Chapter 21
Aubergine.
Nicola's voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. “She said she wasn’t interested.”
The man’s hand disappeared from my arm so fast it was almost comical.
“S-sorry.” His face had gone pale. “I didn’t know—”
He backed into the crowd without another word holding his palms up. Nicola watched him leave for one long, silent beat.
Only then did he look at me.
He was immaculate, as always, with the exception of the dark lines under his eyes. A dark angel with an unwavering gaze.
My fucking undoing.
He moved to me, placed his hand settled against the small of my back. I couldn't tell if it was possessive, or protective.
All I could appreciate was the familiar smell of his cologne, how warm his hand was. My dress's back dipped low and I could feel his fingers grazing my skin.
“You should know,” he said evenly, “that family goes to the VIP area, Aubergine.”
“Nicola—” I scowled as he urged me toward the stairs. “I don’t want to go up there. I want to go home.”
"No?" He leaned closer, his voice was low enough that only I could hear. “Then why did you show up at my club dressed like that?"
“Thomas came over to my place and—”
“Oh, that’s a fantastic start to the story. You let Thomas into the apartment.”
The apartment. Like it was shared ownership. This motherfucker.
As we reached the top of the stairs, bouncers immediately stepped aside. It was less populated up there. A few special tables and booths. Nicola’s guys were posted around-- I recognized a lot of them.
Conversations died as we walked past. A few nodded respectfully to him. No one smiled. No one spoke to Nicola. Most of them couldn't even look him in the eye.
It wasn’t just respect. It was caution-- they knew he was pissed. That realization settled uneasily in my stomach.
These grown men were terrified of him. And here I was, practically asking for a brawl like I had a deathwish.
“...Thomas asked me for a favor," I explained and folded my arms. My clutch was tucked under my armpit. “And I agreed.”
When we reached the top of the stairs, I deliberately stepped from him. The warmth of his hand disappeared from my back and I fucking hated it.
He smiled at me, but the expression never reached his eyes. “Get in my office."
I looked around. People were pretending not to stare.
Clearly, I was making a scene. Nicola’s patience was fraying.
I was mad, I was hurt. I was fucking heartbroken. And somehow... I still didn’t want to ruin his reputation. I wouldn't be the person who threw wine in his face or slapped him.
“Just let me go home,” I whispered.
“My office.” His voice remained perfectly calm. “Then I’ll have Gio drive you home.”
I stared for another second. There wasn’t an ounce of give in him.
He opened the door and then gestured in. Without any other choice, I marched into his dimly lit office.
He'd turned off most of the lamps except for one on his desk. A massive, gorgeously hand-carved desk dominated the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Manhattan.
The booming music outside faded to a distant thump as the door clicked shut behind us.
“Take a seat.”
Defiant, I stayed by the door.
Yeah, Abby, you're really sticking it to him!
"Want a drink?" Nicola walked straight to a crystal decanter on a credenza against the wall. He poured himself a drink.
I saw amber liquid splash against the side of the glass.
“No," I replied quietly.
Glass in hand, Nicola crossed the room and lowered himself into his chair.
It wasn’t a graceful descent into his seat-- it was almost a collapse. And for a second, neither of us spoke.
He stared into his whiskey and I stared at him.
The mask was slipping. And despite everything, despite how angry I was, despite the massive knot in my chest...
My first instinct was still the same: Is he eating? Is he not sleeping? What can I do to help?
I hated my brain.
He took an extra moment, then looked up over the rim of his glass.
“Well?” He took a slow sip. “What is it, Aubergine?”
“Hm.” I pursed my lips. “I’m trying to think of a good way I can sum up my feelings right now. I think ‘Go fuck yourself’ is fitting.”
The words rolled off him, he didn't miss a beat. “I told you I was busy. Do you think I can spend all—”
I held up a hand. “No. No, Nicola." I laughed derisively. "You didn’t just tell me you were busy. You put up iron walls. You staved me off like I was the fucking Bubonic plague.”
His jaw tightened.
“It's like you were...” I swallowed. “Trying to forget I even existed.”
Agonizing silence filled the space between us. The city glowed behind him through the windows.
Nicola looked away first. I could see his fingers tighten around the whiskey glass.
“I—”
I shook my head. “Don’t. If you’re about to tell me you were doing me a favor, or that you were somehow protecting me,” I laughed bitterly. “I don’t want to hear it.”
His mouth opened. Then closed again as his eyes shut. He never did know what to say when things got real.
Did I really think I was going to be the special one? The one that made him open up?
“I’m not your girlfriend. So maybe that was why you didn't think I deserved a single text.” I looked down and internally berated myself to fight back the tears. “A single fucking consideration.”
“Aubergine—”
"You know," I interjected. "From the age of sixteen, I couldn’t get you out of my head. More than half of my life I’ve spent wanting you. God, I'm fucking pathetic."
"Just let me say something."
“No.” The word came out much steadier than I felt. Sharp and clear.
Nicola took in a deep breath to recompose.
I turned to the door.
“Aubergine. Just let me ask one question. Please."
I paused and frowned at my hand resting on the door handle. “What?”
“Richie Gallo.”
I looked over my shoulder, and his eyes searched mine. “What about him?”
“You said you were scared of me. But Richie was the one who hurt you."
“Hurt me? Do you...” I stopped myself, started again when I finally understood. “Nicola, do you even remember what it was Richie supposedly did to me?”
His answer came immediately, “No.”
“We got in an argument. You know, couples do that sometimes. It was outside of a restaurant. And one of your little soldiers saw.”
I watched his face carefully. “And he reported it to you. Because you had us followed the very moment you found out we were dating. Didn’t you, Nicky?”
He said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on me, unblinking. Which was answer enough.
“And because of that report, you followed Richie Gallo home. You went berserk on him. With your own two hands, you beat him so badly that he ended up in a coma for three days.”
I saw his throat flex. Maybe it was dry, but he made no motion to lift his drink.
“Richie Gallo was a dick," I went on. "I wasn’t going to stay with him much longer. The relationship would’ve reached its natural conclusion. But you had to intervene.”
“I thought...” He stopped and blinked at his desk. “They told me he hit you."
No fucking wonder he was so confused! It was all a stupid game of telephone. A miscommunication that almost killed a man.
"And you didn't bother to double-check with me, huh?" I asked wryly. "No, because then you'd be admitting you were watching me."
He believed that for all these years, his violence was justified. Because he’d convinced himself he was protecting me.
Not that it really mattered either way. The end result was the same.
“I’m starting to see... it was never really about Richie, was it? It was about control. You have to keep everything in its place and where you want it. You didn’t want me back then. But you didn’t want anyone else to have me, either."
It was the same now, wasn't it? Tears spilled over my cheeks. “Who the fuck in their right mind would stay in a world like that?”
He didn’t answer. He didn't even move.
"Stay away from me, Nicola." I rubbed the heel of my hand beneath my eyes, then opened the door. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”
The door clicked shut behind me.
Nicola didn’t follow.