Chapter 22 Nicolo
NICOLO
Under the water is where I can really think. Stroke after stroke, lungs burning, muscles screaming. The silence under the surface almost lets me forget her.
Almost.
But even here, she follows me. Mara Folonari. Reckless, sharp-tongued, a constant thorn lodged under my skin.
I’ve dealt with men who tried to put bullets in my head and never once lost sleep over them. Yet one girl—one spoiled, infuriating, too-bright girl—has me unraveling.
No one has ever gotten under my skin. No one. Not Rosa, not my mother, not the Mancinis circling like vultures.
I’ve built myself on control, precision, and discipline. I don’t bend. I don’t break.
Until her.
I push harder, faster, trying to drown the thought in chlorinated blue. But when I haul myself out, water dripping, chest heaving, all I can taste is the truth.
She’s in my head. And I can’t get her out.
I drag a towel across my face, sling it over my neck, and head inside.
The house is quiet at this hour, servants moving like shadows, guards swapping shifts with murmured, clipped greetings.
My feet leave wet prints on the stone. I don’t bother with a shirt; I just want water and to enjoy the silence.
I step into the kitchen and get neither.
She’s at my counter. Her back to me, robe slipping off one shoulder, hair a lazy mess down her spine. A small shape sits on the marble in front of her, and she’s bent close, talking in a hushed voice that doesn’t belong in my kitchen. Soft. Almost sweet. The word feels foreign.
I stop in the doorway, the towel dripping against my chest. “What the hell is that?”
She freezes, her shoulders going tight. Then she pivots slowly like she’s bracing for a firing squad.
“It’s a cat.”
“I can see it’s a cat,” I step in, the cool air in the room hitting my wet skin. “Why is it in my kitchen?”
She raises her chin, defiant as ever. “You should’ve been more clear with your question. She was outside. In the bushes. She was shaking.”
She turns back to the tiny, miserable thing and wipes at its face with a damp cloth. The kitten blinks up at her, all eyes and bones and too-big ears.
“So I brought her in,” she finishes.
“Of course you did.”
She glances over her shoulder, eyes flickering down my chest, then snapping back up in a beat. She pretends she didn’t just do that, and I pretend I didn’t notice it.
“You’re dripping on the floor.”
“I own said floor,” I say flatly.
I pull the fridge door open, snag a cold bottle, crack the cap, and down it in one long drag. The water’s gone too fast, doing nothing to rinse the thought of her out of my head.
When I put the empty bottle down, she’s watching me. Not the polite kind of watching. The kind that measures and pokes until it finds a soft spot. What she doesn’t know is she won’t find one.
“You could’ve just said ‘good morning,’” she says lightly.
“I could have,” I agree. “But then you’d think we were friends.”
“Right. God forbid.” She turns back to the cat, voice soft again. “It’s okay, Duchess.”
I blink. “Duchess?”
“She needs a name.” A shrug. “She looks like a duchess. A very tiny, homeless duchess with abandonment issues.”
“You sure you’re not talking about yourself?” I cock a brow.
She turns toward me and sticks her tongue out. “Funny. And no, I’m not talking about myself.”
“Could’ve fooled me. She looks like a liability.” I move closer despite myself, the towel ghosting the back of my neck.
The kitten’s fur is a mess, whiskers akimbo. She smells like dirt and leaves.
“She could be feral.”
“Then she’ll fit right in.” Mara’s mouth tilts. “You know, with the wild animals you let roam this place.”
“Like you,” I say.
“Like me.” She doesn’t deny it. “Now, I need cotton pads and warm water and something for her eyes. And food. And a blanket.”
“You need to put it back outside.”
Her head snaps up, eyes flashing. “Her. Not it. And no.”
“Your answer is no?”
“Yes.” She squares her shoulders lie she expects a fight. “I’m not leaving her out there.”
I hold her stare for a beat too long. It’s a mistake; I know it the second my gut goes hot and mean. I look away and reach past her for another bottle, just to do something with my hands besides drag her out of this kitchen and teach her what the word no means.
“She’s not staying in this kitchen,” I say. “This is a workspace, not a shelter.”
“I’ll clean up,” she counters, already wiping the counter in small circles as if she lives here. As if the decision is hers to make. “I’ll keep her quiet. You won’t even know she’s here.”
“I already knew she was here.” I motion at the kitten with the bottle. “She’s meowing at me.”
“She’s saying ‘thank you.’”
“She’s saying ‘feed me,’” I correct.
“Same difference.” She dares a small smile. “You want to help?”
“No.”
She takes that like a challenge, which of course it is.
“What’s stopping you?” she asks, voice turning honeyed, razor hidden under the sugar.
“Stopping me from what?” I decide to entertain whatever she’s pushing for.
“You act like every second near me might kill you, but you haven’t thrown me out. You haven’t taken Duchess from me and thrown her out. Instead, you just let me get away with it. You haven’t even told me to leave.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Are you?” She tilts her head, that wicked spark waking in her eyes. “Or are you just…thinking about it?”
I step in close enough that the counter hits my hips. Her chin tips up; I can feel the heat pouring off her even through the cool room.
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
“Make me stop, then.” She doesn’t blink.
Something snaps in half inside me.
I lean in, my voice a rasp. “I don’t fuck little girls.”
The color rises up her throat; she still smiles. “Good thing I’m not.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” I straighten and put the bottle down, slow and controlled. “You want the truth? You are chaos. I don’t invite chaos into my bed. Or my life.”
“Ah.” She nods like she’s just solved a murder. “So that’s what’s stopping you. A line you pretend is real.” She drags the cloth along the kitten’s back slowly. “You could cross it.”
“I won’t.”
She looks almost pleased, like my refusal is proof of some private theory. “Because you can’t.”
“Because I don’t,” I snap. Then, before she can turn that into something else, I add, “Keep the cat out of my office. And my rooms.”
Her blinks. “So…she can stay.”
“She can stay, preferably somewhere I’m not.”
Her smile turns bright, victorious in a way that puts heat under my skin. “Deal.”
I should take the win and leave. I don’t move. She brushes a smear of dirt off the kitten’s nose and whispers something I can’t hear. The small, miserable thing tucks itself under her palm like it trusts her with its life.
Of course it does.
“Can I take her to a vet?” she asks without looking at me. “Shots. Checkup. Whatever she needs.”
“No.”
Her head jerks up. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t leave the Castello without me.” I hold her gaze. “I’ll take you later.”
She gapes. “You’ll—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
The smile she fights drops, then returns, smaller and less smug. “Okay.”
I push off the counter and turn away before I do something I can’t take back. “Clean the counter when you’re done. Keep her out of the staff’s way.”
“She has a name.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will,” she sings under her breath.
I pause in the doorway. “Keep her claws off the leather chairs. If she scratches anything in this house, I’ll mount her to the wall.”
“You will not,” she says, outrage softening into a laugh. “You’re not a monster.”
I don’t answer. I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll see her feeding the tiny thing with a saucer and her fingers, murmuring nonsense that sounds like care. If I do, I’ll remember the feeling of her voice saying please, and I’ll make more mistakes.
Instead, I leave.
Halfway down the hall, the image catches up anyway—her head bent, hair falling forward, that stubborn mouth soft for once. I rub a hand over my jaw, feeling the bite of my own teeth on my tongue where I held back something reckless.
I should have told her no and meant it. I should have thrown that cat out. Instead, I added another excuse to be near her.
I’m not a superstitious man, but I swear I can feel the gears shifting. A tiny stray thing in my kitchen just rewired the day.
Later, I’ll take her to the vet. I’ll tell myself it’s strictly for security. I’ll pretend I don’t already know this is a bad idea.
It was a bad idea from the moment I agreed to the deal with her brother.
I keep walking, water drying on my skin, towel cold around my neck, and all I can think is that my world was quieter before she arrived. Quieter…and easier to rule.
Now it feels alive. Dangerous. Like it’s waiting for someone to light a match.
She will; it’s just a matter of time.
And I’m the fool who just handed her the lighter.