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My gaze is glued to Nicolo when a shadow falls over me. “Here, Avah. Nico said you’re more bourbon.”
“I don’t want—”
“Drink it, kid. It’ll help a little. And your man’s okay.”
“He’s not my man.”
“Uh huh.”
Nicolo looks up at me from where he’s sitting, the red streaked cotton pad in his hand shifting over his upper arm. He puts the pad down and holds up his arm to me. All that delicious muscle is still in one piece. “See? Fine,Tesoro.”
“Fuck me. Word on the street is you shot a Lowlander on their territory.”
“That’s utter bullshit,” says Nicolo to Tizio.
“I did it.” The horror hits hard and I down my drink, the burn making me sputter. “Oh, my God. That was me.”
“Avah.” Those tiger eyes hold mine for a long moment. “It wasn’t their territory.”
“Wasn’t their man.” Diego sighs and tops up my drink. “I’m betting El Cabeza.”
“Van’s registered to the catering company.” Tizio taps his phone against his chin.
Nicolo stands. “What else?”
“I sent some people out, but it seems with this fucking little lie of a rumor, they’re both trying to pin it on you, and also her.” Tizio pauses. “Word is she’s wanted.”
I can’t swallow as I shake my head. But before I can move, Nicolo’s hand closes around my wrist, pinning me to the spot, and he draws me closer.
Diego and Tizio look at us.
“I’ll take care of this. I’ll call when I need you.” Another look passes between the three men.
When they’re gone, Nicolo takes hold of me and wraps me in his arms.
He’s so warm and safe, his bare skin against my cheek precisely what I need. Not the whiskey, not anything, just him. The steady thud-thud of his heart soothes.
I take a noisy breath because the top of my nose tingles in the back like I want to cry. But if I start again, maybe I won’t stop because the aftermath of everything keeps jumping up at me.
I curl my bare toes on the rug in the living room. I don’t even remember taking my shoes off.
“Nicolo.”
“Shh, sweet Avah, you’re okay.”
I shake my head against him. “I’m not. How can I be? I shot someone.”
“Now, that was fucking impressive. And the fucker didn’t die. So, your body count is, as far as I know, nil.” There’s humor, dark and low, in his tone. “But we can deal with everything tomorrow. You need to go to bed.”
Tomorrow? “I need . . .” I need him. “I need to make sure the photo card gets to the studio. I have to go to the studio.”
“Fuck the studio. I’ll take it in.”
I pull free from him, and he gets his drink, gaze on me like he doesn’t trust me out of his sight.
“Nicolo, if they’re after me . . . who is they?”
He finishes his drink, kicks off his shoes, and takes my hand again, this time leading me to the bedroom, where he strips me down. I want to smile even though I shouldn’t. He eases a T-shirt, one of his, over my head. Nicolo drops a kiss on my lips before standing back, moving about. He has a gun, I realize, from the back of his jeans and he’s checking it. The slide and click of the magazine should make me jump, but it doesn’t.
