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Lord save me from these roundabout answers. “And what’s that?”
Nico sighs, and he looks a decade older than that afternoon with the mistletoe. “Leverage.”
Huh? I’m kind of lost, but I don’t get a chance to ask again before a black, fancy car pulls alongside us in the street, windows tinted and engine purring. Snowflakes hiss softly as they land on the warm metal.
Nico pulls open a rear door. Toasty air spills out, washing over my bare legs. “In you get, bella. Trust me on this, okay?”
…Okay.
I will.
* * *
It’s a silent ride through the city. The partition is up, the driver a distant shadow, and the only sound in the car is the gentle whir of the heaters. Nico drums his fingers on his knee, staring resolutely out of his own window.
He hasn’t looked my way once since we slid in here. Perfect.
“I know you’re being all manly and mysterious, but we don’t have to ride in silence.”
Nico grimaces. He rubs his uninjured hand over his jaw, the stubble rasping. Still looking out his window.
“Nico,” I say flatly.
He flicks a speck of lint off his knee. “You want the radio on?”
“Nico.”
My seat belt clicks undone, and I slide across the leather seats, the material sticking to the backs of my thighs. Really should have put on jeans or something.
For a big, scary mobster, Nico sure does look relieved when I scramble into his lap. He frowns down at me, gaze intent, like he’s trying to commit my features to memory.
“Why are you being weird?” Better cut to the chase, because if tonight has taught me anything, it’s that none of us can be sure we have time to mess around.
Stormy eyes roll. “I’m not being weird.I’m thinking.”
“You’re brooding,” I point out. “That’s different.” Spreading my palms over his chest, I feel the steady thump of his heartbeat through his navy shirt. Nico stuffed his blood-spattered coat in the trunk, sliding in here in only his rolled shirtsleeves.
The leather creaks under my knees as I settle more firmly against him, straddling his thighs.
Thump. Thump.Yeah, that heartbeat’s picking up speed; Nico’s not the only one who can pull that trick. So if he still likes me, why is he acting like a stranger all of a sudden?
“Have you changed your mind? Do you want to take me back home?”
He blinks, handsome features sharpening. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Because you’d rather stare out the window than look at me, you big goof.”
“I thought…” Nico’s face darkens, and he talks over my shoulder, gaze sliding away from mine. “I thought you’d want some space, after everything you saw back there.”
Ah. Yeah.
The bloodbath in my living room; the unbridled rage as Nico beat my attacker to a pulp.
That was a lot, it’s true.
He lets me grab his wrist, not hiding his knuckles from my inspection. The skin is torn and bloody, the joints swollen and bruised, and though every other part of the mobster is still, his fingers shake like they’ve got a mind of their own, nerves dancing from the pain.
“Ouch.”
