14. Nico
CHAPTER 14
NICO
I approach Vlad's apartment door, my pulse quickening with anticipation and impatience. The key in my palm feels hot and there's this flicker of doubt that it's all a big joke and it won't fit. I hesitate and glance at my phone, but he hasn't texted anything yet in response to my agreeing to meet him here tonight.
I slip the key into a hole and turn it. The lock gives in. The door yields under my touch as I push it softly and stride inside.
It seems vital like breathing itself, this step into his world.
My eyes drink in the surroundings—the tasteful decor, all sleek lines and dark tones. Wealth and simplicity. Each carefully curated piece feels like a mystery laid bare, an intimate glimpse into the man who owns this space.
Deep down I know he doesn't actually live here. He probably doesn't even spend time in this apartment. He's seen it maybe once. Or twice. It's designer's work that welcomes me. Because it doesn't quite feel like Vlad. Still I'd like to entertain the thought he had a say in how he wanted this place to look.
As I move through the apartment, excitement thrums through my veins, potent and addictive, a heady cocktail of desire and the thrill of the forbidden.
I take off my jacket and hang it over a chair, then settle on the couch and turn on the TV. I find a sports channel and occupy myself by watching two football teams destroying each other.
My phone remains stoically silent, no comforting vibration against my palm to signal Vlad's arrival. Minutes become aching eternities and soon the apartment begins to feel too lifeless. A held breath waiting for release.
I rise to my feet and make my way to the bedroom. The king-sized bed before me is an altar upon which we will worship each other's bodies.
I perch on the edge, testing the give of the mattress beneath me, an echo of the way I yearn to yield to Vlad's touch. At the thought of him, I check my phone again, hoping for an update. A wave of relief washes over me as I see his text apologizing for the delay.
Held up at the club. Be there soon.
I type back a quick reply:
I'll be here...waiting for you, il mio gattino. ;)
After a moment of hesitation, I add a cat emoji and send the messages.
Exhaustion finally catches up with me, tugging at my eyelids. The adrenaline of anticipation gives way to a bone-deep weariness.
Just for a moment, I tell myself as I stretch out across cool sheets, tossing the phone aside. Just until he arrives. The apartment falls quiet around me, the distant hum of the city the only sound breaking the stillness. I feel myself starting to drift, lulled by the temporary peace and the undercurrent of lust simmering in my veins.
A sound shatters the silence, jolting me awake with a racing heart. My eyes snap open, darting around the shadowy bedroom as I try to make sense of my surroundings. The sun is completely gone and it feels late, the kind of late that means something is wrong if Vlad isn't here yet.
But I'm certain I heard a noise. That's what woke me up. Maybe it's him and I just can't see him or most of the apartment from my vantage point on the bed through the open door when I lift up my head. The only source of light is the city's glow beyond the windows.
"Vlad?" I call, my voice sleepy, my mind still clouded from the nap.
Nothing.
An icy unease prickles the back of my neck, a primal warning that something isn't quite right. Before I can fully process the situation, a figure in all black lunges at me from the shadows of the corner. I catch the shimmer of a knife clutched in his hand.
Pure instinct takes over, and I roll off the bed. The blade slices through the air and sheets where I laid just a heartbeat before. I hit the floor hard, the impact reverberating through my bones. " Che cazzo! " I curse, scrambling to my feet as the intruder advances, their face obscured by the mask.
Is this why Vlad wanted us to meet at his apartment?
To kill me?
Or is this the revenge of the Armenians?
Or one of my cousins…
Thoughts rush through my head while adrenaline fills my bloodstream. I'm weaponless, caught off guard in a space I thought was safe. The attacker is relentless, slashing at me with a frenzied determination. I dodge and weave, trying to create distance, but the room feels suffocatingly small.
The blade nicks at my biceps and for a fraction of a second, it stings but the sensation is gone immediately, forced out by the desperate need to survive.
"Who sent you?" I hiss out as he lunges at me again, aiming at the center of my neck. Fucker knows where to lodge that weapon. But I'm a Morelli. And we don't give up easily. We fight until our last breath and let's just say it I'm well-rested.
I pivot and the man almost faceplants into the wall. He swirls around lightning fast. Only professional assassins have these kind of skills. But that's more than enough time for me to jump back.
A quick glance around the room in search of something to even the odds has me grinning internally.
My gaze lands on a heavy crystal decanter on the nightstand. I make a dive for it, my fingers closing around the cool glass just as the intruder's blade grazes my forearm, drawing a hiss of pain from my lips.
Gritting my teeth, I swing the decanter with all my strength, feeling it connect with a sickening crunch. The impact shudders through my arms, a shock wave of violence. The intruder staggers back, momentarily stunned. The knife clutters from his hand and to the floor. He grabs at the side of his head where blood blooms, then he drops to his knees.
I don't let my conscience speak. I silence it with the reminder that this man is a killer. It's either him or me. I press my advantage, striking again and again until the body is a heap of flesh on the floor. I feel the crunch of bone, and the give of flesh. I tune it out. The decanter finally shatters, shards of glass raining down around us.
My chest heaves, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The room spins around me, the edges of my vision blurring as the adrenaline begins to fade.
And then it hits me. I've taken a life, crossed a line I never thought I'd have to. No, I'm not a saint. And yes, I knew my uncle probably killed countless people in his youth to get the Morelli family to where it is currently. But we've been striving to rebuild peace. Violence only comes into play when people don't follow the rules.
Still, I knew this, knew that carrying a Morelli name is a curse. Sooner or later you end up with blood on your hands, no matter where you belong—even if it's the top of the food chain.