Chapter 23 Mara
MARA
Duchess wiggles in my lap like she owns the damn car. Her tiny claws catch on my green sweatshirt, her squeaky mewl filling the leather interior. I coo at her, scratching under her chin, while she bats at my thumb like it’s her new favorite toy.
Beside me, Nicolo grips the wheel like it personally offended him, jaw tight, eyes on the road, the perfect picture of irritation.
The mid-afternoon light cuts across his face, sharp and unyielding, turning the lines of his cheekbones into shadows.
The car hums low and steady beneath us, a cocoon of black leather and tension.
Even the city outside seems to hold its breath—shops shuttered, streets mostly empty except for the occasional motorcycle darting past.
Of course, his silence only makes me grin harder.
“Relax,” I murmur to Duchess, ignoring him completely. “The scary robot just doesn’t know how to handle something this cute.”
From the driver’s side, Nicolo grumbles under his breath, “The stray could be crawling with disease. If you’re not careful, you could get rabies. You’re already rabid as is.”
I just know my right eye is twitching.
Grinding my teeth, I lift my chin. “Aww, aren’t you sweet for caring? I’m wearing leather gloves, and I know how to deal with stray kittens.”
He flicks a glance at me, brief but cutting, before turning back to the road. “Stray kittens bite. They scratch. They can destroy everything they touch if you’re not careful.”
“Sounds familiar,” I shoot back.
His knuckles flex on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under the force. For a second, I think he’ll actually answer, but instead he exhales slowly through his nose like he’s reining himself in.
Duchess mews again, pawing at my sleeve. I stroke her fur, softer now.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous no one coos over him anymore.”
“I don’t need anyone cooing over me.” His voice is even, final.
I hide my smirk, but watch the reflection of his scowl in the windshield. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The car slips into the underground parking garage, headlights bouncing off concrete pillars.
The air down here is cooler, damp, carrying the faint tang of oil and metal.
He kills the engine with a sharp twist of the key, but doesn’t move immediately.
He just sits there with his hands still locked on the wheel, as if deciding whether it’s worth the effort to deal with me just because of the agreement he has with my brother.
Finally, he mutters, low and edged, “Of course you know how to deal with strays. You are one.”
The words land like a spark in my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. But he’s out of the car by the time I whip my head toward him to demand if he just said that.
I blink, Duchess purring in my arms. Did Nicolo “the robot” Esposito just make a joke?
The slam of his car door echoes through the empty garage, and I scramble out after him, hugging the kitten to my chest. His strides are long and purposeful, each one daring me to keep up.
“Wait…” My sneakers squeak against the oil-stained concrete as I hurry after him. “Did you just make a joke?”
He doesn’t even slow down. I trot faster, Duchess letting out a squeaky protest.
“Nicolo. You said I was a stray. That’s a joke. A mean one, but still. It counts.”
His silence is infuriating.
“You totally made a joke.” I narrow my eyes at his back, watching the way the muscles shift beneath his dark shirt. “Do you know what this means? It means you’re not a robot. Miracles do happen. You still have some hope.”
He reaches the stairwell door and pulls it open with a sharp jerk, still refusing to look at me. For a second, I swear I catch the ghost of a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it’s gone before I can be sure.
He holds the door open, the faintest mockery of courtesy. I step through, chin high, Duchess clinging to my sweatshirt like a baby koala.
“Fine,” I mutter as I brush past him. “Don’t admit it. I’ll remember this day anyway. The day Nicolo ‘the robot’ Esposito cracked a joke and lived to regret it.”
His only answer is the heavy thud of the door closing behind us, sealing me into the antiseptic brightness of the vet’s office floor.
The vivid light stings after the garage’s gloom. White walls, polished tiles, the faint chemical tang of antiseptic clinging to the air. Duchess squirms in my arms, a warm, trembling bundle against the cold sterility of the place. I pull her closer, muttering something soothing under my breath.
Doctors and nurses rush past me into the room. A blaring sound cuts through the air from Ma’s room.
I shake my head; I do not want to be thinking of that right now.
Nicolo falls into step beside me, silent and sharp, and the receptionist’s eyes flick up at him before darting down again like she just accidentally looked straight at a thunderstorm.
He doesn’t even notice—or maybe he does and just doesn’t care.
Of course he doesn’t. He moves through the world like everyone else is just background noise.
I steal a glance at him, waiting for that twitch at the corner of his mouth again, the ghost of a smile I swear I saw back in the garage. But his face is carved from stone, unreadable. If he smiled in a place like this, the ceiling tiles would probably crack.
“Appuntamento per Duchessa.” His voice is gruff in Italian, rough-edged and low enough that it rumbles through the sterile waiting room.
My grip tightens on Duchess. It’s ridiculous how that single sentence falling from his mouth in his native tongue slides right under my skin like it belongs there. Too rich, too sharp, too…dangerous.
I school my face into something neutral, refusing to let the flush creeping up my neck betray me.
The receptionist nods quickly, tapping at her keyboard, and I almost laugh at the absurdity. A man so dangerous just casually announcing a kitten’s name like it’s a hit order.
I stroke Duchess’s head and whisper, “Don’t worry. It’s just a quick poke, nothing scary.”
From beside me, Nicolo mutters again, quieter this time, “Vaccino contro la rabbia. Per entrambe.”
I press my lips together, teeth catching the inside of my cheek.
I don’t know what he said exactly, but I can tell it’s something meant as an insult.
It’s the tone of his voice. But all I can think about is the way the words drag low and rough out of him, how that voice could shred me if he wanted to.
“It won’t take long, signora.” The receptionist smiles at me politely, accent lilting, pulling me back from the edge of whatever dangerous thought I was about to tumble into.
I give her a grateful smile and shift my gaze to Duchess, stroking her fur to hide the heat crawling up my throat.
“You hear that, Duchess? It won’t be long before we’re back—” I stop myself before the word slips out.
Back home.
When the hell did the Castello start feeling like that?
It’s not long before the vet ushers into a small exam room.
It’s even more sterile than the waiting area—sharp with disinfectant, stainless steel surfaces gleaming under bright fluorescent lights.
I perch on the plastic chair with Duchess cradled in my arms, her tiny body buzzing with nervous energy.
Nicolo doesn’t sit. Of course he doesn’t. He stands near the wall, arms crossed, his presence filling the room like a second shadow. Too broad, too steady, too…much.
The vet, a kindly older gentleman with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses, smiles as he slips on gloves.
“First vaccine today,” he says in accented English. “We’ll start her on a course. You bring her back in two weeks, si? Then again for boosters next month. After that, annuals.”
He scratches Duchess gently under the chin, and she melts instantly. Traitor.
“And she looks healthy otherwise,” he continues. “Good appetite?”
“She ate some leftover turkey this morning,” I admit, glancing at Nicolo’s glower out of the corner of my eye. “She practically inhaled it.”
The vet chuckles. “Good sign. Strong appetite. She will grow fast.”
Duchess lets out a soft squeak as the needle goes in.
My chest squeezes, and I whisper, “Brave girl. It’s okay.”
She burrows against my sweatshirt when it’s over, purring like nothing happened.
The vet scribbles something onto a chart, then looks at me again. “Is the name that we have on record the correct one?”
I stroke her head. “Yes. It should be.”
The vet smiles as though it suits her. “Duchess, then.”
Beside me, Nicolo exhales, sharp and quiet, like he’s trying not to comment. But I catch the faintest flicker in his eyes when they land on the kitten tucked against me—and under the look of irritation, it’s almost as if he approves.
Almost.
I square my shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “You can’t get rid of her now. She’s officially mine.”
He doesn’t answer, just pushes off the wall, looming closer, the edge of his cologne cutting through the antiseptic air.
His voice drops, low and steady. “I’ll soon be rid of both of you when your brother says you can go back to New York.”
I bristle at his tone, but mask it by rolling my eyes.
Instead of firing back with something sharp, I turn my attention back to Duchess.