Chapter 5 Nicolo
NICOLO
Idon’t know how I got myself into the position of babysitting the younger sister of Emiliano Folonari. Jailbait would be a light word to describe this girl.
She’s curled up on the other side of the car like it’s her chaise lounge, wearing a pink romper with little stars on it, soft cotton clinging to her like it was stitched there on purpose. Like someone designed it just to piss me off.
Mara Folonari. Barely twenty-one, but she’s got the kind of beauty that would make saints weep and killers kneel. She smells like strawberries and some floral perfume that costs more than most people make in a month.
She’s twirling a piece of her hair, staring out the tinted window like we’re just on a road trip. Pretending to be completely unfazed.
I don’t look at her, not directly. I don’t need to. I can feel her. Like heat from a fire too close to the skin.
She turns her head, eyeing me. “You always this grumpy, or is it just around women?”
Her lips curl at the corners, like she already knows the answer.
My jaw tics. If she knew how close I am to pulling her over my knee just to remind her I’m not one of her brothers’ lapdogs, maybe she’d stop testing me. But she doesn’t. Or worse—she does, and she likes it.
“Is that a yes?” she pushes, adjusting her position so the hem of that ridiculous romper rides up her thigh.
Bare legs, soft skin. She smells like spring mornings and trouble. I finally glance over, once. Briefly. Big mistake.
Her knees are drawn up, legs tucked to the side. She’s practically curled into the seat like a cat: lazy, comfortable, and fully aware of the effect she has. Her blonde waves cascade over one shoulder, partially covering the subtle curve of her chest that the cotton buttons barely contain.
I look away. Fast.
“I’m not grumpy,” I say flatly. “I’m quiet. You should try it sometime.”
She grins, unfazed. “You know, for a guy who acts like he’s above all this, you sure do stare a lot.”
“I’m not staring. I’d like to remind you that you were the one staring back at the house.”
“Right.” She runs her pink tongue across her bottom lip, wetting it.
We stop at a red light and I adjust my cufflink just to stop myself from reaching across the seat. “Don’t be a brat.”
She hums in response. “I’m hungry.”
I blink once. “We’re ten minutes from the airport.”
“Which is ten minutes too long when I haven’t had anything to eat since sunrise.”
It’s nearly seven at night.
She pouts, dragging the syllables out like she’s talking to a sugar daddy. “I want snacks.”
I let out a slow breath. “Mara—”
“Are you going to starve me too? What is this, hostage protocol? My brother didn’t starve Valentina when he took her captive.”
I shoot a glance to the driver in the rearview. Without waiting for orders, he signals right and exits the highway.
I make a mental note to reassign him. Permanently.
“Fine,” I grit out. “But make it quick.”
“You’re so generous,” she says, grinning. “I’ll be sweet again once I get my gummy bears.”
Was she ever sweet to begin with?
The car rolls to a stop beside a modern gas station— glass-fronted, clean, and far too quiet. I don’t like it already.
Mara opens her door, one leg slipping out with slow grace. “I’ll go alone. Don’t worry, I’ll be fast.”
I grab my wallet and toss her a platinum card. “Take this. The pin is 1919.”
Her brows raise in surprise but she catches it. “Is that the year you were born?”
“Don’t be insolent.”
She disappears inside.
Mara
The moment the glass doors shut behind me, the air changes. Too bright. Too white. Too clean.
My chest tightens. Fluorescent lighting is never a good sign. It prickles at the back of my neck, makes my skin crawl like I’m being watched, even when I’m not.
I grip the platinum card so hard the edges bite into my palm.
“Gummy bears,” I mutter to myself. “Get the damn gummy bears and get out.”
Counting helps. One…two…three…
I walk down the candy aisle, scanning the shelves. My legs bounce with each step, small jittery movements I can’t control. I smooth the hem of my romper, fingers rubbing the fabric again and again like I can iron my nerves away.
I find the gummy bears. My throat loosens a little.
Okay. Good. Just pay and leave.
The cashier looks up the moment I approach. Middle-aged, greasy hair, eyes that don’t stay on my face long enough to pretend he’s decent.
“Hi.” I say, polite, rehearsed. Safe-girl voice.
I set the candy down and slide the card across the counter.
He doesn’t take it. Not right away. He stares, then smiles. No, not a smile. It’s more terrifying than that. Something slow and oily.
“You’re a pretty little thing,” he says quietly.
My stomach drops.
Cold metal. White lights. A hand in my hair—
I blink the memory away and angle my shoulder so he can’t see the tremor in my hands.
“Can you just ring it up?” I ask, trying not to shrink into myself.
Instead of answering, he reaches across the counter and grips my waist.
I freeze.
Everything inside me goes silent. My breath stutters. The room pulls away like a camera zooming out too fast.
He squeezes, fingers pressing into my flesh. “Bet you taste as sweet as you look.”
The he slaps me. Sharp. Casual. Like he’s done it before. The crack against my ass sends a shock through my entire body.
My vision flickers. My throat closes. I can’t…I can’t breathe.
I push him with both hands, harder than I thought I could. “Don’t touch me!”
He laughs. Like it’s funny. Like I’m funny. I back up so fast, I nearly trip over a display of energy drinks. My pulse roars in my ears. The doors feel a mile away.
Get away. Get away.
Get. Away.
The card shakes between my fingers. I drop the candy.
Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for getting away. Sunlight hits me like a slap the second I burst outside. I walk straight to the car. I don’t even remember crossing the lot. My legs move because they know how to escape even when I don’t.
I slide into the seat and pull the door shut. The smell of leather helps steady me. Barely.
I can’t look at Nicolo. If I look at him, I’ll fall apart. I stare at my hands instead. They’re shaking. Of course they’re shaking.
Be normal. Be fine.
No one can see this weakness. They’ll use it against you.
“Where are the snacks?” he asks.
I swallow. “Didn’t want any.”
Lie.
He calls me out on it. “Bullshit. Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing.” I insist.
My head dips left and down involuntarily. Please don’t push. Please—
But he does.
“Mara.”
My throat burns. My legs curl up on instinct, pulled close, as if making myself smaller will make me invisible.
“We’re not leaving until you talk.”
I just want to get away.
“He grabbed—” I pause, breathing in. “He grabbed me. The guy inside. The cashi—” Something catches in my throat. “The cashier. I was paying, and he touched me. Then he—he slapped my….ass. I pushed him away.”
The truth cracks through in small chunks. My stomach hurts, everything blurry through the tears that have welled up in my eyes.
I can’t do this.
“It’s fine,” I whisper. “I’m fine.”
I wait for the annoyance, the indifference even. Instead, Nicolo opens the door and starts to get out. And for the first time since the kidnapping, I don’t feel ashamed of how terrified I am.
I just feel…safe.
Nicolo
Grabbing the machete from underneath the seat, I open the car door.
“Nicolo, don’t—”
Too late. I walk through the sliding doors, past the automatic chime and into the sterile white light. He’s behind the counter, scrolling on his phone like he didn’t just put his filthy hands on her.
He looks up, then back down.
“You just put your hands on what’s under my protection.” I step closer, voice impassive. Dead. “And men who touch what’s mine don’t get to keep their hands.” I unsheathe my blade. “You’ve got about three seconds to pray.”
“What the fu—”
The machete slices through his wrist before the sentence is finished. His scream pierces the cold air. Blood sprays the counter, coating the candy display. He stumbles back, clutching the stump, shaking.
I grab him by the hair, yank his head forward, and slice—clean, fast, brutal. He gurgles as I cut deep across his tongue, severing it.
“Every time you think of touching any woman who doesn’t want to be touched by you, you will remember how I carved your tongue out and how instead of two hands, you have one.”
He collapses behind the counter, writhing, choking on blood.
I turn and wipe the blade clean on a roll of paper towels by the register, spotting some snacks to the side.
The ones Mara probably wanted to buy. I snap a picture of them and send them to Beast, telling him to get them on the plane before we get there, and then walk out.
Back in the car, Mara is pale. Eyes wide. Legs pulled up into her chest.
I get in beside her, calm as death. “No one touches what’s under my protection.”
She doesn’t respond. But this time, she doesn’t argue either.
This was reckless. But I couldn’t hold myself back.
And that’s how I know I’ve just fucked myself over by agreeing to babysit the nixie beside me.