Chapter 6
NICOLAS
"M-Me?" The sound of her voice wrapped around me, making me forget about the world, about my duties, and this life I’d never wanted. At least not yet. "You don't even know my name," she whispered, avoiding my eyes.
"But I do," I said.
I know everything about you, I wanted to add, but I didn't want to spook her. I was also eighty percent sure she really had no idea who I was, but the skeptical part of me refused to let go fully. I needed to hear it from her. I’d been betrayed too many times by people who wore the masks of friends and family.
I wouldn’t let anyone close if they planned to stab me in the back.
"Ajla Kapetanovic," I murmured, probably fucking up her last name, while my thumb brushedover her pulse point. "Thirty-one years old. From Bosnia and Herzegovina. Born on January 28th, 1994, in Tuzla. In the middle of the war."
Her eyes widened, her pulse jumped underneath my finger, but I refused to stop.
"You have a younger sister, Maja, who's living back home with your mom.
Your father is still alive, but you haven't seen him in years.
You moved to New York ten years ago after landing a position as the Marketing Manager at Atlay, then relocated to Redmont two years ago after being promoted again. Director of Marketing and PR."
"H-How?"
"Tesoro,” I said quietly. “I am Nicolas Moretti. There aren’t many things I cannot find. But those are just facts. Anyone could dig them up if they tried hard enough. That’s not what I want to know.”
Her breath hitched.
“I want to know what your favorite color is. Which movie made you cry. Which one made you laugh. I want to know what your comfort food is and," I leaned in, "I want to know the taste of your lips."
But most of all, I wanted to know if she would stay. Forever.
When Gio told me her name earlier, I’d almost thrown the glass I was holding because he got to hear it before me.
My own reaction should have terrified me, but it didn't. Instead of fighting these feelings that were coming out of nowhere, I let them be, let them fester, because if there's one thing I was done with, it was fighting against what I wanted.
My father used to say that the moment he saw my mother, he knew.
Knew she would be his wife. He knew, deep inside, that this was the woman he would love his entire life, and it definitely helped that she wanted him as well.
He doted on her, cherished her. While other mafiosi ignored their wives, my father ran home just to be with her, even if it was for only a couple of hours.
I wanted that.
Someone who would understand. Who would love me even when the blood soaked my hands and when the world became too big of a burden to carry.
I never thought I’d find it.
Until I saw her sitting across from that spineless piece of shit.
Ajla cleared her throat, stepping away from me slowly.I didn't miss the tremble in her hands. The way her pupils dilated. The quickened breaths. I didn't miss the way she held onto my hand as if she too needed an anchor.
God knew I was an anchor-less beast.
I was bound by duty wrapped through my bones like a razor wire I could never remove.But I wanted more. I wanted a reason to wake up that wasn’t fueled by revenge.
I wanted her.
And God, I fucking hoped she’d want me too.
"Look," she said, taking another step back and finally letting go of me, leaving me with the harsh cold I wanted to shake off. "You seem like a great guy. Well," she laughed, the sound echoing around us, "as great as you can be after kidnapping me, but I don't think I'm the woman for you."
"And why not?"
"Well, first of all." She took another step away from me, and I couldn't fucking stand it. "You're too young for me."
"I'm too young?" I stood, towering over her now, and I didn't miss the fact that she tried focusing too fucking hard on my face. So the kitten definitely liked what she saw.
"Y-Yes," she said, pressing against the wall right next to the shower. "You're six years younger than me, and I mean… what would people think?"
"People?" I chuckled. "Tell me, Ajla, do you often live your life based on what other people think"
I closed the distance between us, placing myself right in front of her, caging her against the wall. "Because I don't. I couldn't give a fuck what those sheep think of me. hey don’t wake up with my regrets. They're not living my life—I am. So I don't think about them."
Her head tilted back as she looked up at me, biting her bottom lip, slowly driving me insane.
"What else?" I grunted, barely holding myself back.
"You, uh... You're in the mafia."
"And?"
Even her frown was cute. "And it's a bit of a problem, du?o."
Fuck. Me. Every time she spoke her language something stirred inside me, and I wanted more.
"Tell me what that word means."
"No."
"Tell," I pushed my leg between hers. "Me."
Her lips parted. Her eyes dropped to my chest then dragged over my shoulders, up my neck and to my lips. "No, Nico."
She was going to ruin me without even trying.
"Then tell me all these other reasons you have in your head why you aren't the woman for me?"
That sobered her instantly., The heat in her eyes faded, replaced with resolve and I regretted pushing.
, I wanted the playful version of her, the one that was peaking at me behind the shadows in her eyes.
But instead of letting her out, Ajla pushed me gently away from her and sidestepped me, until she was far too fucking away from me, leaving me standing alone while she turned her back on me.
"Because I'm the kind of woman that wants eternal love, Nicolas," she said quietly.
Then she faced me again.. "If I wanted a one-night stand, I could've gotten it anywhere in this city.
" Over my dead body. "But I want love. I want someone who could understand me, and I think you're far too young to want the same things.
I want children, I want a family, and something tells me that you still have a couple of years until you're ready for that kind of commitment. "
"So instead of asking or just listening to me, you have already placed me in the box with all the other assholes who couldn't give you what you wanted. That's it?"
"I—No. That's not—"
"That's exactly it, kitten," I smirked. "But don't worry. I don't give up easily, and I have more stamina than those asswipes who have obviously fucked everything up."
A confused look passed over her face. "Nico–" God I loved the fact that she already had a nickname for me. "No, this is not an invitation to woo me or to show me you're the right man for me. You're too young, probably a wee bit too immature, and part of the mafia—"
"I'm Capo."
"You're what?"
"Capo," I shrugged, as if I was asking her what kind of eggs she'd like for breakfast.
She looked at me, then at the ceiling. "Nicolas, my Italian is rusty so you're gonna have to explain. What the fuck is Capo?"
Ooooh.
"Ah."
I grinned.
"It means I’m the boss."
Her face drained of color, eyes widening.
“You’re the—” Her voice rose. "You're the motherfucking head of the Italian mafia?"
Judging by her screech, that had not helped my case.