settled, I'll inform you."
His voice is flat. Clinical. Like he's reading from a contract instead of discussing my life.
I make the mistake of looking at him.
God, I shouldn't have done that.
Those eyes pin me in place, intense and unreadable. Frustration flickers behind them and that makes my pulse skip and my stomach drop simultaneously. He looks at me like he care.
Like I matter.
I hate it. I hate him.
My traitorous body disagrees. The moment our eyes meet, heat spreads across my cheeks.
My fingers tighten around the coffee mug.
Every cell in my body screams to keep looking, to trace the hard line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rest on the table like they're waiting for something.
Don't, I tell myself. Look away. He's a monster who showed you exactly what he is.
But looking away physically hurts. My eyes strain against the pull, like magnets fighting to connect. I want to look at every detail of his face, understand what's happening behind that cold mask, figure out why someone so cruel can make me feel so—
No.
I force my gaze down to my plate.
"Fine."
One word. That's all I give him. Not the I hate you burning on my tongue. Not the how dare you clawing at my throat. Not the thousand questions about why he's doing any of this, why he told Pietro he'd pay off my debt, why he put me in the room next to his.
Just... fine.
I feel him watching me. The weight of his attention presses against my skin like a physical thing, heavy and warm and entirely unwelcome.
You don't get to look at me like that, I want to scream. You don't get to describe my daughter being hurt and then act like you care what happens to us.
"I'm taking Lily out today."
"Not happening."
Two words. Delivered like a verdict.
I laugh.
It bubbles up from somewhere deep, spilling out before I can stop it. The sound is sharp, almost manic, and completely inappropriate for this breakfast table.
But I can't stop. Because this is hilarious, isn't it? This man now thinks he gets to tell me where I can and can't go?
"Something funny?"
"You." I wipe my eyes, the laughter dying as quickly as it came. "You're funny. In a deeply unfunny way."
"Until this situation is settled, you stay in the mansion." He leans forward, forearms braced on the table. "Both of you."
Both of you.
I promised Lily. I thought we'd finally go to the zoo.
My throat tightens.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry in front of him.
"Where were you planning to go?"
Nico's question cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
I finally look at him.
Mistake. Again.
His eyes search my face, reading things I don't want him to see. The tremble in my jaw. The shine building in my eyes.
He sees it all. I know he does.
And I hate him for it.
"Nowhere." The word comes out flat. Dead. "Forget I said anything."
I push back from the table. My hands shake as I set down my napkin. Fold it once, twice, three times. A useless task to give my fingers something to do besides ball into fists.
"If you'll excuse me."
I don't wait for permission.
I just walk.
Through the dining room. Past the living room where Lily's laughter mingles with Sophia's.
My chest burns. My eyes sting.
The zoo. Such a stupid, small thing. Such a normal, ordinary parent thing that millions of people do every weekend without thinking twice. But for Lily and me, it was supposed to be special. Proof that things were finally getting better. That I could give her something good for once.
Now I can't even give her that.
I find our room and close the door behind me.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But the air won't come right. It catches in my throat, sharp and painful, and before I can stop myself, the tears spill over.
Silent. Pathetic. Absolutely furious.
I'm crying because I can't take my daughter to see elephants.
I'm crying because a man who terrifies me asked where I wanted to go, and for one stupid second, I almost told him.
I'm crying because I'm trapped in a mansion with criminals, and somehow, impossibly, this is still safer than my own apartment. My own life.