Chapter 19 Nico
She’s warm when I wake. Her soft body curled against me like she was made to fit there, one of her legs hooked over mine, pussy pressed against my hip, her cheek resting on my bicep like it’s a damn pillow.
For a few seconds, my mind refuses to reboot.
I just lie there, breathing her in, her scent, her warmth, the sweetness of her sleep-heavy breaths.
Memories of last night filter through my brain like an erotic movie.
Her body under mine. Her thighs around my hips, her taking my cock like she was made for me. Her voice breaking on my name like she couldn’t hold it back if she tried.
Christ.
My arm tightens around her before I can stop it, my palm finding her waist, sliding over her skin in slow, greedy strokes, her tight nipple against my chest. She barely stirs, only nuzzles closer, like her body trusts me even when her mind might not.
God, how I want to roll her over and fuck her until her sleepy body wakes, those eyes opening on a slumberous gaze, lips parting with my name as her first thought.
My heartbeat stumbles, an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation. I’ve always liked to fuck in the mornings, waking a woman with my cock while she still sleeps is a fucking heady thing. I stroke my cock to ease the ache.
I should get up. I know that.
So much work I need to do. Calls. Meetings. Threats tightening around us like a wire. But the second I try to move, she presses her chest closer, her breath ghosting over my collarbone as she sighs in her sleep.
Fuck.
She has no idea what this does to me. I didn’t realize what I was capable of until someone threatened her. She wasn’t mine and now…now she feels like she is mine in a way I didn’t plan for. I’ve never wanted to be someone’s warrior. But for her, I’m realizing I’d be the war itself.
I know her ribs still ache. I can feel the tension when she shifts, but she’s softer today, less guarded. Exhausted, but safe. And something in me, something I don’t let out for anyone, settles at the sight.
I run a hand down her back, slow, careful. She shivers.
My cock reacts instantly, traitor that it is, at the thought of rolling her onto her back and waking her with my mouth between her legs, tasting her until she’s shaking, crying my name, until she forgets her own.
I could do it. I want to do it. My restraint is a razor-thin thread.
But then she shifts, just a little, and a small sound escapes her. Pain, faint but real.
Her ribs. God, I’m a selfish bastard. I fucked her hard last night, and here I am thinking about doing it again.
Reality. Control.
I force myself still.
She needs rest more than she needs my hunger clawing at her.
I slide out of the bed with the precision of a man diffusing a bomb, guiding her head gently onto the pillow. She murmurs something soft and unintelligible, searching blindly for me in her sleep, her hand brushing the space where my body was.
My chest tightens painfully. This woman was my enemy, and I have a sneaking suspicion she might be my ruin.
I tuck the blanket around her, because if I can’t touch her right now, I can at least make sure she’s warm. I stand there for a long moment, watching her breathe, watching her lashes flutter, watching the way her lips part like she’s dreaming.
She looks young like this. Peaceful. Fragile in a way she’ll deny with fire in her eyes.
I bend down and brush a hand through her hair, light, barely there, because it’s the closest I’ll allow myself. Anymore and I’ll climb back into that bed and do all the things I wish I could.
Then I step away before I undo every ounce of self-control I own.
I shower in the guest bathroom on the ground floor, letting the water scald the tension out of my shoulders.
Last night plays on a loop in my head, her sounds, her body, the way she looked at me like I was the only thing in her world.
I brace a hand against the tile, breathing hard like a fucking teenager as I stroke my cock until come jets out of me, plastering the tile with my seed.
God, the thought of doing that across her magnificent tits is enough to make my dick twitch back to life.
When I’m dressed, dark slacks, crisp shirt, cuffs rolled, I glance toward the bedroom again.
She’s still asleep.
Good. She needs it.
I write a note quickly, my handwriting sharp and impatient by nature.
Eat. Rest. Take the meds. I’ll be back later. —N
I hesitate before adding a final line—Rossi is outside. Don’t open the door for anyone.—then fold the paper and leave it on her nightstand.
Before I go, I call Rossi.
He answers on the first ring. “Boss.”
“I’m heading in,” I say quietly. “Have something delivered to her in an hour from that deli she likes near her building. Coffee, fruit, eggs, whatever looks decent.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Rossi?”
“Yes?”
“If she looks tired, make sure no one speaks to her. No interruptions. I don’t care who calls.”
He pauses. “Understood.”
I end the call, grab my jacket, and walk toward the door.
But before the door closes, I look back into the penthouse.
At the space that feels less empty than it used to. At the hallway that leads upstairs to my bedroom. At the knowledge that she’s in there, warm, safe, sleeping in my sheets.
And something deep in my chest gives a quiet, dangerous pull.
She’s getting under my skin.
And I’m letting her.
The elevator doors slide shut.
I don’t fight the thought that follows.
I can’t wait to come back to her.
The elevator doors barely open before I hear my PA’s voice.
“Good morning, Mr. Mancini! You’re early.” Ezra’s already moving toward me, tablet in hand, coffee in the other, bow tie perfectly straight, hair perfectly coiffed. He’s the only man I’ve ever met who can sass and multitask with military precision.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I mutter.
Ezra’s eyes flick over me, too observant for his own good. “Mmmm. Yes. You’re giving ‘I had a night’ energy.”
I glare.
He beams.
We reach my office, and he starts rattling off updates. I listen, mostly.
Then he pauses mid-sentence, tapping his tablet with a manicured finger. “Oh! I almost forgot. The delivery from the other day, the clothing for Miss Romano?” His eyebrows lift, sharp as knives. “Did she like them?”
I should say nothing. I should brush it off. But my mouth betrays me. “She’s wearing them, so I assume so,” I say, too casually.
Ezra stops walking, stops breathing, then a Cheshire cat grin crawls over his face. “Ohhhh.” His grin is obscene. “She slept over.”
“She lives there,” I remind him.
“No, she slept over. She slept in your bed.” I open my mouth. Close it. Ezra gasps dramatically. “She did. Oh my God, she di…”
“Ezra.” My voice cuts like a blade.
He doesn’t even flinch. “Congratulations, boss. You caught feelings. I knew this day would come. I just assumed it’d be for a Rottweiler.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Do you have something useful to say? Anything at all?”
“Yes,” he says primly. “Your nine-thirty is rescheduled to eleven. And Rossi texted, he delivered coffee, breakfast, and a stern warning not to wander off.”
Good.
Ezra softens, just slightly. “She matters to you.”
I don’t respond.
He doesn’t need me to.
Because the truth is written all over me, and I’m not doing a damn thing to hide it.
Not anymore.
I’m trying and failing to read through my emails when my door bangs open.
Matteo strolls in like he owns the place, wearing sunglasses indoors and carrying iced coffee like it’s holy water. “My PA quit,” he announces.
“Fourth one this year,” I say without looking up. “I wonder why.”
He drops into the chair across from me, stretching out like a cat. “I think you know why.”
“Because you can’t stop fucking the staff?”
He sips his coffee. “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.”
“You can, actually,” I say. “By keeping your dick in your pants during business hours.”
“That sounds boring.”
“Matteo,” I say, leveling a look at him. “I’m serious. Stop. We need stability right now.”
He shrugs, but it’s too casual. Too loose. Not real. “You sound like Adi.”
“Adi is right.”
“Whatever.”
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
He goes still.
Barely.
Then he shrugs again, but this time his voice drops. “It sucks. Losing him. Feels like the whole house is… quieter.”
I study him quietly. Matteo lived with our father right up to the day he died. He could have easily moved out. God knows we have more money than we can ever spend, but I think he liked being close in case Dad needed him. It’s why the loss feels bigger for him.
There’s an exhaustion around his eyes he can’t charm away. A shadow. A grief he’s trying to drown in alcohol, sex, and bravado.
I open my mouth to push, but he shakes his head sharply.
“Don’t,” he mutters. “If you ask me how I’m feeling, I’ll end up crying on your desk, and that’s not a good look for anyone.”
My chest tightens. I hate seeing either of my brothers hurting and knowing I can’t fix it. So, I let him pivot. He’ll talk when he is ready and not before. “Any news from the clubs?”
Matteo shakes his head, “Nah, but they have some promotion on at the club, so tonight will be busier.”
“Let me know the second you hear anything useful.”
“Yes, sir.”
I shake my head and glance at my phone, wondering if I should text Isabella.
“So,” he says brightly, too brightly. “Speaking of emotional disasters… how’s Isabella?”
I freeze.
Matteo’s grin is slow and wicked. “Ohhhh. That good?”
“It was nothing.”
He barks a laugh. “Bullshit. You’re glowing.”
“I don’t fucking glow. I’m not a pregnant woman.”
“You do when you’re getting laid.”
I glare. “It’s a fling.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It is.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it,” I snap. “It’s not serious.”
Matteo stands, stretching his arms above his head like a smug bastard. “You keep telling yourself that.” He reaches the door, opens it, then looks back over his shoulder. “You’re fooling nobody but yourself, brother.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
And I sit there, staring at the wood grain, pulse loud, heart heavy, and one single undeniable truth echoing in my skull. He might be right.
And that scares the hell out of me.