Page 58
Nico scowled as he pulled his sweater over his head. “What are you talking about?”
“You promised to make me dinner. You said you’d bring wine.”
Yes, he had—back when he was foolishly flirting in texts. Before tonight and the shaky hands. “That wasn’t a serious offer.”
“So, you were lying?”
“I was being charming. There is a difference.”
“That’s actually worse.”
Nico could feel his irritation soaring. Why was Verreault pushing this? They both knew what this was and asking for more was impossible. Especially a romantic dinner with expectations and talking. He buckled his belt. “Verreault, I cannot come here every night with bottles of wine. My men will grow suspicious.”
“Got it. Bottles of lube, yes. Wine, no.”
Nico didn’t like the tone of the other man’s voice, flippant and sarcastic, as if he didn’t once consider their safety. “If we are discovered,” he said, “which one of us do you think my men will kill first?”
Verreault’s eyelids shot open, fully alert now. “What the fuck, Nico? You’d let them kill me?”
“There is no let them, capisce? There are unspoken rules for these things. But don’t worry, they won’t let me live much longer after they kill you.”
Verreault said nothing, just watched Nico warily, his eyes tracking Nico’s movements as he finished dressing. It made Nico feel worse, like he was kicking un cucciolo. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I am disappointing you.”
“You are disappointing me. I thought I was getting a home-cooked authentic Italian meal tomorrow night.”
“Is that all you were hoping for?”
“Yes, of course. What else would there be?”
A smile threatened the edges of Nico’s mouth. Verreault’s banter was addictive to Nico, a man few would dare to push or tease. “Does your soul feel heavier with all these lies you tell, bello?”
“I can’t imagine a man like you is ever worried about the weight of souls.”
This was correct. Nico had stopped considering his soul ages ago. Taking his watch from the nightstand, he fastened it on his wrist as he walked to the door, in a hurry to be done. “Ciao,” he said because he couldn’t think of a single other thing to say, and walked out.
Before he left, he reset the alarm, then closed the door behind him. The stairs seemed a better way of regaining his equilibrium than the lift, so he went into the stairwell and started down. While his waiting guards would never suspect what Nico had really been doing in Verreault’s apartment, they would expect him to be in control and sure of himself at all times. Not shaky and obsessed with muscles and a tight, hockey-sculpted ass.
As he stepped onto the sidewalk, Nico nearly tripped as a stark realization hit him—not once had he and Verreault discussed the Reign player responsible for drugging Sofia. Cazzo! This was not good. A failure on his part.
Everything so far has been a dead end. The residue in the syringe found in the SUV last night was insulin, not GHB, and he was still waiting on a call regarding the contents of the safe taken from the third home. Waiting, waiting, waiting . . . He was so tired of waiting. What sort of boss didn’t act swiftly against a slight to the family? Would the men start to think him weak and ineffectual?
When Nico slipped into the backseat of the sedan, Antonio looked at him in the rearview mirror. “You look pissed off. The hockey player stonewall you again?”
Instead of answering, Nico smoothed his trousers and tried to school his features. “Any word from our safecracker?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Dante said. “Want me to check in with Filippo?”
“No. Take me to Leo’s now. I’ll watch over his shoulder as he opens that safe. I’m tired of waiting.”
“Leo won’t like that. He prefers to be alone when he works,” Dante added.
“He can either have company while he works, or he can be alone and dead. It’s his choice.”
Dante exchanged a look with Antonio, then slowly shifted around to face the front.
