Page 27 of Obsession of the Bratva

Bianca slid her arm through mine, but I immediately removed it. Her eyebrows rose.

“Nico?”

I turned towards her as she stared at me in confusion, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

Then I sighed. “You shouldn’t have come to my house.”

“What?”

“You are not allowed to barge into my house whenever you wish.”

Her confusion deepened. “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“Because we haven’t spent a lot of time together, and I have no desire to spend any more of it with you.”

Realization slowly dawned. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

She folded her arms. “So what now? I should just leave?”

I shoved my hands into my pockets. The girl clearly didn’t get the hint.

“Now you go do whatever it was you planned on doing tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Nico, I rearranged my entire evening.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I’m trying my best.”

She stared at me for several seconds, and then she laughed bitterly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told.”

Her expression softened slightly. “You’re still in love with her.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Bianca shook her head and walked away, just like that. I watched her disappear down the sidewalk, and then I was alone. Exactly where I deserved to be. The problem was that I couldn’t go back inside. Not yet. If I returned immediately, Vera would know this was all fake. She would know Bianca meant nothing, and I had put on a performance. And after the look I’d seen on her face, I wasn’t ready for that conversation.

I watched Bianca drive away and got into a car myself, driving aimlessly around the city. I could go meet one of my brothers, but after they had found me at the bar, I knew they were filled with questions I had no answers to. The city blurred around me because all I could think about was Vera. The way she’d tried not to care and failed. The realization should have pleased me. It should have felt like justice.

Instead, it settled heavily in my chest.

Because hurting her hadn’t made me feel better. It hadn’t fixed anything. It hadn’t erased a single sleepless night. Hadn’t erased the months I spent watching her prepare to marry another man. Hadn’t erased the memory of walking into that church. Hadn’t erased loving her.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. The city lights reflected across the windshield. Somewhere across Miami, Vera was sitting in my house. Angry and alone. And despite everything, despite every reason I had to hate her, one truth remained stubbornly intact. She was still the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep.

That was the problem. Not Vera. Not the betrayal. Not the kidnapping.

Me.

Because I was beginning to realize that revenge would be much harder than I’d planned. Not because she didn’t deserve it. But because every time I hurt her, it felt suspiciously like I was hurting myself.