Chapter 20 Nicolo
NICOLO
Iavoid her like the plague. She knows this because she’s been trying to barge into my office for the past couple of days.
Calling me a coward from behind the door.
And when that didn’t work, she’d sit there on the floor like a stray cat, mocking me through the wood.
Saying I promised to train her so she can defend herself. Which is true.
But that was before. When I thought I had more self-control than to indulge a brat with a sharp tongue and eyes that look too much like temptation. Now I know better.
The Castello has been quiet since the breach. Too quiet. My men are sweeping the docks, gathering intel…but my mind keeps circling back to her. Always her.
I see her in the halls sometimes. I turn the corner and there she is, arms crossed, waiting for me like it’s a game. And the worst part? My body reacts before my brain does. Every. Fucking. Time.
So, I keep my door locked. I keep my distance. I bury myself in the ledgers, the contracts, the preparations for the Mancinis. Because war is simpler than her. War, I can win. You can predict things, prepare. With her, I never know.
But even in here in my office, I swear I can feel her. That spark of defiance bleeding through the stone walls. The echo of her laughter from the garden. The memory of her voice curling “yes, Daddy” over breakfast like a razor dragged slow across my skin.
And when the memory of Rosa’s voice cuts through.
I’ve seen the way you look at that girl.
It only sharpens the ache gnawing at me. She doesn’t know. She can’t know. And if she ever finds out, she’ll use it against me the way she uses every crack, every weakness.
That’s what she does. She’s reckless. A liability. And liabilities get people killed. That’s the truth. The only truth.
She pounds on the door again, her voice sharp and mocking as she screams, “Coward!”
My hand freezes on the pen. The ledger stays blank.
She laughs, sweet and sharp through the door. “What’s wrong, Esposito? Afraid you’ll break a sweat training me? Or maybe you’re just afraid of me.”
My jaw tightens. My pulse slams once, hard.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because deep down, I know she’s right.
Afraid of her? No. Afraid of myself when I’m near her? Absolutely.
I press the heel of my palm into my brow, exhaling slow.
My chest feels too tight, my control stretched thinner every day she’s inside these walls.
If she knew how close I’ve come to snapping—to grabbing her by the jaw, pressing her against the nearest wall, and fucking the fight right out of her—she’d stop poking.
Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’s reckless enough that she might lean into it. And that’s the problem.
I close the ledger and push it aside. Numbers blur on the page anyway. The only thing I see is her on the mat beneath me, wrists pinned, chest heaving. The only thing I hear is her voice whispering “please” in the safe room.
I grit my teeth and reach for the glass at my side. Scotch burns down my throat, but it does nothing to the gaping wound she keeps opening.
I swore to myself I wouldn’t repeat history. That I wouldn’t let another woman get close. Not after Andrea. Not after her blood was on my hands. I didn’t love her, but I caused her pain until her last breath.
You can only make a mistake once. And Mara Folonari is the kind of mistake that will cost me everything.
I stare at the locked door, at the faint shadow of her feet under the crack.
Her voice drifts in again, softer this time, almost a whisper. “You can’t ignore me forever, Nicolo.”
My grip tightens around the glass until it cracks.
Watch me, nixie.