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Just hearing it loosens the tightness in my chest ever so slightly. But when I open my mouth to respond, another sob bursts from me.
“What’s wrong?” Nico demands, his voice shifting instantly to deep and protective.
“I–I–” I can’t manage to get words out around my hysterical sobs.
“Where are you? I’m coming to get you,” he states authoritatively.
“R-Rosehill L-Library,” I stutter and try breathing through my nose and out through my lips. Anything to find a little bit of composure.
“Are you in danger?”
“N-no,” I hiccup. “Not anymore.” Still, I glance over my shoulders just to be sure he didn’t linger to watch me or plan on coming back from more.
“Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten.”
Relief floods me as I realize I won’t have to tell him what happened over the phone. If I do it in person, I have a better chance of managing the anger that’s sure to follow. As I wait for him, I debate not telling him at all. But I can’t come up with a single plausible reason I might be so emotional.
Not to mention, it seems like half the school was present for the horrifying confrontation. Even if I don’t tell Nico, he’s sure to find out about it. And hearing it from one of his men’s children will only make him angrier.
Besides, Ineedto tell him. Because I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to move forward from here. I’ve never felt so lost, so alone, so completely helpless in my own life. I thought I could marry Pyotr, but the thought utterly terrifies me.
My body might respond with strange enthusiasm to his proximity, but it can’t be a healthy relationship to want him physically and know just how deeply he hates me. No amount of physical attraction is worth a lifetime of emotional abuse.
So I need Nico to tell me what to do.
As I wait for him to arrive, I tuck my book into my bag and venture out around the pillar to sit on the library steps. The sun is warm and inviting, and the light breeze is welcome. I do my best to calm my stuttering breaths and wipe my tears. I don’t want to still be crying by the time my brother gets here.
“Sil?” The low, tentative voice almost doesn’t sound like Nico's; it’s so steeped in concern.
I turn to look over my shoulder and find him approaching down the steps from the back side of the library. I do my best to smile, though my chin quivers, and I stand.
“Thanks for coming,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around my brother’s strong, trim waist and burying my face in his fine Italian suit.
“Always,” he promises, tucking me under his chin and enfolding me in safety and warmth. “Let’s get you home,” he says after a moment.
Stooping to scoop up my bag, he throws it casually over his shoulder and wraps an arm around me. We make the short walk to his car–parked illegally along one of the campus’s service streets–in silence.
Protectively, he helps me into the passenger seat of his black Maserati and sets my bag by my feet before closing the door. Then he rounds the hood of the car and slides behind the wheel moments later.
“You seem to have calmed down a bit since you called,” he observes carefully.
The car purrs to life, and we ease onto the main streets of Chicago a moment later. I love Nico’s driving. It’s the perfect balance of smooth and fast, posh and daring.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” he presses, when I don’t respond.
Taking a fortifying breath, I turn in my seat to face my brother. “If I tell you, will you promise not to do anything about it?”
Nico flashes me a sharp look. “Why? Is it that bad?”
“Promise, Nico. I won’t tell you anything until you swear you won’t do anything about it.” My heart thrums painfully against my ribs as silence stretches between us.
The look on his face is conflicted, which surprisingly puts me at ease. But if he’s debating, it means he’s taking the promise seriously.
“Fine. I won’t do anything without your permission,” he stipulates.
I’ll take that as a win. Still, when it comes to actually uttering the words, I can hardly bring myself to do it. Embarrassment flames in my cheeks as I think about what Pyotr did and how he touched me. I don’t know how to tell Nico about it.
We round another corner, making good time as we head toward our father’s house–where I’m still currently living–in Forest Glen. While my brothers got to live in condos right near campus when they went to Rosehill, my father insisted I stay closer to home. To keep me out of trouble, he said. Translation, to ensure I don’t lose my virginity before he sells me off.
