Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
NICO
The sound of footsteps echoed, and I already knew it was her.
She walked faster than Magda. Had less bounce in her step than the new girl.
I had found Magda deep cleaning the terrace and asked for an espresso, knowing Anna would be the one to bring it.
Even though I never allowed the staff to enter my office other than Magda.
I might have also left the door open. Something else I never did.
Barely three days in, and I was already changing the rules.
My attention was on the screen, pretending to work while I counted her footsteps as she approached. At fourteen, she paused in the living room for a full three minutes before she continued. Her pace slowed, reluctance her new companion.
I was going to hell for being so obsessed with this woman that I pursued her movements closer than her shadow.
I wasn’t proud of it, but for the past fifty-eight hours, I’d been using the cameras in the house for other purposes than security.
In fact, it might have been the best time to break into my home since the system was trained on my staff. One in particular.
The risk was worth it. For the three fucking days that she held me captivated between dread and yearning.
When she walked into the room, even the air fell under her spell.
The screen blurred before my eyes. My peripheral vision hooked onto her electric beauty.
She was dressed in a black skirt that reached her knees and a white puffy blouse that hid everything.
I wanted to rip it off to reveal her fuchsia underwear. Then taste it on my tongue.
Fucking hell. She made me slip up. Numbers. Focus on the fucking numbers. The least I could do was not look at her as she approached my desk with the espresso in hand that I didn’t need but wanted because I knew she’d be the one to bring it to me.
Silence thundered in the room. I didn’t allow myself to move. Neither did she. That in itself was a surprise. Six seconds had passed, and she still stood in front of me. Frozen into a slot she’d allocated for herself. I looked up to find her focus on my desk. I followed it to the espresso.
I’d always been able to read her thoughts. Her face was an exquisite open book. An exclusive special edition made of tracing paper. Right now, it read intention, purpose, courage and perhaps just a drip of regret. But the latter might have been my delusion rather than her reality.
I’d stayed quiet for four days, but an ache built up in the back of my throat.
I wanted a conversation. Our first and final one.
I should have told her everything she didn’t know about her father.
But just the thought of doing it terrified me.
She’d never know why he died if I didn’t.
Tragic. But then she’d never know my part in it either.
Bliss. A vague memory of seeing someone in a room was far better than the bigger picture of it.
That was all she had at the most, a vague memory.
I reached for the espresso. My heartbeat slowed.
I wondered how she found out about my allergy.
It wouldn’t have been something that Magda would let slip to someone new.
I lifted the cup from the saucer. Her gaze followed it.
I didn’t know how she managed it with my father because her face was transparent.
Guilt showed through it. Zero percent opacity.
Some people ran from death. I faced it with a deep yearning. With my eyes on her, I tasted my poison. The taste was weird as shit. Worst espresso I’d had in a lifetime.
I followed the bob of her nervous swallow.
A tingle teased the tip of my tongue. Interesting.
Another sip, and her hands gripped my desk.
My throat turned to sandpaper.
Final sip, and the cup was emptied. My esophagus burned like hell.
Her irritated stare took in my blank expression, then she muttered under her breath. “La puta madre.”
I bit back the amusement forming on my lips. For fuck’s sake, indeed. This was extremely inconvenient. I was still alive.
We watched each other. Her look was agitated. Mine was turning into amusement. The moment I placed the cup down, she snatched it into her hands and was halfway across the room.
“Interesting taste.”
She skidded to a stop, hands clenched around the door frame. “Pineapple in coffee must be a Spanish thing.”
Her comeback was a panicked gasp. It rippled through the room to me.
I moved around the desk until her profile came into my view.
She was staring into nothing. Her body stiff and her jaw clenched so tight that she was in danger of harming herself.
Swallowing the space between us, I stopped a measured three feet from her.
That was all I was going to allow myself.
Close enough to breathe her in. Far enough not to touch.
“You should be more careful.” My tone was casual. Unbothered. “Some people are allergic to pineapple.” The porcelain in her hand slipped. Shattered on the wooden floor.
She stared at the scattered pieces as if they were her life smashed to bits.
It was, and I’d helped entirely. Her throat worked.
Lips trembled. Her emotions squeezed my ribs like a metal brace.
I ached to relieve her of her pain. Ached to touch her.
But I’d lost that privilege. So I let a bittersweet word poison the gap between us.
“Sesame.” Her expression shifted to confusion. “That would be the death of me.”
She turned white. The pulse on the side of her neck jumped. Once. Twice. She didn’t hang around for the third. With a strangled gasp, she staggered out of the room, stumbling over porcelain, crushing it.
I watched her disappear from my view. Then I closed the door before walking back to the chair.
By the time I dropped onto it, I was clawing at my throat.
It was going to be an hour or two of pure agony before the scratchiness in my throat would ease.
Unlike my father, pineapple wasn’t a deadly allergy for me, but it was annoying as fuck to have my throat on fire.
Sesame, on the other hand— well, I’d just loaded the gun and given it to her to kill me.
What can I say? A helping hand wouldn’t harm her cause.
The only thing was I couldn’t figure out what I wanted more. It was inevitable. She should avenge Juan’s death, and there was only one way to do it. But I couldn’t shake off an insistent thought. To have one taste of her as a parting gift before my last breath.
The ocean was silent and blue. The sand warm and white. It was too early for the tourists, and there was only one crazy idiot hanging around the beach.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I already knew who it was before his name flashed across the screen.
“Did you take my fucking plane?” Enzo greeted me.
“Sì.”
“What the fuck, Nico?”
“It craved some attention.”
“It’s not a fucking toy! Where the fuck are you?”
I answered him with a question of my own. “What’s with your mood?”
Enzo was fire. I was ice. At least when it came to most situations in our lives. He sighed, exasperation ringing through the line. “Daria wants to visit her mamá.”
“Does your wife realize her mamá lives in Sicily and not on the Upper East Side?”
He groaned. “Told her that. Apparently, she’s lonely.”
“How is that even possible? You’re stuck to her pussy.”
“Not her, stronzo. Her mother. Fucking Vitale took his wife away from there, and now I have to send mine to babysit.”
“Shocker. Vitale wanted his wife with him.”
“He’s probably fucking her 24/7.”
“Another reason to be jealous of your brother-in-law.”
“Damn right. What the fuck am I supposed to do if Daria’s gone?”
“Work? Play with your dick? You’ll survive a week or two without her.”
“Hell no. Two days maximum.”
“Again, Italy’s in fucking Europe. It’s not around the corner.”
Thank God for that. I didn’t know if I could have been disciplined if Spain had been a few hours’ drive away.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
I shook my head. He was a sane person before Daria. At least the type of sane that I understood. But since he got married, he was a boomerang. A fucking pile of emotion that got him and, consequently, us in trouble. A week ago, he’d branded one of our men’s eyes because he’d looked at his wife.
“Where the fuck are you, anyway?”
My bare feet sank into the sand as I gazed up at the house. Home. The weather was already hot. The bougainvillea wrapping around the house sparkled like gems. I sidestepped his question. “She can’t go if I have the plane.”
“Thank God.”
“You should do something about your separation anxiety, though. She’s only visiting her family.”
“Don’t like them.”
“Right—”
“You’ll get it when you lose it over a woman one day.”
Lost it already. Got her father killed. Can’t have her anymore.
“But then again, you don’t let anything bother you,” Enzo continued. “Besides, I have double the trouble now. Stefano is up to something. He’s too eager to go to Sicily.”
I knew exactly what Stefano was up to. But it wasn’t my business to get involved.
On the far side of the beach, a woman emerged, aided by a nurse.
Her floral dress was light, and it blew around her gently, picking up with the wind.
A thick lump formed in my throat. Remorse seeped into my lungs like black ink.
This place could have been so different had it not been for one sick bastard.
Two, actually. I hoped she inflicted enough pain to give me a slow, painful death. Sesame would definitely be a start.
If only I could touch her. Just once.
Ridiculous. How could I want her to fuck me and kill me at the same time?
“You’re in Spain, aren’t you?” Enzo’s tone was wary.
I was, but telling him would make it all the more real. The past. The present. The future without me. Without her in my life.
He broke the silence with a sigh. “One day you’re going to tell me the whole story.”
“One day.” Not a chance. I’d already made plans to hide Anna from my brothers once she’d done what she had to do.
“How long are you going to be gone?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Take your time. Maybe by then, Daria will have changed her mind.”
Knowing my sister-in-law, she wouldn’t. She’d go to Sicily. He’d go along with her. But I didn’t tell him that. I had better things to do with my limited time. It was a good day to be in Spain. If only I could turn back time.