I file that tip away in my mental folder—the one where I’ll keep all the compromises I’ll make, all the sins I’ll commit.
Hopefully, one day I can toss that folder out and leave this all behind.
Vita smiles. “Talk to Nero when he gets home tonight. If you manage to convince him, send me a text.”
CHAPTER 13
NERO
It’s raining again tonight.
The view of Brooklyn outside the window looks like a vast, moody canvas brushed with diffused blue and gray strokes.
I roll the glass of single-malt whiskey between my palms. I’m nursing it alone on the living room sofa.
I don’t like to drink alone, but some days demand it.
I needed something strong. Something that would burn as it went down my throat.
There was another Bratva soldier today, and Alessio and I spent eight hours interrogating him. Alessio’s convinced the guy knows the location of one of the pakhan’s weapon storage facilities.
The fucker’s tough. He wouldn’t talk no matter what we did to him. We kept him alive. Tomorrow, we’ll try again.
The work is wearing on me. The hard part is that it’s constant. Every day is the same thing. I’m used to more variety. Unless you’ve got a few screws loose in the head like my boss, no one enjoys doing this shit day after day.
I’m sure Gino’s hoping that it’ll break me eventually.
He can keep hoping.
I’m not dragging Blake into this conflict, no matter what it costs me.
“Nero? I didn’t hear you come in.”
My gaze moves from the window to Blake and…Fuck me.
She’s standing across the living room dressed in the sexiest little outfit—a fitted gray blouse, a ruffled skirt that shows off her legs, and winter-white boots with a small heel.
I long for the days when I could just walk over and embrace her. She’d probably stab me if I tried to do that now.
Still, just the sight of her eases some of my tension.
I lift my glass to her and drawl, “Honey, I’m home.” I can’t get over how fucking beautiful she is.
She places her hands on her hips. “You told me you wanted to take me out for dinner.”
I want to do a lot more than take her out for dinner, but I swipe my palm over my lips, and say, “I did.”You refused.
“Let’s do it then.”
I sit up straight. She wants to go out? What does this mean?
I study her expression. She doesn’t seem upset or happy, but there’s a bit of nervousness inside her eyes.
Is she extending an olive branch?
Sometimes, it’s dangerous to hope, but I don’t care. I told myself I wouldn’t rush her to process what’s happened between us, and now I’m tempted to think maybe I’ve done exactly the right thing.
She’s coming to me.
