Page 16 of The Cost of Silence

And yet, my heartbeat hasn’t stopped its frantic runaway rhythm, not just from the assault but from the moment when he broke through my door like a force of nature. Something in me hasn’t come fully back from that. Twice in two days he’s saved me from harm. Yet, when he looks at me, I don’t know whether to seek sanctuary in his embrace or run as far and as fast as I can. My gut says the second one.

By the time we reach the underground garage beneath his building, my muscles feel stretched too thin, my ribs throbbing in pain. He kills the engine without a word, steps out, and circles to my door.

He doesn’t offer a hand. But he does wait.

I slide out carefully, and the moment my bag slips on my shoulder, his hand closes around the strap, lifting it clean out of my grasp with a quiet, annoyed breath.

“I can carry my own—”

“No. You can’t.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it. He just walks, the bag slung effortlessly over his shoulder.

The elevator is private and silent, the air crisp and cool. I lean lightly against the back wall to ease the pull on my ribs, hoping he doesn’t notice. He glances sideways, eyes flicking to the subtle shift in my breathing. Of course he notices, but says nothing, just watches me with that intensity that makes my skin sizzle.

We step off the elevator and into a hall before he opens his door, and I step into a space that’s unexpectedly warm.

Not cozy, Nico Mancini doesn’t seem like a man who does “cozy,” but the penthouse carries a quiet depth I don’t expect: dark wood floors, stone counters, soft amber lighting. The city sprawls beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glittering like a galaxy laid flat below.

I take a few slow, measured steps into the living room. The scent here is faint but clean, a hint of cedar and something sharper, like the lingering trace of his cologne from earlier.

There aren’t any photographs or personal clutter. No sign of a life lived except in the immaculate order of the space.

He disappears down the hall with my bag, leaving me alone long enough to take a quiet, steadying breath. The room feels too large, too still, and for a moment, the events of the night sneak up on me, the candlelight, the shadow behind me, the blow to my cheek, that voice hissing in my ear.

I brace a hand on the counter, exhaling slowly.

When Nico returns, he stops in the doorway, watching me with a gaze that feels like it weighs and catalogues every detail, from the way I’m holding myself to the slight wince I try to hide when I straighten.

“You need ice,” he says, moving past me.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to,”he murmurs.“You’re safe anyway.”

He opens a drawer, retrieves a cold pack, and crosses back to me. Instead of lifting it to my face, he places it in my hand, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. Warm calloused skin against my trembling fingers, it sends a strange ripple through me.

“Hold it there,” he says, quieter.

I press it to my cheek, the cold biting deep, and close my eyes for a breath.

When I open them, he’s leaning on the opposite side of the island, arms folded, gaze fixed on me with unnervingly steady focus. His suit is barely rumpled, the custom Armani fitted to his muscular frame like a lover’s caress.

“What?” I ask.

“You didn’t lock your window.”

My stomach tightens. “He didn’t climb through a window. It’s four stories up, and the fire escape is on the opposite side, unless he doubles as Spiderman.”

“I saw the latch half-open when I was checking the room before Rossi got there.” His eyes narrow. “Someone could have found a way, Spiderman or not. Desperate people are resourceful.”

A shiver runs down my spine, not from cold, but from the knowledge he’s right. Not that I’d admit that to him with a gun to my head. “Do you always assume the worst possible outcome?”

“It’s why I’m alive.”

The way he says it, flat, factual, sends another unwelcome flicker of curiosity through me. No, not unwelcome. This is who I am. I’m a truth seeker. I lower the ice pack. “You were… close tonight,” I say, the words coming out before I fully decide to speak them. “You were right there. I barely screamed.”