Chapter 28 Nicolo
NICOLO
The office reeks of sweat and sex. My shirt is still sticking to my back, half-buttoned, collar damp where she clung to me.
I should’ve showered. Should’ve burned the damn clothes. But instead, I’ve been sitting here in the dark, drink in hand, convincing myself of the one truth I need to believe.
It was just sex. Nothing more. Never more.
One mistake. One weakness I won’t repeat.
My knuckles tap against the crystal glass, steady despite the storm crawling under my skin.
I down another mouthful, the liquor burning its way down, but it doesn’t scorch her out of me.
I can still feel the weight of her, how she fit against me so damn well—the way she shook apart around my cock, the way her mouth went slack under my hand, the way she looked at me like I was both the punishment and the salvation she craves.
I slam the glass down harder than I mean to. Amber spills across the desk, running in thin rivulets between stacks of papers, soaking the corner of a plan I should be focused on.
My jaw tightens. This isn’t who I am. I don’t lose control. I don’t let anyone own a piece of me, not even for a second. But that’s exactly what happened.
Her dress lies tattered on the floor, her perfume clinging to it like a ghost. The window’s cracked open, but the night air does nothing to scrub her out of the room.
Her scent is still on my skin. Sweet, stubborn, maddening.
The kind that clings, that seeps into the walls until it’s everywhere.
Until you can’t breathe without choking on it. Exactly like her.
My cock twitches in my pants like it doesn’t care about logic. About discipline. About the danger she brings just by existing under my roof.
I grit my teeth and shove the thought down. This body is mine to command. Not hers.
It won’t happen again.
I make that vow to myself, to the silence, to the walls of this goddamn Castello. It was just sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Physical release. Now that she’s out of my system, I’ll be able to focus on the important things.
And I’ll cut off my own dick before I let it become anything else.
The phone vibrates against the desk. A low, insect-like hum at first, then another. It skitters across the wood, screen flashing Theo’s name in white letters.
I ignore it. Stare at the puddle of liquor instead, watch it bleed into the edges of my plans like rust. My pulse is still too loud, my jaw too tight.
The phone buzzes again, harder this time, rattling against the crystal glass. The sound grates down my spine.
I snatch it up, thumb swiping across the screen before I’ve even thought about it. “What?”
Theo doesn’t bother with small talk. “The Mancinis have agreed to set up the call for this Friday at five.”
I lean back, glass still in my other hand, eyes flicking to the window. The garden below lies dark. I swear once she’s gone, I’m burning the fucking garden down and turning it into a parking lot for my cars.
“That works out well.”
He tries to say something, but pauses.
“What is it, Theo?” I grit out.
He lets out a long sigh. “I’ve got some intel from our men that the Mancinis are digging for information about Mara Folonari.”
Fuck. Will she ever not be a fucking headache?
“Sort it out. I want any fucking talk about her to be stopped.”
I hang up before he can answer, the phone clattering back onto the desk, screen going black. Business waits for no one.
If I want to keep the empire I’ve built, then I’d better get my head out of my ass.
Dawn rips across the sky like a bad promise. The garden is damp with dew, the lime trees heavy with the scent that usually soothes me.
Not today. The scent is a nuisance in my throat, like it wants to remind me of the soft things I don’t let myself keep.
My footsteps are measured on the stone path, boots silent.
The sun is thin and gray, and the Castello still smells of the night: vodka, sweat, and the faint ghost of her perfume threaded through the hedges.
I finish my cigarette with my back to the pool and crush it into the tile with a heel so hard the ash flees in pieces.
There’s a knot in my chest that won’t loosen. I came out here to move. To think. To make the world feel like it’s still under my control.
That’s when I see Luca. He’s leaning against the pool house, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw loose, a laugh already starting at the corner of his mouth like he owns this place. Too comfortable. Too casual. Like a man who can read too much into things he doesn’t need to be reading into.
“Luca,” I call, my voice low.
He straightens, grin faltering.
“Boss,” he says, the familiarity slipping like a thin glove. “About yesterday. I—”
“What about the other day?” I cut him off.
The word choice doesn’t matter. The point is, he’s here and he’s getting too close to the woman under my roof.
He steps forward like he’s trying to bridge distance, charm as armor. “We were just talking. She…Mara…I…” He lets out a nervous laugh.
I don’t let it land. My hand slides inside my jacket and rests on the Glock in its shoulder holster the way one rests a palm on a familiar scar. It’s a simple movement, and it makes him stand straighter.
“Back off,” I say plainly. Ice in it. “You’re out of line.”
He bristles. “Hey, I’m not looking for trouble—”
“Get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see you.” The words are curt, the command absolute. No negotiation.
He swallows. For a second, he assesses my face like a man who’s counting the cost.
Then he steps back, palms raised, posture changing from cocky to careful. “Alright, boss. Got it.”
He moves away slowly, like he’s checking every inch of the terrain between us. I watch him go until the movement in the bushes swallows him, until only bird-sound threads the air.
My shoulders unclench with a sound I don’t bother to hear. Control snapped back into place. I let the silence linger, taste it.
Then movement at the far edge of the garden—a flicker. Duchess, tiny and fearless, streaks past the citrus and stumbles into my line of sight before Mara appears, hair still a mess from sleep, robe tied carelessly.
She stops when she sees me. For a beat, I watch the way her mouth flattens, the little tilt of indignation that is always her first resort. She doesn’t look like she’s seen Luca leave. She looks surprised to see me here, early as I am, in my garden like a thing with business to attend.
“Morning,” she says, voice bright enough to blind the gods.
“Morning,” I answer, but the word’s a different animal coming from me.
My eyes cut to the cat, then to Mara. She picks up Duchess in the crook of her arm. The kitten’s paws knead at her sleeve.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
I don’t need to hear the answer. I already know.
She lifts her chin. “I wanted to go on a walk. To clear my head.”
I step closer until the space between us is intolerable.
“Keep your distance from my men.” My voice drops, and the timbre makes something shift behind her eyes.
She exhales. “You’re marking your territory, Nicolo? How sweet.”
The sarcasm bites, but it also gives me the exact reaction I want: heat, irritation, proof that she’s not afraid of me. That what happened didn’t scare her away. Good.
Too good.
“No.” I step forward until there’s no space but to breathe each other’s air. “This is a warning. Luca’s not a plaything. Nor are any of my men. If I find one finger near you where it shouldn’t be, I won’t hesitate to relieve him of his breathing capabilities.”
She blinks like the words are foreign, then laughs—sharp, brittle. “What? Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“You think this is a joke?” My jaw tightens until I can feel the bone. “You think walking into other men’s arms and teasing is how you’ll get the attention you want from me?”
Her smile fades—just the edges—and something like hurt gleams behind her bravado. She opens her mouth to come back at me, but I don’t let her.
“You’re reckless,” I say, low and steady. “You’re a liability. And I won’t have it. Stay away from my men. Or you won’t like the consequences.”
She swallows before she gives me a grin. “Oh, but I loved the consequences that came with yesterday’s…issue.”
My hand shoots up, grabbing her by her jaw and pulling her close. I watch as she looks up at me through her lashes. The kind of innocence I’m itching to squash, break, and demolish.
“Let me make myself clear, Miss Folonari. I’m not the kind of man you want to be involved with.
Not professionally, and certainly not…” I let my eyes trail down her body painfully slow before I continue.
“Intimately. And if you expect cuddles and soft kisses, I’d like to correct that notion.
I fuck for pleasure, not to feel a damn thing.
Hard. Fast. Unforgiving. You clearly can’t keep up, so stay out of my fucking way. ”
I drop her face and step back like she’s burned me. And maybe she has.
She stands there—defiant, raw, stupidly brave—and I turn away before I say anything else.
I managed to bury myself in work in the library by the time the sun rose and set. The grandfather clock behind me ticks away as the arms inch closer to midnight. My hand tightens around the glass of scotch.
My concentration has been shot for the past couple of hours. All I can think of is if she listened to my warning or not.
So help me God, if I find out she’s entertaining the idea of toying with me again…this time, I won’t let her walk out on her own two feet.
The clock ticks past midnight. The scotch burns low in my chest, a steady ache that matches the one behind my ribs. Papers blur in front of me, the words bleeding together until they stop making sense. My focus used to be iron, unbreakable. Now it bends under the memory of her skin.
My phone buzzes against the desk. Once. Twice. Persistent.
Theo wouldn’t call again this late. I reach for it out of habit, more irritation than interest…until I see the name.
Nestor. The irritating fuck never picks a good time. I let it ring once more, then I answer.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you,” I say, voice unfeeling, controlled.
A low chuckle slides through the receiver, sure of himself. “Now, why would my best friend not expect a call from me?”
I lean back in the chair and drag a hand down my face, my irritation spiking. “Get to the point.”
“The Pakhan is interested in a deal with your brother and his boss, but they don’t seem to be entertaining the idea of even speaking to us.”
My eyes close for a beat before I say, “I’ve told you before, Nestor. I don’t involve myself in the Camorra’s business. You want to strike a deal with New York, you set up a meeting.”
He scoffs. “Really? Then, pray tell, what’s the youngest Folonari doing under your Castello’s roof?”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Watch your mouth.”
“Relax. I’m just saying, if you don’t involve yourself in the Camorra’s dealings, why do you have Folonari’s younger sister under your roof?”
“Not that I owe you a fucking explanation, but I, similar to what you want to do, struck a deal with the Camorra. What I want to know is where you got that damn information from.”
He laughs. “Oh, you know me. I don’t kiss and tell. But I’d keep your leash tight, Nicolo. You’ve got eyes on you. And I don’t mean the Mancinis’.”
There’s a pause—a long, deliberate silence where I can almost hear him smirking through the line.
Then, quieter, “I’ll be in touch. We’ve got plenty of business to discuss.”
He cuts the call before I can tell him there’s nothing to discuss.
The screen goes black again, my reflection staring back at me in the glass—jaw locked, eyes darker than they should be.
Nestor is a fucking pain in the ass, and if he’s calling me, that means he’s up to no good.
But him talking about Mara and eyes on me other than the Mancinis’ is raising the alarm bells.
I tip back the last of my drink, let it sear down my throat, and set the empty glass on the table beside the untouched plans.
The empire I’ve spent my entire life building is starting to crack. And this time, it’s not from the outside.