Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nico
The silence stretches like a blade across the breakfast table.
Nora sets down her tea cup. "What's going on, Nico?"
I don't look up from my phone. The shipping manifests blur together—numbers I've already memorized, patterns I've already catalogued. "Nothing that concerns you."
"Kristen was crying last night." Nora's voice carries that particular edge she reserves for moments when she's about to dig in her heels. "I saw her when she climbed the stairs.."
Fuck.
My jaw tightens. Whatever is happening in Kristen's life isn't our business. Not even mine. Yes, we protect the people working for us. But that protection is earned. It takes years. Loyalty proven through blood and silence and sacrifice.
Not that Kristen hasn't earned it.
But the rest of this family doesn't care the way I do.
And that's the problem, isn't it? I care. In ways I don't want to. In ways I can't seem to stop no matter how hard I try to shove it down.
"Last night," I say, my voice flat, "I told Kristen what the Bratva would do to her. And to Lily."
Pietro's chair scrapes back. "Cazzo, Nico. You did what?"
"I told her the truth." I finally look up, meeting my brother's furious stare. "She needed to understand the situation she's in."
"The situation?" Pietro's palm slams against the table. "She's a civilian. A mother. And you—"
"Yes."
Vittoria slow-claps from her end of the table. Three sarcastic beats that echo in the sudden silence. "Congratulations, Nico. You found the perfect way to make sure she never looks at you again."
My fingers stop tapping. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're an idiot." Vittoria picks up her glass, eyeing me over while drinking. "A brilliant, emotionally constipated idiot who just nuked any chance he had with that woman."
Pietro turns to stare at our sister. "What does that mean?"
"Oh, please." Vittoria rolls her eyes. "Like you haven't noticed? He assigned Dante to protect her before any of us even knew about the Bratva situation?"
"That was standard security protocol—"
"Yeah right." Vittoria's smile is sharp. "That was Nico being Nico. Seeing a problem. Wanting to fix it. Except this time the problem comes with a woman he likes."
I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved. My chair tips backward, crashing against the marble floor.
"This conversation is over."
"Nico—" Pietro starts.
"No." The word cuts like a blade. "You don't get to analyze my choices. Any of you. I told Kristen the truth because she needed to hear it. Because she was making decisions based on incomplete information. Because—"
Because I wanted to push her away before she got any closer.
Because last night I wanted to kiss her so badly my hands were shaking.
Because caring about someone in this life gets them killed, and I've seen that math play out too many times to count.
"—because it was the right thing to do," I finish. "End of discussion."
Nora watches me with those knowing eyes.
"You care about her," she says softly. Not a question.
"I don't."
The lie tastes like ash.
"Nico—"
"I said it's over. We're not discussing this. We're not discussing her. And we're definitely not discussing what I do or don't feel about anyone."
I turn and walk toward the door.
"Running away doesn't change anything," Vittoria calls after me. "Trust me. I've tried."
I don't stop. Don't turn around. Don't acknowledge the truth in her words.
The hallway swallows me whole, and I let it. Let the shadows and silence wrap around me like armor.
Because the truth is simple and brutal and exactly what I've always known:
I care about Kristen Thomas.
I care about her smile when she thinks no one's watching. I care about the way she holds Lily like the kid is the only thing keeping her tethered to this earth. I care about her voice singing. I care about the fear she hides behind sarcasm and the hope she's too scared to let herself feel.
I care about all of it.
And I hate it.
Because caring makes you weak. Caring makes you compromise. Caring makes you the soldier who hesitates during a hit because his girlfriend is pregnant. The underboss who leaks information to keep his wife safe. The capo who chooses his mistress over the Don's orders.
I don't want to care.
I don't want to feel this.
I don't want—
I stop in front of her door.
Through the wood, I hear nothing. No crying. No movement. Just silence.
Every rule I've built my life around screams at me to turn around, go back to my office, and let this situation resolve itself the way business always does. Clean. Distant. Professional.
But my hand is already on the doorknob.
Just tell her she can leave in a few days. That's it. That's all this needs to be.
She doesn't know how long it takes to settle a debt with the Bratva.
Doesn't understand the negotiations, the shell companies, the careful maneuvering required to make $140,000 disappear without leaving a trail back to her or to us.
A few days. Maybe a week. Then she can take Lily wherever she wants.
I don't knock.
The door swings open and I step inside, already forming the words—
Kristen sits on the floor. Back against the wall. Knees pulled to her chest. Her head snaps up at my entrance, and I see it.
Tears.
Streaming down her face. Eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Cheeks blotchy. She looks wrecked. Destroyed. Beautiful.
The thought hits me like a fist to the sternum.
How can a crying woman be so fucking beautiful?
And right behind that thought comes another, darker one: I did this. I made her cry.
"Get out." Her voice cracks on the words. "Nico, I swear to God, just—get out."
I close the door instead.
"I said get out."
"I heard you."
Three steps bring me across the room. I lower myself to my knees in front of her, and she flinches like I've raised a hand to strike her. The movement sends another crack through whatever's left of my composure.
She's afraid of me.
Good. She should be.
No. Not good. Not fucking good at all.
My hand moves before my brain catches up. Fingers brush against her cheek, catching the tears there. Her skin is soft. Warm. Damp with salt.
She freezes.
"What are you doing?" The words come out breathless. Confused.
"I don't know."
It's the most honest thing I've said in years.
My thumb traces the curve of her cheekbone, wiping away another tear. She doesn't pull away. Doesn't lean in either. Just watches me.
"What do you want, Nico?" The question comes out sharper now. Angry. "Why do you keep doing this? Why do you act like you're more than just my boss?"
The question hangs between us.
I should give her some bullshit about protecting family assets. About debts and obligations and the business arrangement that brought her into our world.
But the words that come out aren't any of those things.
"Because I don't know how to be just your boss." My voice drops low. Rough. "Because every time I try to put you in a box you break out of it. Because I've spent thirty years watching men in my world destroy themselves over women, and I swore I'd never be that stupid."
Her breath catches.
"And then you walked into my life. And now—" I lean closer. Close enough to count her eyelashes. "—now I can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop watching you. Can't stop wanting things I have no right to want."
"Why are you here?"
Because I can't stay away.
Because you make me want things I swore I'd never want.
Because for the first time in my life, the math doesn't matter.
I don't say any of it. Instead, I lean in. Slow. Giving her time to pull away. To tell me to stop. To be the smart one when I've apparently lost every ounce of intelligence I ever possessed.
Her lips part.
My mouth hovers an inch from hers.
And then someone knocks on the door.
Kristen scrambles to her feet so fast she nearly knees me in the face. I catch myself on the wall, jaw clenching as I straighten.
Of course.
"Just a minute!" Kristen's voice comes out high. Breathless. She swipes at her face, trying to erase the evidence of tears.
I don't move. Don't speak. Just watch her pull herself back together piece by piece, building walls I was seconds away from tearing down.
Kristen
Nico opens the door, and I see Vittoria standing in the hallway. Her eyes dart between us.
"Everything okay?" she asks, but her gaze stays fixed on her brother.
Nico doesn't answer. He brushes past her without a word.
Vittoria watches him go, then turns back to me. "So... is everything okay?"
"I don't know."
She steps into the room and closes the door behind her, leaning against it with her arms crossed. Not threatening. Just... present.
My mind races, trying to piece together what the hell just happened. Nico was kneeling in front of me. His thumb on my cheek. His face so close I could count his eyelashes. And I was going to let him kiss me.
No. No, no, no.
This is not happening. This cannot be happening.
I press my palms against my thighs, willing my heartbeat to slow down. Nico Sartori is... he's him. A man who casually discusses Russian mob debts over breakfast. A man whose family probably has bodies buried somewhere I don't want to think about.
And I'm me. A single mother with $1,200 to my name, a vengeful ex-husband, and a job cleaning toilets in a mafia compound.
What woman like me would Nico Sartori ever want?
The answer is obvious. None. I'm no one.
"Look," Vittoria says, pushing off from the door. "I don't really want to get in the middle of whatever's going on between you two."
My stomach drops. "There's nothing going on."
She raises an eyebrow. The same skeptical look Nico gets, I realize. Must be genetic.
"I'm just the housekeeper," I add quickly, my voice climbing higher. "I know my place. I'm sorry if I overstepped, or if it looked like something—I didn't mean to—"
"Kristen." Vittoria holds up a hand. "Stop."
I clamp my mouth shut.