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Nia stirs in bed beside me. My heart sinks at the thought of what I’ve gotten myself into. What’d you do that for, you idiot? Now you only have so much more to lose.
I take a deep breath and sit up in bed, grabbing my phone from the bedside table with my good arm and running my fingers through my messy hair with my bad arm. If there’s any good news, besides Nia, it’s that my arm isn’t nearly as sore as I feared it might be. Sure, it’s still weak, but the throbbing has eased.
Last Chance. It’s the only message I have. It’s from Luca. I’m filled with fury. If I was alone, I might throw my phone across the room and take a little bit of pleasure from seeing it smash against the wall, but I don’t want to startle Nia. She’s been through enough.
I get out of bed and quickly get changed. The same clothes I wore last night are strewn across the floor. They smell like Nia. We weren’t done with each other when we got home last night—we fucked until it was light out; each time more furious than the last, until we were so worn out that we collapsed in a tangled ball under my covers and drifted off into a blissful oblivion.
I’m shocked by how little blood covers my sweat-damp outfit. That thin greasy asshole from last night hadn’t hesitated to shoot his own man to get to me. At least I’d had a human shield—it might have been the only thing that had gotten me out of there alive.
Neither of the remaining goons were particularly good shots, but they were close enough to me that they didn’t need to be. I got the other big guy quickly enough, but the skinny leader somehow managed to escape. I’m almost certain I caught him in the leg with a shot, but I wasn’t about to follow him to find out for sure and finish the job. When things settled down enough for me to make a run for it, I only had one thing on my mind: Nia.
Thank god she’s alright.
I tie on my black boots and text Finn. Anything on Santino? We’re cutting this shit pretty close, bud.
I think hard and long about who to message next. Should I call in the shootout from last night? Does Gianni or Luca or any of the Barone family need to know about it?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and fight back a headache. Those three goons from last night had looked awfully Russian. It didn’t matter to me at the time—I was going to do whatever it took to protect Nia—but now I have a big decision to make.
If I don’t call the skirmish in to the Barone family and tell them to ask their dirty cops to sweep the incident under the rug, then I risk having a formal investigation opened up by the actual police. I’d heard distant yelling and seen apartment lights turn on last night after the incident. At least one person had obviously called the cops. I didn’t stick around to check for witnesses.
If I do report the incident to the Barone family, though, and it turns out that those assholes were indeed part of the Bratva that we’re trying to make peace with... well, then I’m just as fucked as Santino, if not more so.
I have a bad feeling that they must have been connected—no slimeball in this city who isn’t connected would ever think to act so high and mighty. That slim, greasy leader who was waving his gun at us last night could very well be an important member of the Volkov Bratva, if not the son of someone important.
I decide I can’t risk calling the incident in to the Barone’s. My only hope is that I can somehow catch Santino before tonight’s meeting and then disappear for a little while. Even then, I’ll have to be careful about who I let Gianni introduce me to in the future. Still, if that greaseball from last night survived the shootout, and has an important position in the Volkov Bratva, then there might not be any avoiding him.
I can only hope he bled out after we parted ways.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Finn. I have some good news. Baker street in an hour?
I tent my brows in curiosity. Could I actually pull this off? See you in an hour, I text him back.
I look back towards Nia and my heart kicks in my chest. She looks like an angel against my white sheets. A perfect contrast. I just want to get back into bed with her and forget about all my problems, but I know that if I do, there’s no future for us. I have to solve this Santino shit once and for all. I have no choice.
Before I can write down a message—telling Nia she’s welcome to stay here for as long as she wants—and head down to the garage, the cocoa angel stirs awake.
I watch as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. She looks so innocent, a far cry from the dirty passion of last night.
When her eyes fall on me, though, her confusion evaporates and a warm smile crosses her beautiful lips. “Hey,” she whispers.
My heart calls for her.
Shut up with that poetic shit, I try to order myself, but it’s harder than it sounds.
“Hey,” I smile back, forgetting all of my problems for just one more peaceful moment.
She notices I’m fully dressed. “Where are you going?”
I purse my lips. “I have to go to work. You’re more than welcome to stay here, though. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
Nia closes her eyes and stretches her long elegant arms up to the ceiling. Alfonzo’s bracelet shimmers on her thin wrist. That’s all it takes for my defences to break. I let myself give in for just a little bit before I leave. When her eyes open back up, I’m sitting on the bedside with my hand on her thigh.
We share a soft, bittersweet kiss, before I forcefully pull myself away again.
“Th
ere’s a fully stocked kitchen just down the hall. A maid should be by in an hour or two, she can tell you where things are. You’ve had a tough few days. I want you to have a little vacation. Okay?”
