Page 90 of The Cost of Silence

God. He says things like that, and it feels like my heart is squeezing too tight for my ribs.

“Nico… my mom thinks you’re a criminal.”

He smirks. “Technically, no one can prove that and, off the record, we’re reformed-ish.”

“Technically, that doesn’t help.”

“Call her,” he repeats, decisive. “Invite her. I’ll arrange transport. You won’t spend Thanksgiving alone and neither will she.”

I let out a slow, shaky breath. “And if she hates you?” I whisper.

His grip tightens around my waist. “Then I’ll make her love me.”

I laugh, startled, breathless, undone by the audacity of it. “You say that like you have a plan.”

He kisses the side of my throat, slow as sin. “Belle, I always have a plan.”

God, I’m falling.

I lean my forehead against his chest. He holds me there, warm and solid, the safest place I’ve ever been. “Okay,” I murmur. “I’ll call her.”

He nods once. “Good.”

“But, Nico?”

“Hm?”

“You’re going to have to tone down the mafia energy.”

He pulls back to look me dead in the eyes. “Define ‘tone down’.”

“Oh, God,” I groan, burying my face against him. “She’s going to panic.”

He chuckles, deep and smug. “Relax. I’ll be charming.”

“You don’t know what that word means.”

“I charmed you.”

“That was blackmail and lust.”

He shrugs. “Effective.”

I smack his chest lightly. “She’s going to assume you kidnapped me.”

“Then I’ll smile more,” he says dryly.

“You don’t smile.”

“You make me smile.”

Well. Fair point.

I take a breath. “Okay. But after I call her… can we dig into the research again? I feel like we’re missing something.”

His expression shifts instantly, darker, focused. “Yes,” he says. “After breakfast and your call.”

“Together?” I ask, softly.