Owning Nicci

22. Nicci

22

NICCI

D espite everything that’s happened over the course of the day, it’s harder to fall asleep than I would have expected. I’m viscerally aware of Savio lying next to me, of the muscled, warm weight of his body stretched out next to mine, and I consider, several times, simply getting up and going down to sleep on the couch.

But my body aches, and the bed is comfortable. I don’t doubt that he’s right—the couch downstairs probably isn’t. I also don’t think he’s asleep, and if I tried to get up and sneak downstairs, he’d try to stop me.

I’ve been testing his limits all night, waiting for him to snap, to punish me, to put me on my knees or over the bed for a spanking. I know he wants me. I’ve never seen a man as hard as he was earlier, just standing at the dresser staring at the stack of his clothes like there was an answer in them that he was dying to find. But he didn’t act on it. And it’s confusing.

I can tell that he’s developing an attachment to me. That what he feels for me runs deeper than the ownership that he’s repeated time and again. But I’m not sure that he knows what that means. There are moments when he looks lost, and a part of me that I thought was slaughtered a long time ago wants to reach out and comfort him. To bridge the space between us. But it’s a tiny part. An ember too weak to even try to fan into a flame, even if I wanted to.

And I don’t .

Even if I am attracted to him, there’s nothing good that can come of continuing to act on it. Even if I wanted to try to use him for my pleasure—as he’s used me for his—to find out what it would be like to try to take what I want from a man, it would only convolute things between us further. What I need is to use this newfound freedom and put as much emotional distance between us as I can. If he’s no longer going to demand that I behave as his submissive, then we could be temporary partners. A team. Working together toward a common goal.

Until I stab him in the back at the end of all of this, and run.

I shouldn’t feel guilty about that. Not in the slightest. Savio has earned his fate a dozen times over. And yet, as I lie there on my side, staring at the curtains covering the window across from the bed, I can’t help feeling that maybe there’s more to it than I know. That deep down, this isn’t the man he’s always been…and maybe even not the one he really wants to be.

As I’m lying there, my mind racing, I feel him shift in the bed behind me. A moment later, his arm is draped over my waist, and I feel his hand brush sleepily over my breast before he settles, his breathing even once again.

Something tightens in my chest, and I swallow hard, closing my eyes. No one has ever touched me so gently before. Why did it have to be him?

I manage to drift off for a few hours. When I wake up again, Savio is snoring lightly next to me, and a faint early morning light is shining through the crack in the curtains. Despite the fact that I’ve probably gotten less than three hours of sleep, I feel wide awake, and so I gently push back the blankets, careful to try not to wake Savio.

I pad across the room quietly, wincing every time an old floorboard creaks beneath my weight, but Savio doesn’t stir. He’s clearly sleeping hard, and I bite my lip, taking one more glance back at him.

The blankets have slid down to his muscled abdomen, revealing his bare, smooth chest. Sleeping, he looks far softer and more innocent than he ever does while awake—younger, even. I linger there for a moment, taking in the handsome lines of his face and the way his hair has fallen partially over one eye, his head turned onto the pillow.

If he were different. If I were different. If our whole fucking lives were different. If Savio had met me when I was still a socialite, maybe all of his money and influence would have called to my father, and he would have been the man who was supposed to marry me instead. But he still wouldn’t have liked me. He still wouldn’t have wanted me for me . The only thing that there’s ever been between us, other than a visceral chemistry that I wish I could undo, is a mutual desire to use one another for something we need. Without that, I’m not sure what we would have.

Turning away, I get a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt out, knowing it’s probably a little chilly outside this early in the morning. I change clothes, glancing back once more at Savio to make sure I haven’t woken him, and then I slip out of the room, wincing when the door creaks as I open and close it. But I don’t hear him stir.

Thank fuck he said it’s safe out here—that no one knows about this place. I think grimly as I head downstairs and out of the back door. He’s sleeping so hard that I’m starting to think he wouldn’t hear it in time if we were attacked.

The sun is glinting through the trees as I step outside, and I see the backyard behind the cabin for the first time since it was too dark to see much when we got here last night. The cabin is bracketed by forest on both sides, with a grassy, overgrown lawn in the back, and a sparkling pond just down the hill, with more forest behind it. I walk down the hill, avoiding the thickest parts of the grass in case of spiders or snakes, and push the sleeves of my thin shirt up my arms as I go. It’s already very warm out, and I can feel a small bit of sweat prickling on the back of my neck by the time I get down to the edge of the pond.

It feels good. I haven’t been away from the city in years—not since I was much, much younger. And I’ve never been very outdoorsy, but there’s something remarkably peaceful about this place. I can feel the tension draining out of me, and I tip my head back, feeling the sun warm my face as I draw in a deep breath of the fresh, clean air.

I’m not sure how long I stand there. For a little while, I’m not thinking about the Crows, or Savio, or my past—or even my future. I just stand there in the sun, with the scent of grass in my nose and the sound of the quacking ducks flitting across the pond in my ears. And I wonder, ever so briefly, if it would be possible to stay here forever.

“Nicci?”

Savio’s voice cuts through the peace, and my stomach tightens. I turn, slowly, and I see him a few feet away, looking at me with an expression that I can’t quite read. It’s as if he’s never seen me before, as if he’s encountering me for the first time…and something in his face seems as if he likes what he sees. Like he might want to see more of it.

“Sorry.” I wrap my arms around my waist, taking a step back. “I couldn’t sleep for long. Thought I’d come out and get some fresh air.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Savio frowns slightly, walking closer down the hill toward me. He’s wearing jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt—the most casual I’ve ever seen him. I realize, abruptly, that I’ve never even seen him naked before last night. He’s always been fully clothed around me, even in the playroom, even when he’s been inside me.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he asks, looking around. “I haven’t been here in years. I forgot how peaceful it was.”

“It is peaceful,” I agree. Across the pond, the ducks take off in a flurry of beating wings and water, and I glance towards where they’re flying away. “I guess we disturbed them.”

Savio chuckles. He takes a step closer, and I jump when I feel his hand touch my face, turning it towards him. I start to pull away, and to my surprise, he lets me go.

“I just wanted to see if he left any marks last night.” His gaze sweeps over my face. “You’re not bruised, from what I can see.”

“Well, that’s something.” My stomach squirms uncomfortably, and I bite my lip, looking away. I can feel that Savio is about to ask me something else, and I’m not sure if I want to know what it is.

“The bruises,” he says quietly. “When I first brought you to my penthouse. You were covered in them. Who did that to you?”

I snort. “Do you need to ask?”

“Probably not,” he admits. “But I’d like to know.”

I’d like you to trust me enough to tell me. That, I think, is what’s underneath the question. But it’s not a matter of trust. I think he’s already figured out the truth—he just wants to hear me say it aloud.

I look at him, trying to uncover some ulterior motive. But I can’t read his expression.

“I just want to know,” he says, in a gentler tone than I’ve ever heard him use before. “After what you told me yesterday…”

I swallow hard, tightening my arms around my waist as I look out over the pond. “Some of them were from the men at the club,” I say finally. “And some of them were from my father and my brother. He promised me more abuse if I failed, and he kept that promise.” I laugh bitterly at that, the sound sticking in my throat. “He’s always kept his promises. It’s just that none of them were ever good.”

Savio reaches out, his fingers skimming lightly along my jaw, and this time, I don’t pull away. “I can’t begin to know what it’s like to endure what you’ve gone through,” he says quietly. “But I know a little about what it’s like to have a father who promises things and doesn’t follow through.”

“Like what?” I look up at him, and he winces.

“Like promising to love both of his sons equally. Like promising that he’d always help us fight to get back anything that we lost… until it was one of us who took something from the other.”

I frown at him. “What did you lose?”

Savio’s hand drops away, and for a moment, I think he’ll clam up. That he won’t want to share something so personal with me. He presses his lips together, his expression faraway.

“I was in love with someone once.” He takes a step away from me, turning toward the pond. “A woman named Sophie. I was under the impression that she loved me, too. She was very beautiful, very smart. We were a good match—in humor, in interests, in…everything.” He says it with a touch of wistfulness, and I feel a flicker of unexpected jealousy, thinking of him with this other, beautiful woman, when everything was so good.

“My brother and I never got along very well. Whatever I had, he wanted. If our father was proud of me for something, he’d try his best to steal that attention away. And it was the same thing with Sophie. When he saw I was in love with her, he decided he wanted her. He’d flirt with her. Try to charm her. Tell her all his grand ideas for who he’d be in the future. Rich. Powerful. Someone to rival the crime bosses of Manhattan.”

I wince. I have some idea where this is going, and I see Savio’s jaw tighten as he recalls the memory.

“I trusted her. But Barca and my father were already making plans against Gallo. I came home one day to find him in our bed with her. She didn’t even bother making excuses. Neither of them did. He was fucking balls-deep in her—” Savio’s teeth grind together, his hands curling into fists. “He pulled out of her, flipped her around, and kissed her right in front of me. I watched her kiss him back, like I wasn’t even there. And then he put her down on her knees, while I was standing there, and I saw her take his cock like she’d never taken mine.”

The last sentence comes out in a growl, Savio’s voice full of spite and remembered hurt, and my chest tightens. I can see the pieces starting to click into place.

It doesn’t excuse it, I think. It doesn’t excuse any of it. But if so, then does my past excuse what I’ve done? I helped Barca track down and capture Evelyn. She could have died because of me. I would have gone along with marrying Dimitri after that, too, if my father had managed it, kept that a secret from him ‘til death do us part, to escape the punishment that my father had planned for me if I failed. And if he’d demanded something similar of me after my second attempt at an engagement failed, I would have done that, too. I was too afraid of what would happen if I didn’t—and it happened anyway, all the same.

I’ve long wondered if I’ve gone too far, if not even all the torment I’ve endured can make the things I’ve done seem excusable. If that’s true for Savio, it must be true for me, too.

“That’s why you bought me.” I look at his tense face in profile, his jaw still clenched. “Why you said you wanted to take what Barca had. He fucked the woman you loved right in front of you, and so you decided to do the same to him.” I think of that first morning I woke up in Savio’s penthouse, how he’d put me down on my knees and fucked my face. He must have been thinking of that, then, feeling the sweet burn of revenge as he came down my throat. “There’s just one problem with that plan.”

A muscle twitches in Savio’s jaw. “What’s that, principessa ?” he asks, his voice thick.

I laugh grimly. “Barca didn’t love me. And he’s dead. So really, it’s not much revenge at all.” I kick at the grass, feeling something unfurl in me, a deep sadness that reminds me that no one has ever really cared enough to give a shit if someone else touched me.

Only Savio, for all the wrong reasons.

“The only reason Barca would have ever given a shit if you fucked me in front of him was because, for a little while, I belonged to him. Which is the only reason you’ve ever given a shit if anyone else touched me. So what’s the difference, really?” I take a step back. “It’s not the same thing as what he did to you, Savio.”

The muscle in his cheek twitches again. “Don’t you think I know that?” he asks quietly.

Silence stretches between us. After a long moment, Savio turns and starts to walk up the hill.

—

When I finally come back up to the cabin, Savio is in the kitchen, making food. I smell the scent of bacon and eggs cooking, and I frown as I walk in, kicking off my sneakers in the mudroom. “I didn’t think you could cook,” I say wryly as I walk in. “Hasn’t every meal I’ve ever eaten since I came to your place been ordered in? And where did the food come from?”

Savio glances back at me, flipping a fried egg. “I can cook,” he says with a laugh. “I just prefer not to, most of the time. I’m always busy. It’s one less thing to deal with if I’m not cooking. And since I have the money not to, why not?” He shrugs. “But I do know how.”

“And the food?” I sink down at the table, feeling the shock of my freedom again. It’s been weeks since I’ve been able to live life normally, to move around as I see fit, to not be restricted to one room. I hope Savio doesn’t have plans for things to go back to the way they were before because I’m not sure I can do it.

“The driver brought it up and dropped it off just a little while ago.” He nudges the bacon around the pan, picking it out with tongs and setting it on a plate. “We’ve got food for a few days. How do you feel about burgers tonight?”

I stare at him, my eyes narrowing. “This is ridiculous, Savio. What is this …playing house? You’re standing there asking me what I want for dinner after all this time of…of…”

I trail off, and I see a flicker of what almost looks like guilt in his eyes. I look away because I don’t want to think that he’s capable of it. I don’t want to feel any more confused and conflicted than I already do right now.

Because this…this is something I’ve never had. The kitchen feels warm and domestic right now, full of the smells of frying food, with a handsome man flipping eggs a foot away from me. This cabin feels safe, tucked away from the real world that’s been a hell for me for as long as I can remember. And now, Savio has opened up to me, too. He’s shown me the edges of the wounds from his family, given me a glimpse into the real reasons why he’s done the things he’s done.

We’re so alike that it frightens me. We’ve both done terrible things because we’ve been hurt. He hasn’t been under the same coercion that I have, but still, I can see how what’s happened to him has warped him into the darker part of himself that I’ve seen. And I’ve seen glimpses of that other side, too—here, more than ever. In not even half a day, I’ve seen a side of Savio that I wouldn’t have believed existed before this.

We’re both quick to anger and quick to bite back, stubborn and resilient. There are so many bad parts of ourselves that are alike that I wonder if we’d only make each other worse. But I think there could be something else, too. There’s humor in him, the way there used to be in me, dry and sarcastic, quick to tease. I could see, last night, that he liked that I dismissed him. That he found it amusing, under the circumstances. I can see a different life where we tease each other relentlessly, where we keep each other on our toes, where we’re always pushing the other to be the best version of ourselves.

But those best versions died a long time ago for us both, I think. And even if I look at him in this moment, with the sunlight slanting through the kitchen windows, softening the sharp angles of his face as he bends over the breakfast plates that he’s filling with food—and think that in a different life, I could love him, I know that this won’t be that life.

I’m going to betray him. I made a deal with him, and at the end of it, I think he expects I’ll happily go off to whatever other plan he has for me. Keep fucking him until he’s bored of it, probably, and then go work somewhere for him—so he still has me under his thumb. So he still owns me. But that’s not how this is going to go.

It’s going to end with him dead and me leaving. A few weeks ago, I think he would have been furious if he’d found that out. He’d have punished me brutally, maybe even killed me. But now?—

Now, the Savio who held a gun to my head and told me that he should kill me seems very far away. I think if he found out about my plans for him now, they would hurt him. He’d feel betrayed, like he felt betrayed by his brother. He’d see Barca’s cruelty in me, and maybe he would still kill me. But I don’t think he’d want to, any longer.

There’s still time to change the plan, I think, as he sets a plate down in front of me, with coffee and orange juice. Picture perfect, like a fucking Norman Rockwell painting. A vision of domestic bliss that doesn’t exist in reality. And that thought is just the reminder that I need to hold steady.

Everyone in my life has always hurt me. If I gave Savio the chance, he would be no different. I can’t trust him, not fully. If I were to let myself do that, if I gave us a chance…I’m only asking to be devastated in the end.

I’ve endured too much pain to risk it. And even if a small part of me might break when I put a bullet through Savio’s head, I'll grind it under my heel if it means my freedom. If it means I get to put all of this behind me.

Still, as Savio sits down across from me and smiles, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him before, I can’t help but dread the moment when we leave this place.

It’s an escape from reality. And right now, that’s what I need.

It’s what I’ve needed for a long time.