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Nico hums and licks me again. “You sound so good when you beg.”
This time, as I rise up over his lap, Nico crooks his fingers inside me and rubs at a spot on my inner wall. With his thumb on my clit and his hot breath on my neck, it’s—I feel—fuck.
“That’s it.”
The city lights blur through the car windows. My mouth drops open on a silent scream. I’m flying apart, exploding into a million tiny pieces, and when I float back to earth, Nico’s watching me with a half smile. He draws his hand out from under my sleep shirt, tugging the fabric back into place.
“You’re a work of art, bella.” He brushes a gentle kiss over the corner of my mouth. “And whatever happens—you were worth it.”
Seven
Nico
Usually, when I bring an outsider to Santo’s place, it’s strictly business. Maybe a local lawmaker wants to cut a deal; maybe an industry big shot has a mutually beneficial arrangement in mind. Maybe some asshole just needs a good scare. Whatever it is, I’m vigilant but bored. I don’t getnervous.
I’m nervous now. It’s not even my damn mansion, yet I’m self conscious as the car swoops around the circular driveway, the big house lit up by golden lights in the bushes.
It’s not like I chose the manicured hedge maze and fountains in the grounds, or all those stuffy old oil paintings inside—Leah will get that, right?
Two men in dark suits linger by the entrance at the top of stone steps. They’re familiar, but I can’t remember their names. Nobody important.
“Santo’s not so bad.” Can’t seem to stop running my mouth, giving my girl a never ending pep talk. I started about half a mile back and haven’t stopped for breath. “He only kills people who really deserve it.”
Leah snorts, but she’s pale as she climbs out of the car behind me. Her eyes go wide, and she tugs down the back of her sleep shirt as she stares up at the mansion, the breeze fluttering the fabric against her thighs.
“Um. I really don’t want to flash this guy, Nico.”
No, I do not want that either. In fact, go ahead and file that under Nico Falasca’s Worst Nightmares.
I turn and fish her coat out of the car. “Tie this around your waist.”
Better. Okay.
Our footsteps echo against polished tiles as I lead Leah through the grand hallways. She winces every time her sneakers squeak against the floor and I grab her hand, wrapping her fingers in mine.
“He’ll love you,” I lie. Santo De Rossi is not exactly warm and fuzzy, even with us in his inner circle. Maybe he’s different with his baby sister, but if so it’s only behind closed doors.
Leah slides me a look.
“Okay, well he’ll tolerate you. ButIlove you.”
She brightens at that. And have I really not told her yet? Guess I thought it was obvious. Nico Falasca doesn’t lose his mind over some lightweight crush, that’s for sure.
It’s a long, intimidating walk to Santo’s quarters, past statues on plinths in alcoves and the mustytock, tockof a grandfather clock. This route is designed to show off the De Rossi wealth and power, to make visitors feel about three inches tall, but I don’t want that for Leah. She’s tiny enough already.
So I distract her with murmured promises, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder. “You like hearing that I love you, baby? Well try this on for size: I’m gonna make you my wife. I’m gonna marry you and put little Nicos in your belly.”
Leah wheezes a laugh, shaking her head, and I’m not fucking joking but hey—whatever helps.
“You want a diamond ring, bella? Or are you less traditional?”
“A diamond ring would look so weird in the bookshop,” Leah muses, “but maybe I don’t care.”
I squeeze her hand. “Atta girl.”
We cross a lobby with a grand staircase, and I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I nearly forget the Christmas tree in the center of the floor. Leah pulls me to a halt, grinning at the sight of string lights and the scent of balsam fir.
“Hey, look.” The branches have tiny red velvet bows scattered on them. “You weren’t kidding—the mob boss really does like Christmas.”
