Chapter 22 Nick
NICK
Iglanced at my watch. Twenty minutes. She was still gone—a pit opened in my stomach.
My mind spun with worst-case scenarios—Mel crumpled on a cold bathroom floor, unconscious, pale, helpless.
My pulse kicked up. Damn it, Mel. If she forgot to check her sugar again, I swear I’d strap a glucose monitor to her myself.
That girl floated through life like gravity barely applied.
She’d forget her own name if no one said it out loud.
From the corner of my eye, I caught my mom watching.
I tried ignoring her, but she nudged me, and I felt the weight of her stare.
She tilted her head toward the double doors like she was issuing a silent command.
Go get her. I patted her leg in response, pushed to my feet, and moved fast, careful not to draw too much attention as I slipped out.
The priest’s voice faded behind me, replaced by the hum of my blood in my ears.
“Mel?” I called, cracking open the bathroom door. Silence. I pushed it wider. Empty.
My phone buzzed in my hand as I checked it—no messages. Nothing. My gut twisted. I moved. Fast. Through the hallway, out the front doors, light punching into my eyes like it was trying to blind me.
Down the steps. Heart pounding. Mind racing. And then—relief. Sudden. Crushing. I saw her.
She was lying in the bed of my truck, sprawled out like it was a damn hammock. One arm flung over her head, the other holding what looked like a wine bottle.
My feet hit the pavement harder as I rushed her.
“Hey,” I called out, voice sharper than I intended.
She jolted upright like a teenager busted with weed in the middle of homeroom.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growled, closing the distance fast.
She waved me off. Like, this was no big deal. “Taking a break from the hour-long service. You didn’t warn me that church would be this long. This is more like torture.”
“So you come out here and get drunk in the back of my truck?” I towered over her now. She lay there like a goddess of chaos, sipping wine like it was Sunday brunch. One hand on her phone, the other on the neck of the bottle. Head tilted to the sky.
“What’s the problem?” she asked, casual as hell, taking another long swig.
“We’re at church. And where the hell did you even get that?”
She pointed with the bottle toward the gas station across the street, as if it explained everything.
I raked a hand through my hair, fingers pulling hard enough to sting.
I was losing my grip. I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw her over my shoulder and lock her in the truck.
And then she smiled. That wicked, beautiful smile that made me feel like burning the whole world down just to keep her warm.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
“Speaking of Jesus, if you think church is going to wash away all my sins, you’re in for a r—”
I didn’t let her finish. My hand shot out, yanked the bottle from hers, and slammed it to the pavement, glass exploding like a gunshot.
“There’s no way we can go back in there with you drunk off your ass.”
“I’m not drunk off my ass. Calm down,” she said, sliding off the back of the truck like she hadn’t just detonated my morning.
I grabbed her wrist before she could bolt. Slammed her lightly—firmly—against the side of my truck, the metal frame groaning under the tension between us.
“Let me go,” she snapped, twisting against my grip.
“Keep your voice down,” I growled, leaning in close. Her hair smelled like heat and defiance. Every part of her radiated rebellion. I could barely think. Barely breathe.
She didn’t care. She never fucking cared. About her health, her safety, and me. She acted like she was invincible, but I knew better. I saw the cracks. The way she trembled after fights. The way she masked fear with attitude.
“No!” she shouted again, louder this time.
I slapped my hand over her mouth, holding her gaze. “If you scream one more time, I swear to God.”
“What Nick?” she said against my palm, her voice muffled but clear.
“I’ll spank you so hard that you’ll see stars.”
She started shaking—and for a second I thought she might cry. But she laughed. She fucking laughed.
“You think that scares me, commando?” she said, still grinning, teeth flashing like a dare.
I pulled my hand away, but kept my weight against her, breathing hard. My skin was on fire. My chest ached with restraint.
“You think this shit is funny? You have fucking diabetes. Remember? You shouldn’t be fucking drinking.”
“For one, I came out here to check my blood sugar and take my insulin, but then after walking in on some girls talking shit about me, I thought it would be a good fucking idea to get tipsy.”
“You’re fucking weak.”
“Fuck them and fuck y—”
My mouth crashed into hers.
I didn’t plan it. I didn’t think. I just needed her quiet. I needed her closer. I needed her like air.
Her lips opened under mine, soft and needy and furious. I kissed her like I was starving. Like it would erase everything. The chaos, the guilt, the way she clawed at my logic until it bled.
A whimper slipped from her throat, and I swear it undid me. I grabbed the back of her neck, dragging her deeper into me. I couldn’t get close enough. Not with our bodies. Not with our mouths. Not with her soul that felt like it was constantly slipping through my fingers.
She smelled like roses and regret.
My hand slid to her scalp, tugging until her head tilted back. I dragged my lips to her neck and sank my teeth into her skin, just hard enough to make her gasp. She clutched my forearms like I was holding her up. Maybe I was.
A groan tore from me—low and primal—right as reality slammed back into my skull. We were in a church parking lot.
I pulled back, inch by inch, every part of me screaming to keep going.
She stood there panting, lips swollen, eyes dazed. We locked eyes—two broken people playing with fire.
“Get in,” I said, opening the door.
“What about your mom?”
“Now you give a shit?”
She didn’t answer—just stared. God, she looked beautiful. But even behind all that beauty, I could see it: shame. It clung to her like a shadow. No makeup could cover it.
“I’ll text her and let her know that you forgot your insulin, so we had to get back before you passed out.”
She nodded slowly, rounding the truck.
Just as I reached for the door handle, I heard her voice.
“Nick.”
I looked up.
She stood on the other side, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Thanks.“For what?”
“For proving me wrong.”
I’d been doing everything I could to stay the hell away from Melanie after what happened on my truck.
One second longer, and I would’ve ripped her blouse open and fucked her senseless right there, consequences be damned.
She was supposed to work tonight, but I gave her the night off — told myself it was for her sake, but deep down, I knew it was for mine.
If I didn’t put distance between us, if I so much as caught a whiff of her perfume, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
That kiss was still burning on my lips, gnawing at my self-control like acid. It wasn’t like the kisses we’d stolen before, cautious, half-hearted.
No.
This one was feral — desperate.
It cracked something open inside me, something dark and dangerous that wouldn’t fucking close now.
It was like taking a hit of pure heroin — one taste of her toxic heart, and I was hooked.
The cruel joke of it all?
She’s the first girl I’m afraid to fuck.
And she’s almost ten years younger than me — exactly the kind of messy, emotional shit I didn’t need in my life right now.
Not that Melanie’s immature-no-, she’s sharp, resilient — but I’d seen it before. Give a girl your body, and suddenly she thinks she owns your soul. The night dragged on in slow, bleeding minutes.
It was a Monday — slow but steady — the kind of dead air that prickled at your skin and made your brain itch. We usually weren’t busy after eight, which was why I decided to close at nine now, but like clockwork, there was always some asshole who came in right before we locked up.
Right on cue, an order dinged on the screen.
“Seriously? I was just about to clean the damn stove,” Leroy groaned, tossing his rag onto the counter.
“What’s the order?” I asked, already feeling my pulse grind against my skull.
“Chicken Alfredo. Simple. But man, I was ready to get outta here.”
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “It’s fine. I got it. Mario can help close up. You’ve been here all day — go home to your family.”
Leroy gave me a grateful nod, peeling off his apron. “Thanks, boss.”
I needed the distraction anyway. Cooking was the only thing that kept my hands steady without reaching for the pills the VA handed me like candy.
But when I pulled the ticket and saw the name, my gut twisted into a fist. Fifteen minutes later, I slid the steaming plate onto a table — and locked eyes with the devil himself.
“Must be a special night for the big man to serve me,” Diablo said, grinning like a snake.
I placed the plate down harder than necessary, jaw clenched so tight I could feel the veins in my neck pulsing.
“Let’s just hope you didn’t poison it,” he teased, voice dripping with mockery.
I stared down at him, my fingers itching to wrap around his greasy throat. “That would be bad for business,” I said flatly. “And I don’t serve bad food. No matter how tempting it might be.”
He clicked his tongue against his teeth, studying me with lazy malice as he unfolded his napkin, laying it across his lap like a spoiled kid.
“You know what’s really bad for business, Niccolo?” His fork gleamed under the fluorescent lights as he pointed it at me.“Not paying your debts.”
He twirled a mound of pasta around his fork and shoved it into his mouth, chewing like he owned the place, like he owned me.
“And you know how impatient I can be.”
“I can only give you two grand right now,” I said, voice like gravel.
“Next month, you’ll have the rest. Christmas is coming up — things are tight with the new… life changes.”
His eyes flicked to my hand, to the gold band wrapped around my finger like a noose.
“That’s right. Heard you got hitched in Vegas.” His mouth curled into a vicious smile. “And to one of your little waitresses. How romantic.”
I stiffened. “How the hell did you hear about that?”
He chuckled low and ugly. “You can find anything on the internet these days, amigo.”
My stomach bottomed out. Mel had begged me to post the damn wedding photos, the same time she suggested we start promoting the restaurant on social media. “Make it look official,” she said. “Everyone has a social media presence.”
I hadn’t even thought twice.
“Congratulations,” he said, his voice thick with venom. “Hope you got life insurance. Wouldn’t want that pretty little wife of yours crying over a closed casket. Be a shame to be a widow so young.”
Rage flared hot behind my eyes, but I kept my face blank.
Barely.
“I told you, Diablo. You’ll get your money. Two grand tomorrow. The rest by next month.”
He took another leisurely bite, chewing with his mouth open like a goddamn pig, staring me down.
“You know what I can’t do?” he said, voice low and dangerous.
“Wait.”
I could hear the unspoken threat buzzing in the space between us like static electricity. A tight band wrapped around my ribs, squeezing, but I didn’t flinch. Didn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You don’t scare me, Diablo,” I said, my voice a razor blade dragged slowly across skin.
“You might’ve done time behind bars, but I’ve been to hell.
War. I’ve seen men’s guts steaming in the dirt.
Watched their heads explode like watermelons.
Held brothers as they bled out with nothing but prayers to patch them together.
” I leaned in, voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
“I told you. I’ll pay you. But after that, we’re done.
You ever set foot in my restaurant again, it better be to scrub the floors clean with your goddamn tongue. ”
For a split second, I saw something flicker across his face — surprise? Fury?
Didn’t matter.
I turned on my heel before he could spit some slick threat back at me.
“Enjoy your fucking meal,” I muttered over my shoulder, tasting blood in my mouth.