Chapter 14 Nicolo
NICOLO
Istand there, hand on the doorknob, jaw locked tight. She doesn’t know when to quit. Doesn’t know the kind of fire she’s playing with.
I force my hand to drop, force myself back into my chair behind the desk. I have work to do. I won’t waste another second thinking about a reckless girl who doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.
Picking up my pen, I go back to annotating the contract for the new security detailing of some European royals, crossing out ridiculous demands and scribbling down corrections.
But the damn smell of her perfume lingers in my office, in my nose.
I ignore it, opting to bury myself in a different contract for the development of a security system for the mayor of New York.
Minutes bleed into hours as I pour over multiple contracts and email my team back in New York when… darkness.
I move fast, not thinking of anything other than securing the responsibility that I have. Cocking my gun as I move down the hall and across to where Mara’s room is stationed, I make sure my to stay as silent as possible.
I don’t bother with knocking. Twisting the knob, I move toward where she’s sleeping in the bed and shake her. Mara stirs, her eyes fluttering awake. Panic flares across her features, and I quickly put my hand over her mouth.
“Keep quiet. There’s an outage. Can you do that for me?”
I remove my hand after she nods. Turning, I motion for her to follow me and to remain silent.
I freeze when there’s a tug on the back of my shirt. When I look back, she’s clutching it with her fingers, but she drops it when her gaze connects with mine. Sighing, I grab her wrist and tug her along, making sure to check the hallway before stepping out of her room.
Yanking my bedroom door open, I usher her in ahead of me before shutting it behind us.
I quickly move across toward the walk-in closet and hit the switch—mechanical, not electrical—and the hidden wall slides aside on hydraulic pressure.
Power outage or not, this room always opens.
The safe room is all concrete and steel, stripped of anything unnecessary.
No windows, no pictures, no softness. Just four walls built to keep death out.
The only light comes from the monitors on the far wall, their glow painting her face in blue and gray. Too soft for this room.
Too soft for me.
She doesn’t belong in here. She’s quiet, her eyes wide, hair mussed from just being woken up. But there’s a layer of fear coating her features, fear so strong I can almost taste it.
“There’s food in that fridge, bottled water, and a landline,” My voice stays level, practiced. “This door will lock from the outside. Do not open it. I’m the only one who has the code.”
I don’t let myself think about how small she looks in this place. How fragile. That kind of thinking gets people killed. I don’t linger for too long, moving to get out of the room, but her voice stops me.
“Don’t leave,” she pleads, her voice trembling and laced with panic.
I force myself to swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat. Her footsteps ring out against the concrete as she moves closer when I don’t answer.
She tugs on the back of my shirt. “Please.”
Her fingers are still on my shirt, light as silk, but it feels like a shackle. I tell myself one word can’t undo me.
I’m wrong.
I should peel her fingers off me, lock the door, and secure the Castello. That’s the smart thing. The only thing. But her voice worms under my skin—too soft, too close. Dangerous in a way bullets and blades never were.
Instead of doing what’s right, I close the door, sealing us both in the safe room.
This is a mistake.
Pulling out my phone, I stand in front of the monitor’s screens as I send a text to the Castello’s head of security, Theo.
Me
What’s going on?
Theo
Breach confirmed. Three men inside. Armed.
Me
Status?
Theo
Contained. Waiting on backup for a full sweep.
I lower the phone, my grip tightening around it.
Contained. For now. That isn’t good enough.
I need to find out who infiltrated the Castello. Because contained isn’t secure, and that might not be an issue for me, but she’s my responsibility and I need to make sure she’s safe. Unless the Castello is secure, that can’t happen. Not when the stench of fear is hanging so heavy I can taste it.
A soft sound drags my attention from the monitors. Mara. Her breaths are coming too quickly, shallow and uneven, her shoulders shaking as she hugs her knees to her chest.
Panic.
I curse under my breath. This is the last thing I need.
“Stop.” My voice cuts through the silence, low and steady.
Her wide eyes snap to mine, glassy with unshed tears. “I-I c-can’t—” She stumbles over the words, chest rising too fast. “C-can’t breathe—”
I stand, crossing the space in three strides, and crouch in front of her, forcing her to look at me.
“Yes, you can.” My hand wraps around her wrist, firm but not cruel. Grounding. “In. Now out. Match me. Do it again.”
Her lips part and tremble, but she listens. A shaky inhale. A broken exhale. Again. And again, until her chest starts to ease, until her breathing falls in line with mine.
I should let go. I don’t.
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, clinging like I’m the only solid thing in the world. Her head tips forward, brushing my shoulder as she hides her face from the monitors’ glow. My pulse slams against my throat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, barely audible.
Outside, my men are ripping the Castello apart to secure it. Inside, this girl is undoing me with a single touch in ways I don’t want to admit.
The phone buzzes in my hand.
Theo
Premises clear. Backup sweeping.
My jaw tightens. I should leave her in the safe room and be down there. I should stick to the logic, the discipline, the iron-clad rules I live by.
Instead, I sit back against the couch. Her weight is warm against me, her breathing finally even. Her lashes flutter against my shirt once, twice, and then she goes still. The small, soft snores that fill the small space confirm that she fell asleep. In my arms.
I stare at the concrete wall across from me, the hum of the monitors filling the silence alongside her snores.
I’ve fought wars. I’ve killed men. But one word from her undoes a lifetime of rigid rules and discipline.
This is a mistake. And it’s going to cost me in the worst way possible.