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“Yeah, Lina, that’s why I reached out.”
Lina. Cold slithers in my veins. Cold tinged green.
Because there’s something about the way he says the name in that smoke voice, and it’s a softness I don’t like, a familiarity. Intimacy.
He hangs up. “Get dressed,” he says as he comes to a stop, leaning against the doorframe.
“Who’s Lina?”
He doesn’t answer me, just grabs a shirt, one of those long sleeved ones and pulls it on.
“Do I have time for a shower?”
“Sure. Make it quick.”
I jump up and a twinge of a good ache hits me, but I know he’s watching me as I make my way to the bathroom and try and cover it up.
“Avah?”
“Yeah?”
“The aftermath of good and thorough fucking suits you.”
Holding my head up, I go into the bathroom.
* * *
The woman is drop dead gorgeous. Everything I’m not. Sophisticated, glamorous, and stunningly beautiful.
She crosses long, slender legs and sips a fragrant tea. I have one, but I don’t want it, and Nicolo stands, leaning against the wall, like all the velvet furniture in voluptuous, feminine shapes and swells and colors are things he’d rather not touch. Like the tea.
Me? I’m scared I’ll break the delicate cup.
The woman—Lina—has dark glossy curls and perfect makeup. She also has a body to die for and it’s clear there’s history between them. From the ease of conversation to the way she touched him when we arrived.
Nicolo didn’t seem to mind.
“My girls are safe,” she says.
“But you’ve heard things?”
“The girls and guys who work for me pick their clients. High class all the way. And no one is forced to do anything. I protect them, vet clients, and—”
“I know that.”
Lina smiles and swings her dark chocolate eyes to me. “Your little blonde baby there doesn’t, Nico.” Then her smile disappears. “I run an upscale business. But I see everything.”
He’s not smiling either as he straightens up and takes a deliberate step toward me. “And you didn’t come to me?”
“Over what? Girls go missing. Not mine but ones on the street. You know this.”
“That’s not what this is about, is it?”
“I hear . . . stories. Runaways, disappearances. The same old, Nico. But it wasn’t until I heard your message I started asking. Girls are being taken, and not just from the streets. I don’t have proof, apart from the gossip but that is proof in and of itself.”
“Nicolo?” I clear my throat. The vibe between them is something I can’t bear. The history. The thing I will never have with him. History. Not beyond this little moment. “What’s going on?”
“Tesoro.” He runs a hand down his face. “This ties in to your visitor.”
