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“Sil, you’re really starting to freak me out here. Will you please just tell me?”
I can tell it’s taking all of Nico’s will power to keep a lid on his impatience. He’s white-knuckling the steering wheel like he’s trying to wring its neck.
“Well, I was reading in the library after school when Pyotr approached me. He asked me if I liked… siccing you on him and reminded me that it’s Father who agreed to the arrangement, that you don’t get to say whether or not I’m his.”
Nico listens intently, keeping his eyes on the road just enough to look where we’re going.
“Then he told me that I belong to him and that he can u-use me as he pleases,” I say reluctantly, swallowing hard when Nico’s lips press into a thin, angry line.
God, it’s excruciating trying to get the story out. My brother already looks like he’s on the verge of murder, and I haven’t even told him the worst part. But I need to say it.
“He grabbed me….” I say, my eyes dropping as Nico’s sharp gaze meets mine. “And… t-touched me and warned me that if I ever sent you after him again, that he would….”
“He would what?” Nico demands, his voice flat and frigid.
“F-fuck me in front of the whole school,” I murmur, tears of humiliation stinging my eyes.
The seat belt snaps into my collarbone with shocking force as the tires squeal to a stop beneath us. Horns blare behind us as cars swerve around Nico’s vehicle.
“Nico!” I shriek, gripping the door handle and spinning to see if we’re about to get rear-ended.
“Let me get this straight, that piece of shit groped you and threatened to rape you in the middle of the school library because he didn’t like the way I handled things?” he demands, turning to look at me with fiery rage.
“Nico, please go. You’re going to cause an accident. Someone will get hurt!” I protest.
“You’re right about that,” he snaps, slamming on the gas and cutting across lanes of traffic. Jerking the steering wheel hard to the left, he whips the car around in a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal yet again, and we fishtail before rocketing back toward the school.
“What are you doing?” I shriek.
“I’m going to kill that fucker, like I should have the other day,” he snarls.
“Nico, no!” I plead, utterly terrified. “You promised me you wouldn’t do anything.”
He seems to hesitate ever so slightly as the car’s engine quiets a fraction. But he doesn’t stop. “That was before I found out what he was capable of doing to you. I’ll cut his fucking hands off for touching you. Watch him bleed out.”
“You can’t do that. It would start a war. Think of Lucca. Think of Cassio. Think of Anya and Clara, for Christ’s sake!” I press. “You don’t get to make this call, Nico. This ismychoice. You promised. And if you don’t let me make it, then I’ll never tell you anything ever again.”
That really does seem to make an impact. Nico growls in frustration, his eyes cutting toward me defiantly. But then he slows the car to a more reasonable pace. Finally, he turns around once again.
I release the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as we turn toward our family home once more. “Thank you,” I breathe, watching my brother with concern. I don’t trust him to keep his resolve.
“That bastard is just lucky you’re such a good person. You’re too good for him.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just grateful to have you, and I want to keep it that way. So he gets to live. Okay?”
Nico’s jaw works, the tendon popping visibly. “Fine,” he grits through his teeth.
We pull up the long drive to our family estate not long after, and Nico guides the car around the fountain at the center of the courtyard. Killing the motor, he steps out of the car and joins me as I head toward the house.
“Welcome home,” Alfie says in his formal tone as he opens the front door for us.
I give a shy smile and hide my face behind my hair as his eyes land on me. But before I do, I catch a fleeting look of shocked concern on his face. Nico keeps me close, one arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders.
I expect him to take me upstairs to my room and sit with me until he’s sure I’ve calmed down. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he steers me through the grand foyer and left down our first-floor hallway. A pristine Persian runner stretches the length of the dark wood hall with decorative wainscot paneling on the walls. Beautiful oil paintings of the Italian countryside decorate the walls.
“Where are you taking me?” I whisper. But I know. Though I desperately hope I’m wrong.
