Chapter 15 Isabella
I wake to warmth.
Soft, heavy, comforting. And for a split second, before consciousness sharpens, I think he’s still here.
My hand drifts across the sheets instinctively, searching for a broad chest, warm skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
But all I touch is cool cotton.
I open my eyes, and find myself wrapped up tight in the quilt, and smile. He tucked me in again. Why does that make me smile so wide? Maybe because it’s so unexpected from a man like Nico Mancini.
The room is empty, but as I take a deep inhale, I realize his scent lingers. I’m growing addicted to the scent, the association one of safety, underscored with that buzz of attraction.
He stayed. He held me. He let me curl against him like I belonged there, and he stayed until I fell asleep. And then he left, like he said he would. Nico is a man of his word. If nothing else, I can trust that.
I rub my face with both hands, exhaling shakily. The ache in my ribs is familiar now, a dull companion, but it’s nothing compared to the hollow twist in my chest.
God, I shouldn’t be disappointed. This wasn’t real, isn’t real. It was safety. Nothing more.
But the way his arm tightened around me…
The way his voice softened when he whispered, Go to sleep, Belle…
The way he watched me like a man guarding something precious, it didn’t feel like nothing.
I sit up slowly, pushing hair from my face.
He affects me, more than I want him to, more than I should let him. But lying to myself that it’s not true isn’t working.
I slip out of bed, wrangling myself into fresh clothes from the ridiculously thoughtful collection he bought me, and pad barefoot through the penthouse.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
I find him in the living room, standing by the windows with his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, phone pressed to his ear. His expression is hard, controlled, the Mancini mask fully in place as he listens to whoever is speaking on the line.
He ends the call with a clipped, “Twenty minutes,” and turns.
His eyes land on me.
And everything inside me stutters.
It’s not how he looks, though God, that doesn’t help, it’s the shift.
Something hot and unreadable flickers in his gaze as it drags from my bare feet up to my messy hair.
Something that feels like last night didn’t just happen.
It changed something. It made me realize that I want him, I like him, and that maybe for once, I can be brave with something other than work.
“Morning, Nico,” I say quietly.
He nods, jaw flexing once. “You sleep okay?”
“As well as anyone who hijacked a mafia heir’s bed can,” I mutter.
His eyes darken. “You didn’t hijack anything, and that’s not my bed. If you were in my bed, you would’ve woken with my mouth between your legs.”
My breath catches.
He steps toward me, slow and deliberate. I don’t move. I can’t. His presence wraps around me like heat, like gravity, tugging me closer without touching me at all.
“You ran off,” I say before I can stop myself. It comes out softer, more revealing than I intended, more of an accusation than it should.
“I didn’t run,” he says. “I had calls.”
“I woke up and you weren’t there.”
His jaw works. “Belle, I told you I couldn’t stay.” He looks away for half a second, and I swear it takes effort, like looking at me pains him. “Last night shouldn’t have happened,” he says finally.
It punches the air right out of me. I try to smile, but it feels brittle. “Right. Of course. You were just being kind and I took advantage. I’m sorry.” I turn, needing to get out of there. I need to wallow in my humiliation in peace.
He steps closer, cutting me off without touching me.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” he repeats quietly.
“But it did. And I didn’t leave because I wanted to.
I left because I lay there all night fighting the urge to kiss my way down your body, to taste the sweetness between your legs.
I fought a battle with wanting to bury my cock inside you and say forget everything else. ”
My heart thuds hard. Why does hearing him say those things make me feel so elated? My body feels heavy with an aching need as his words move over me. The image of him doing all those things makes me moan low in my throat.
Nico’s eyes go hooded at the sound. He steps closer until our bodies are just a breath away.
I swallow, and before I can overthink it, before he can walk away again, I say the most reckless thing I’ve ever said.
“Nico… we both know we don’t have a future together.
You’ve said you don’t do relationships, God knows you’re known as the unattainable Mancini.
I know it. But the way we are around each other…
I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel it. That you don’t feel it.”
His breath stills.
So I push, just a little. I want to be bold, I want to feel brazen.
After everything that happened this last week, I want to feel alive.
“What if we stopped pretending?” I whisper.
“What if it doesn’t have to be serious? Or complicated?
What if it’s just… a fling? A little fun. No strings. Just sex.”
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Electrified.
Then he moves.
One step. Another. Until I’m backed against the wall and he’s standing in front of me, his hand braced beside my head, his body radiating heat.
He lowers his head until his mouth is inches from mine.
“A fling?” he repeats, voice low enough to send a shiver down my spine. “You think you can handle that?”
“Yes.” A hope. A lie. Maybe both.
His eyes burn into mine, searching, reading, stripping defenses I didn’t know I still had.
“You’re a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve,” he murmurs. “And I…” His jaw clenches. “I break things I get too close to.”
I lift my chin. “I’m not asking for forever, Nico. Just… something real. For however long it lasts.”
His breath brushes my lips.
And then he kisses me.
Slow.
Controlled.
Devastating.
His mouth claims mine with a heat that steals thought, breath, gravity.
His hand slides into my hair, guiding my head back as his tongue brushes mine, a slow, deliberate stroke that unravels every part of me.
The ache between my legs is heavy and persistent.
I suck in a sharp breath when he nips my bottom lip with his teeth before soothing the ache away. Fuck, why is that so hot?
By the time he pulls back, I’m trembling.
He rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “If we do this,” he says roughly, “it’s on my terms.”
My pulse jumps. “Okay… what terms?”
His thumb drags along my lower lip, sending sparks down my spine.
“No sneaking around. No pretending. And you don’t get to disappear to your room afterward.” He leans closer, voice a dark promise. “If I’m fucking you, Belle… you sleep in my bed. I want to be able to turn over in the night and slide my cock into your sweet pussy.”
Heat floods my entire body. I nod once. “Okay.”
“You think you can handle me, handle how much I want to fucking claim your body? How much I want to make you scream my name? I won’t give you sweet. I’ll fuck you until you pass out with pleasure, and then I’ll do it again.”
Holy fucking shit, I can’t get enough of this man’s filthy mouth and hell yes, I can handle it, and if not, I’ll die with a smile. “Yes.”
“Okay,” he repeats softly, like he’s claiming the word, claiming me.
Then he steals one more kiss, quick, possessive, leaving my lips tingling, before stepping back. “I have a meeting,” he says, breath still uneven. “You stay here. I’ll be back in a few hours. My men are outside the door.” He reaches the door before glancing over his shoulder. “And Isabella?”
“Yeah?”
His eyes burn. “No going back on your word. You’re mine now.”
Then he’s gone.
The door closes.
And I slide down the wall, breathless, shaking, smiling like a woman who just handed her heart to a predator and asked it to be gentle.
God help me.
I think I might actually survive this.
Or it might destroy me.
Either way, I’m in.