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Anything. I’ll do anything.
“Yes,” I rasp, my voice loud in the lobby. String lights pulse on the tree, and I lead her to the doorway, my chest tight. “Leah is very important.”
Eight
Leah
“What happened back there?”
Nico’s quiet as he leads me through the De Rossi mansion, and I’ve had about as much awkward silence as I can stomach. There are so many polished stairways and chandeliers; so many grand rooms and fancy paintings. Super efficient staff beetle everywhere, even this late at night, and none of them catch my eye. It’s unsettling.
“Nico, what happened back there? What did you two agree on?”
Because I’m not an idiot, you know. Even I could tell there were two conversations happening back in that lobby, one out loud and one unspoken.
What trade did Nico make? Why is he so quiet and grim now?
“It’s nothing, bella. Santo was just checking that you’re worth it.”
Worthwhat?
“This is it,” Nico says before I can ask, pushing a heavy door open. We’re somewhere near the top of the mansion, what feels like miles and miles from the entrance. There’s less power-move decor up here, and the halls are lighter, their paintings calm. “These are my rooms whenever I crash at the compound.”
Crashing somewhere implies a night on the sofa with a crick in your neck, but when I follow Nico into the suite, my mouth drops open. There’s a four-poster bed and a blue silk chaise lounge; French windows leading to a stone balcony overlooking the grounds. A dish of grapes on the coffee table makes my stomach rumble, and Nico squeezes my hand one more time before letting go.
“Make yourself comfortable. It could be a few weeks before it’s safe for you to leave again, but until then you can ring for anything you need. There are always staff around.”
He nods at a bell on the nightstand. An honest-to-god tiny bell.
What the hell.
“I’ll have clothes sent over from your place. Or would you rather all new stuff?”
Nico strolls to the closet, muttering under his breath, and throws the wooden doors open, his shoulder blades shifting under his tailored navy shirt. The mobster’s body is lean yet so powerful, barely leashed by his clothes, and I flash back to the image of my battered attacker for the millionth time. Blood stains and broken bones.
Goosebumps prickle over my bare limbs. I nearlydiedtonight.
And this man saved me—then paid some mysterious price for his trouble.
Fitting my fingers over the bruises already staining my throat, I swallow hard, wincing at the pain. My eyes burn, but I blink those tears away.
“Nico.” He’s rummaging through a chest of drawers, I guess looking for something I could wear. “Nico, please tell me what happened back there.”
His hands slow, but he keeps digging. Doesn’t turn back to me as he says, “Santo needed something in return for letting you stay.”
“That leverage you mentioned earlier?”
“Exactly.”
My mouth twists, and I kick off my sneakers one by one. Earlier, I was way too spun out to remember socks, and my bare toes curl against the rug. I tug my coat sleeves from around my waist too, tossing the puffy jacket onto the chaise lounge. “So he’ll hurt me if you don’t keep in line—that’s what you’re saying.”
Nico’s sigh is dredged from three floors below. “Nothing that crude. It’s complicated, bella, but the more ties we have to Santo, the more secrets and pressure points he knows, the tighter we’re snarled in his web. So when we need him, nothing comes for free, see? He’ll help me, but first he needs an admission. Something he could use against me in a pinch.”
“Me.”
The drawer thunks closed. “Yes. You. It’s the ultimate insurance, because now that your happiness is on the line, he knows I’ll do anything. As far as Santo is concerned, I’m a puppet handing over another string.”
That sounds awful. How can I possibly be worththis?
