Chapter 11
River slept like the dead after a night of subterfuge, kidnapping, reverse kidnapping, near sex trafficking, and forced engagement.
The mattress in Nico’s guest room was just that good, she supposed. Or maybe it was the bazillion-thread-count sheets. Who knew? Point was, she slept so hard she woke up momentarily confused about where she was, drooling into a pillow that probably cost a month’s rent.
Last time that happened had been after an unfortunate episode in college when someone had dared her to drink Everclear. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that early childhood education majors aren’t a rowdy bunch.
Note to whom it may concern: Do NOT drink Everclear. It’s basically lighter fluid with better PR. The burn is the same, though.
But as the events of the previous day and night started filtering their way back into her groggy brain, she became aware that something was off. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
There was light filtering through the gauzy curtains in her lavishly appointed guest room, but she hadn’t been alerted to the hour by the world’s most annoying alarm clock, which was a parrot rattling her food cup against the bars of her cage like a disgruntled inmate in an old prison movie.
Bolting upright, her gaze shot to Feather’s cage.
The door was open.
The cage was empty.
“Feather?” she called, voice tight. “Come to Momma, baby.”
No response.
With her heart in her throat, River shot out of bed to check the window.
Seeing that it was closed and locked offered a small amount of comfort.
Very, very small. Because while Feather escaping into the wild was the worst-case scenario she could conjure, having her baby escape into the mansion and attack random mafia men who might be milling around, armed, was a close second.
That was the visual in her head as she threw her door open and raced down the steps two at a time. She’d start her search in the foyer and work backward from there. The living room had the most windows, so maybe Feather had gone there to soak up the morning sun. No, not there. Maybe—
River skidded to a halt in the kitchen and froze.
Nico sat at the breakfast bar, dressed for the day in a white dress shirt, black slacks, black jacket, and a pair of black leather shoes that probably cost more than her first car, casually scrolling on his phone.
And on his shoulder, cooing and rubbing her head against his stubbly jaw, was Feather, still wearing her pink bedtime sweater.
She’d assumed Feather’s fascination with Nico the previous night had been a fluke.
After all, Feather didn’t even like seeing men on television.
She screamed when Anderson Cooper was on.
She had to be sedated for wellness checkups because the only exotic pet veterinarian within a fifty-mile radius of her apartment was male, and Feather had tried to peck his eyes out on more than one occasion.
But apparently, hot mafia men were her jam, because there she sat, looking like his muscle-y shoulder had been made for her and her alone.
Great. She’d been engaged for less than 24 hours, and she was already in danger of losing her man to a more beautiful woman.
“Good morning,” Nico said, still looking at his phone. “She was yelling for bacon. I didn’t want her to wake you, so I let her out.” He glanced up. “She…”
He trailed off as his gaze did a lazy sweep of her body, reminding her that she hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror or throw on a robe before she ran out of the bedroom. River took a second to think about what she’d worn to bed and drew a blank, so she looked down and…
Oh. Holy. Hell.
She’d never been one to sleep in pretty lingerie or even cute sleep sets.
Nope. She prioritized comfort over aesthetics, which meant that she’d gone to bed wearing a holey, washed-thin white t-shirt that was so stretched out and oversized that it perpetually fell off her shoulder, and a tiny pair of white boy shorts.
Which meant she was now standing in front of Nico, wearing an outfit that left nothing to the imagination. Not even her dignity. Hell, paper gowns at the OBGYN’s office covered more than what she was wearing.
And her nipples were hard…and they were pointed right at him.
Right. At. Him.
Feather cackled, then squawked, “Dirty bird.”
Great. Now her bird was making fun of her. And it was her own fault, because when Feather needed a bath, River would take off whatever sweater she was wearing at the time and say it was because she was a dirty bird. So, to Feather, naked meant dirty.
Maybe she should’ve gotten a dog that day at the shelter after all. Dogs didn’t have the vocabulary to make fun of their embarrassed owners.
“Yeah, yeah,” River grumbled. “I’m a dirty bird.”
Should she cover her breasts, her upper thighs, or her fiery-hot face?
She imagined she should politely excuse herself and go back upstairs to get dressed.
But that meant she’d have to turn around, and she was pretty sure the view of her backside would be just as disturbing as the full-frontal view, so, she just awkwardly stood there while a silent debate about what she should do raged on in her head.
That’s when a cool breeze slapped her ass, letting her know that someone had just opened the kitchen door.
“Boss, I needed to….whoa.”
She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Enzo’s gaze shift from the back of her head to her ass for a split second before Nico shouted, “Shut your fucking eyes or I’ll carve them out of your fucking skull!”
The order was so stern River almost squeezed her eyes shut before she realized he was talking to Enzo.
“Yes, sir,” Enzo said, doing as he was told. “Sorry, sir. Sorry, River.”
“It’s OK,” she replied with a nervous hyena-like wheeze of laughter. “But I feel like it’s important to mention that I usually wear clothes to breakfast. This was just an unfortunate accident.”
“This is your home now,” Nico said, getting up to drape his suit jacket over her shoulders. “You can wear as much or as little as you’d like to breakfast and you don’t owe anyone any apologies.”
Images of having breakfast with Nico every morning—naked—flitted around her brain as she pulled the jacket closed around her. The images were not unpleasant.
Again…not thoughts she should be having about her mob boss fiancé this early in their acquaintance.
“What do you need, Enzo?” Nico asked.
“I just wanted to confirm how many men you’d like to put on River’s guard detail.”
River blinked. “My what?”
They both ignored her. “One with her at all times, and two watching from a safe distance until Ricky is found,” Nico said. “Assuming I’m not with her. If I’m with her, only the two from a distance.”
Enzo gave him a nod, eyes still squeezed shut. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
And with that, he turned and fled out of the room like it was on fire.
“Do you really think I need guards?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
She didn’t really care for the direction this interaction was going.
Sure, it was hot that Feather seemed to like him.
And having him threaten to carve out someone’s eyes for looking at her when she was vulnerable was even hotter.
(She wasn’t proud of that one. She blamed her love of dark romance for that.)
But high-handedly telling her she was going to have full-time guards without even seeing how she felt about such a thing? Not hot.
Was this what being married to him would be like? His way or the highway? If so, she had bigger problems than she thought.
River whistled for Feather, who grudgingly hopped over to her shoulder. She turned to head back to her room, but Nico stopped her by grabbing her hand. “Come,” he said. “I have something to show you.”
There was that high-handed crap again. “I’m not even wearing shoes.”
She let out a squeal when he scooped her up like she was weightless. “That won’t be a problem,” he murmured with a smirk.
Stupid, high-handed, muscle-y, overly confident, gratuitously attractive jerk.
He carried her out of the kitchen, down a long hallway, and out across the garden. The fact that he wasn’t out of breath or struggling to hold her and Feather wasn’t at all sexy.
That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
But she quit pouting when they crossed through the garden gate and entered an outbuilding that looked like…no, it couldn’t be.
The sprawling, steel-and glass doomed structure wasn’t something River had only ever seen in zoos. “Is this…”
“An aviary,” he said, unlocking the door, setting her on her feet. “It hasn’t been used in years. But I had it cleaned out and outfitted last night.”
Built for both comfort and spectacle, the aviary’s generous proportions made it feel like it belonged in a public botanical garden. Outfitting it in a single night must’ve been a huge undertaking.
“You did all this last night?”
“Well, not me personally.”
Because God forbid someone think he was a nice guy.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “A guy will be out tomorrow to get the fountain running again, and the landscapers will fill the planters the day after that. But that tree in the center is healthy, so it’ll stay right where it is.”
She should hope so. That was a gorgeous redbud tree that would fill with glorious purple blooms in the spring.
Feather wasted no time flying over to the perch nearest the entrance. The excited squawk she let out squeezed River’s heart. “She’s never had anything like this. She’s always been limited to my apartment.”
Nico glanced down at her, eyes serious. “Everyone deserves a place to spread their wings.”
He wasn’t just talking about Feather. She knew that. This place, this mansion, could be a place for her to spread her wings as well. He’d give her that freedom.
If she was willing to take it.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
His gaze dropped to her lips. “Of course, fiorellino.”
And just like that, the idea of escaping her forced marriage didn’t seem like the right thing to do anymore.