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Moments later, the server pops a bottle of champagne and pours us each a flute. Nicolo presses mine into my hand, and I thank him before turning my eyes back to the caged dancer.
“Maybe I’ll put you in that cage to dance one night,” Nicolo suggests. “I’d love to see you like that,” he murmurs so close to my ear that his warm breath tickles my skin.
Mortified, I fight the urge to wince. If he knows I would hate that, I’m sure he would be more inclined to actually make it happen. But I can’t imagine being scantily clad and on display, for everyone to see, let alone dancing on an invisible floor suspended nearly thirty feet above the ground. Despite myself, a shudder runs through my body at the horrifying thought.
Whitney’s distinct pixie cut catches my attention in the mob below as she, Logan, Paige, and the twins work their way onto the dance floor. What I wouldn’t give to vanish into the crowd with them, become invisible in the throng of moving bodies rather than sitting on display up here. I sip my champagne, and the bubbles burn a trail down my throat even as the dry flavor awakens my senses. From the taste of it, I’m sure this champagne is insanely expensive.
“Do you like club dancing?” Nicolo asks, demanding my attention.
I turn to face him and am immediately struck by how close we are. It would take nothing for me to lean forward and kiss him. Not that I want to.
“Yes,” I respond breathlessly. Then, recalling how angry he got with me over my short responses on our first date, I ask, “Do you?”
Nicolo shrugs. “I prefer to watch.” His hazel eyes burn into mine suggestively, and my stomach knots.
“Nicolo!” someone shouts from the top stair of our balcony, and we both turn to see who it is.
The man is youthful, right around our age, I would guess, with black hair and dark eyes that look as Italian as Nicolo’s features. One of Nicolo’s bodyguards has a hand on the guy’s shoulder, stopping him from entering our space, though the boy’s expression looks friendly enough.
Nicolo’s arm stiffens fractionally around my waist before a wide smile spreads across his face. “If it isn’t Troy Gatti,” he says in his most charming voice I’ve only ever heard him use on teachers when he wants his way about something. “That’s all right, Seb. Let him up. He’s a family friend, after all.”
From the look on Seb’s face, I would say there’s something more to Nicolo and Troy’s relationship than friendship. Suddenly, I wonder if this might not be a mafia connection of Nicolo’s. But the bodyguard drops his arm, allowing Troy to join us.
“Have a seat,” Nicolo suggests, waving to the couches across from us as Troy approaches.
But Troy doesn’t. Instead, he comes to stand beside me at the arm of the couch, close enough that I have to tip my head back to look at his face instead of his crotch. And as I do, leaning back and into Nicolo slightly to gain some space, I realize that Troy’s expression is less friendly than I had thought from a distance.
While a smile still curls the corners of his lips, it’s a bitter one, and his eyes hold a steely anger I hadn’t noticed before. “Nice to see your conscience is clear, and you’re able to enjoy a night out with one of your supermodel sluts after what you did. I’m happy for you,” Troy says caustically, his hands fisting.
My muscles tense as I feel Nicolo stiffen behind me, and I suddenly feel trapped between a rock and a hard place.
“What do you want, Troy?” Nicolo asks, his tone still light, but an icy coldness lingers beneath the surface.
“I want to know how you could rip my family apart like you did when we have been nothing but loyal to your family for years!” Troy growls through clenched teeth. “Our families used to have Christmas together, and yet you killed my father in cold blood. After all he did for you, you murdered him, and you didn’t even have the decency to give us his body so we might mourn him!” Troy shouts, the force of his anger misting me with spittle.
I cringe beneath his wrath, pressing back against Nicolo in my desperation to move away from Troy. Nicolo shifts to a stand, stepping over my ankles as he puts his body between Troy and me, and my heart bursts into a sprint. The muscle popping in Nicolo’s jaw tells me he’s fighting to contain his anger.
“Your father chose to steal from my family even though he knew the consequences. He deserved what he got,” Nicolo states flatly, making my stomach drop.He didn’t deny murdering Troy’s father. He finds it perfectly justified.“And you need to watch your mouth. You know better than to air this kind of shit in public,” he hisses.
“Fuck you,” Troy spits, stepping closer to Nicolo and shoving a finger into his chest.
Adrenaline floods through my veins, making me tremble as I realize Troy might get violent. Fear for Nicolo’s safety grips my chest, and I’m shocked by the unexpected concern that he might get hurt.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Nicolo’s bodyguards stepping into action as they move to intervene. But before they can reach Troy, Nicolo reacts. Reaching up to grab Troy’s wrist, Nicolo wrenches the boy’s arm around, and my stomach lurches at the sickening pop that follows. Troy howls, bending over his injury as Nicolo releases him once more.
My mind flashes to Fin as I realize this must be the same way he broke my former partner’s arm. I scrabble backward across the couch, more desperate to get away from Nicolo now than I had been to get away from Troy. Fear leaves my mouth dry as my heart slams against my ribs, warning me that I’m too close to a dangerous person.
“You’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you,” Nicolo grits as he looks down his nose at Troy’s slumped shoulders.
Troy moans in pain as Nicolo’s bodyguards grab him roughly by the shoulders and haul him from the balcony. When Nicolo turns back to me, I flinch, unable to control my body’s response to his violent behavior. And yet, I can’t flee. Now that I’ve seen what he’s capable of in person, I’m more terrified than ever of what he might do to my friends or family. I’m trapped with the obligation to please Nicolo in whatever way he sees fit. After witnessing his brutality, I know I can’t ever give him an excuse to do that to someone I love.
Nicolo straightens his suit jacket nonchalantly and settles back onto the couch, seeming oblivious to my visceral response to him. Picking up his glass of champagne, he takes a drink, leaving me to stare at him, wide-eyed, as I try to regain control of my heart.
22
NICOLO
Images of Giuseppe Gazzi struggling for his last breaths flash before my eyes after the altercation with Troy, souring my mood. Setting my empty champagne glass on the club’s coffee table, I grip Anya’s hand.
