Chapter 7 Nicola
NICOLA
Hours passed, and I didn’t even know how I made it to the alley, heels clicking on cobblestones, breath uneven, adrenaline swirling through me like poison, like something was wrong.
Too many shots was what was wrong. I didn’t love the whole ‘feeling out of control’ thing, couldn’t stop thinking about Matteo and his hands.
His goddamn hands. The cool night air slapped me in the face, slicing through the haze of alcohol, but not enough to clear it.
Not enough to stop the ache behind my ribs at this want.
I didn’t ask to feel this way, I didn’t want to feel anything when Matteo DeLuca touched me.
All I could focus on was getting out of the club.It felt too small and too hot.
I just needed some air to get my head on straight.
“Nicola?” Matteo’s voice cut through the music still thumping from the club behind me, before the door slammed shut behind him.
I spun around. “Go away!”
He stopped, chest heaving, dark curls a mess like he’d been running. “Not happening.”
“I don’t need any help, Matteo. Especially not from you,” I shouted, louder than I meant to, voice cracking like I was about to cry, which I wasn’t.
“You’re so damn stubborn,” he muttered, closing the distance. “Do you even hear yourself?”
I shoved him. Hard.
He stumbled a little—more from surprise than force—but then he steadied himself.
Just in time to catch me as I nearly tripped over my own feet.
His arms came around me automatically, and I hated how safe I felt in them. “Careful, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” I muttered, but it came out breathy.
He sighed, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other still around my waist. “I’m calling a car. You’re not walking anywhere like this.”
“I don’t need—”
“You’re drunker than I am,” he said. “And more dramatic.”
“Bite me.”
The car pulled up not two minutes later, and Matteo ushered me in. I slumped against the window, arms folded and glaring at the blur of lights.
When we got to the hotel, he walked me in without saying a word. I swayed on my feet in front of my room, jabbing my keycard at the door but missing the slot completely.
“Stupid fucking door.”
He took the card gently from my hand. “You’ve got the hand-eye coordination of a sleep-deprived raccoon.”
“Do not insult raccoons,” I slurred. “They’re resourceful.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
I tripped over the threshold.
Matteo caught me again. “You and your heels are lethal.”
“It’s a gift,” I said, and then I groaned, face twisting. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna—” I didn’t finish the sentence before bolting for the bathroom.
Matteo was behind me in a flash, pulling my hair back as I threw up, misery coating my tongue.
“Jesus,” I muttered between heaves. “This is humiliating.”
“You’ll live,” he said, kneeling beside me, soothing a hand down my back. “You party like a rockstar. You crash like one too.”
Eventually, the nausea faded and I slumped to the tile, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
“Okay, fine. I hate your face.”
He chuckled, and damn it, it was warm and real and kind. “You’ll feel better after some sleep.”
He helped me to my feet, guiding me to the bed. I kicked off my shoes with a dramatic sigh.
“You gonna tuck me in too?” I mumbled.
He didn’t say anything. Just grabbed a pillow and dropped it onto the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping here. In case you get sick again.”
“That’s dumb,” I whispered, eyes already slipping shut. “You’re dumb.”
“You’re welcome.”
I woke up to sunlight slicing through the curtains and a very unsexy taste in my mouth. My head was pounding like someone was playing drums inside my skull. I sat up, groaning—and froze.
There was a body on the floor.
A familiar one.
Curly brown hair. Long limbs.
Matteo.
My heart slammed into my ribs like a battering ram.
“Oh my God.” I gasped, clutching the blankets to my chest even though I was fully dressed. “Did we—?”
He stirred, eyes opening slowly. “You scream like a banshee.”
“What happened last night? Did we—did I—did you—”
“We didn’t,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You puked. I held your hair. You fell asleep. I slept on the floor to make sure you didn’t choke or die or something.”
I stared at him, heat flooding my face. “Oh.”
He yawned. “Nice to know your first thought was hookup panic.”
I threw a pillow at his face.
“Next time,” he muttered, catching it, “I’m letting you flirt with random people and puke in their lap.”
“Next time,” I said, my voice hoarse, “I’m wearing noise-canceling headphones and pretending you don’t exist.”
He smirked, standing up and stretching. “You’re welcome, Princess.”
He stretched like a cat—an annoyingly smug, sleep-creased cat—arms high, shirt riding up just enough to flash skin I had no business noticing.
“Stop doing that,” I muttered, shielding my eyes with the blanket like a vampire seeing sunlight for the first time.
“Doing what?”
“Looking like a Calvin Klein ad after you slept on the damn floor.”
He grinned. “You’re checking me out, Moretti?”
“I’m checking to see if you broke something. So I can tell Lucia her brother needs a leash.”
“Ooh,” he said, moving toward the door. “Kinky.”
“Out,” I said, throwing the blanket off dramatically. “Before someone sees you sneaking out and assumes we actually hooked up.”
He stopped at the threshold, one hand on the door, looking far too pleased with himself. “You know, if we had hooked up.” He paused. “Again, might I add.” A smirk. “I bet you’d be nicer this morning.”
I grabbed another decorative pillow off the bed and hurled it at his head.
He caught it. Of course he did.
“You’re impossible,” I mumbled, dragging myself off the bed and immediately regretting it when the room tilted.
He was still grinning as I stumbled toward the bathroom. “Drink water. Brush your teeth. You smell like vodka and vengeance.”
“Go away, Matteo.”
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He opened the door and peeked into the hallway. “But for the record, you’re kind of cute when you’re hungover.”
“I will end you.”
“Adorable.”
A knock hit my door sooner than I’d liked. I shuffled over—still in an oversized tee with the remnants of sleep in my eyes—and opened it with a glare. Anna stood there, smirking.
“How was your sleepover?” she asked.
I shushed her immediately, yanking her inside by the wrist before anyone in the hallway heard. “How do you know everything?”
“It’s my job, babes,” she said with a shrug. Her hair was pulled into a perfect slicked-back bun, makeup flawless and outfit sharp. Of course she looked like she just walked off a runway while I looked like I’d been hit by a bus named Regret.
“It was nothing,” I mumbled, flopping back onto the bed. “I drank too much, and Matteo stayed to make sure I didn’t choke on my tongue or whatever.”
“Hm,” Anna hummed, scrolling through her phone. “Well, I was going to ask if you want to fly with Alexander and Lucia tonight or with your dad? I’m organizing the group’s travel and need your call.”
“I’ll go with Lucia and Alexander,” I said.
“I just need to pick up Monty from my dad’s place first. He gets anxious on flights without me.
” I needed some down time and some girl time desperately.
Debriefing on the plane and letting Gia and Monty play together felt like a good solution.
I was getting used to flying with them rather than on the flights with other corporate members or my father.
Lucia had once said that we kind of made our own mismatched family.
I liked that idea a lot; it made my icy heart melt and all.
Plus, having to mask my hangover for my father and God knows who else? No thank you.
“And you won’t somehow manage to crash the plane with your least favorite DeLuca on board?
” she teased, arching a brow. Damn, I thought.
He was a side effect of wanting to spend time with Lucia, and while I’d rather not confront the way my heart fluttered at his heavy stare, I could just ignore him. It would be fine!
“I’ll be on my best behavior.” I shot a smile at Anna. She gave me a pointed look, not buying it in the least.
“I promise,” I said, raising a hand in mock-scout’s honor.
She hummed again and stared down at her screen, her brows knitting together in a way that said whatever was on it wasn’t good.
“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting up and patting the bed beside me. “You okay?”
“Just some family stuff,” she said vaguely.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“It’s…a lot.”
“I’ve got nothing but time,” I said, grabbing the hotel phone. “And I can order us room service. Have you eaten?”
She offered a sheepish grin. “Does coffee count?”
“No,” I laughed, dialing. I rattled off a ridiculously large breakfast order, and just for kicks, I charged it to Matteo’s room. Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely.
Once I hung up, I turned back to her. “So. Family stuff?”
Anna exhaled, rubbing her temples. “My family…they’re sort of media mogul people.”
“Which means?”
“They created, own, and run the parent company that controls a good chunk of the marketing and media industry. Globally.”
My eyes widened. “Oh, damn.”
“Yeah,” she said flatly.
“So…someone blackmailing you or something?”
Anna gave me a look. “Does my grandfather count?”
I blinked. “Um…the one who…?”
“Died a few months ago? Yes,” she said, voice dry. “He’s blackmailing me from the grave.”
“That’s—” I blinked again. “A lot.”
She let out a short laugh. “Welcome to my life.”
“So what kind of blackmail are we talking about here?”
She inhaled deeply, bracing. “If I don’t get married by the end of the year, I forfeit my entire inheritance.”
I nearly choked. “I’m sorry—what kind of backwards nonsense is that? Is that even legal?”
“It is,” she said grimly. “Had my lawyer comb through everything. No loopholes.”
I stared at her, heart dropping. “And the inheritance?”