Chapter 18 NICO
NICO
Iwake before she does.
For a moment I don’t move. I just lie there, watching her sleep beside me. Izzy is on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow, her hair spread across it in a dark mess. The sheet has slipped down to her waist. My eyes follow the curve of her shoulder, the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
Seven years.
Seven years of thinking about that night. Of wondering where she went, if she was safe, if she ever thought about me again.
And now she’s here.
In my bed.
In my house.
All mine.
My hand moves before I think about it, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. The sight of her like this—soft, peaceful, unguarded—does something dangerous to my chest.
I bend down and press a slow kiss to her shoulder.
She makes a small sound and shifts closer to me without opening her eyes.
“Morning already?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“Almost.”
She opens one eye just enough to look at me. The corner of her mouth curves.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’ve earned the right.”
That makes her smile properly. She reaches for me and pulls me down until my mouth finds hers. The kiss is slow, lazy, nothing like the urgency of the night before. There’s no rush now. No stolen moment in a dark room. Just warmth and quiet morning light creeping across the sheets.
When we finally separate, she presses her forehead against mine.
“Noah will wake up soon,” she says.
“I know.”
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then she sighs and slips out of bed, pulling the sheet with her. I watch her cross the room, sunlight catching the line of her back. Something about the simple domesticity of the moment feels surreal.
A queen in my bed.
My queen.
Before she can slip away, I roll over her, pinning her gently beneath me. My cock hardens instantly against her thigh, the heat of her body pulling me in like gravity. “One more time,” I whisper, nipping at her earlobe. “Want to feel you before the day starts.”
Her breath hitches, eyes darkening with that mix of surprise and want I've craved for years.
She nods, legs parting as I settle between them. No words needed.
Her hands grip my shoulders, urging me on.
I slide into her in one smooth thrust, her pussy wet and welcoming, clenching around me like she was made for this. We both groan, the sound muffled against each other's skin.
It's fast, urgent now, but laced with the tenderness of everything we've reclaimed. I pump into her steadily, each drive deep and claiming, my hand cupping her breast, thumb rolling her nipple until she arches.
“Fuck, Izzy,” I growl low, burying my face in her neck. “So tight, so perfect. You're mine—every morning, like this.”
She moans, nails digging into my back, hips lifting to meet me.
“Harder. Fill me again.”
Her voice breaks on the plea, raw and honest, stirring that fierce protectiveness in me. Seven years lost, but this—waking to her, taking her—it's the future I swore I'd build.
I angle my hips, hitting that spot inside her that makes her gasp, my free hand slipping between us to rub her clit in firm circles. She's close already, body trembling under mine.
“Come for me, baby,” I murmur, thrusting faster, the bed creaking softly. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
It hits her sudden and sharp. She cries out, pussy pulsing around me, pulling me over the edge.
I bury deep, spilling inside her with a ragged breath, the warmth of my release marking her as mine once more.
We stay locked like that for a heartbeat, foreheads pressed together, breaths syncing in the quiet.
“Love you,” she whispers, the words slipping out soft and real, cracking open the last walls in my chest.
I kiss her slow, pulling out gently. “And you, mia regina. Always.”
A few minutes later we dress and head downstairs.
Morning light fills the dining room when I walk in, pale and quiet through the tall windows. The table is already set. Leone must have run out to get it before any of us woke up.
Now the table looks like a small banquet. Pancakes stacked high, bowls of fruit, yogurt, cereal, eggs, bacon, toast. More food than three people could reasonably eat.
Noah stops in the doorway and stares. “Whoa.”
Izzy laughs softly beside me, that warm sound that has become dangerously easy to recognize.
Noah climbs into his chair like he’s discovered treasure. “Is this all for us?”
“Yes,” I say, taking the seat across from him.
That’s all the encouragement he needs.
Pancakes disappear first, then eggs, then cereal. He eats like the world might run out of food if he slows down. Izzy watches him with an amused shake of her head, reaching over every so often to wipe syrup from his cheek or push the fruit bowl closer.
“He eats like this every morning,” she tells me.
I lean back slightly in my chair, watching him demolish another pancake. “I did too,” I say.
Izzy glances at me with mild surprise. “Really?”
“My mother used to say if a boy doesn’t eat like a wolf, something’s wrong with him.”
Noah looks up immediately, mouth full. “See? I’m normal.”
Izzy snorts quietly. “You’re something, alright.”
For a few minutes the room is peaceful in a way that almost feels unreal.
Noah talking between bites. Izzy laughing at something he says.
The quiet clink of cutlery against plates.
It feels… domestic. The word is strange in my head, but it fits.
And I find myself wanting to hold on to the moment longer than I should.
Noah suddenly hops down from his chair. “I gotta get ready for school.”
Izzy and I look at each other at the same time. The look we share is brief, but there’s weight in it.
School.
Routine.
Normal life.
Part of me wants to tell him no. Wants to keep him here where I can see him, where I know exactly who is around him every second.
Izzy sees the thought forming on my face before I say anything.
“He should go,” she says quietly.
“With everything happening?” I ask.
“He’ll be safer there than out and about with us,” she says. “And good luck convincing him to stay inside all day.”
Noah is already halfway down the hall. “I heard that!”
Izzy smiles, but there’s tension around her eyes.
I exhale slowly and reach for my phone. She’s right. Kids need routine, even when the world around them isn’t safe.
“Fine,” I say.
But while Noah disappears to get dressed, my phone is already in my hand.
Increase perimeter around the school. Double eyes.
Leone replies almost immediately.
already done, boss ;)
Good.
The drive to school feels strangely intimate.
Izzy sits beside me in the passenger seat while Noah talks from the back like he’s trying to fill every quiet second.
He jumps from dinosaurs to soccer to a kid named Tyler who apparently cheats at kickball.
Izzy laughs quietly and keeps turning around to respond to him, her voice soft and patient in a way that does something unsettling to my chest.
I watch them both through the rearview mirror, my heart swelling in excitement.
This is what a family looks like.
The thought comes with an awareness that I want this. Permanently.
We pull up outside the school. Kids are already running across the playground, backpacks bouncing. Parents stand around chatting near the gate.
Noah unbuckles and leans forward between the seats. “Are you picking me up today?”
Izzy smiles at him. “Maybe.”
He looks at me. “Are you?”
The question lands heavier than it should.
“I’ll try,” I tell him.
That seems to satisfy him.
“Okay. Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! I love you!”
He hops out of the car and runs towards the entrance before either of us can say it back.
Izzy and I both watch until he disappears inside.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then, I pull away from the curb.
We drive without a destination for a while. Just moving through the morning traffic while the city wakes up around us. Izzy eventually shifts in her seat and looks over at me.
“You know,” she begins. “I got scared the other day.”
“When?”
“When you came to pick Noah up.” She pauses, watching the street ahead. “Someone at daycare told me a man had come by earlier asking about pickup rules. Said he was a concerned uncle or something.”
My hands tighten slightly on the wheel. “Izzy…”
“I’m not saying you were wrong!” she blurts. “Just, maybe we can discuss these things first? So there’s no—”
“It wasn’t me, Izzy.”
She falls silent mid-sentence. “What?”
“I never came to the school.”
Horror dawns slowly on her face.
The realization hits both of us at the same time.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “If it wasn’t you—”
“We have to get Noah,” I growl. “Now.”
The engine roars as I turn the car around, breaking half a dozen laws. Traffic blurs past the windows while Izzy grips the dashboard.
“Faster,” she whispers.
I’m already pushing the car harder than I should on city streets.
By the time we reach the school again, something is wrong.
Teachers are gathered outside the entrance. Too many of them. A few parents stand nearby looking confused while staff members talk urgently into phones.
Izzy’s door flies open before the car has fully stopped.
She runs toward them. “What happened?”
One of the teachers turns, clearly startled. “Are you Noah’s mother?”
“Yes. Where is he?”
The woman hesitates just long enough for my stomach to drop.
“A man picked him up,” she says. “He said he was family. There was a new girl at the front desk, and she didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to—” The woman chokes down a sob. “I’m so sorry, Izzy. Noah looked so happy—he said it had to be his dad—so the new girl didn’t think—”
Izzy goes completely still.
For a moment, I don’t hear anything else. Not the voices around us, not the traffic, not Izzy’s sharp intake of breath.
There is only one thought left in my head.
Someone has taken my son.