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“Follow the piece of shit to the hospital,” I tell Dom. “Tell them you’re his brother and you think he fainted at the wheel. I’m gonna get Evelina somewhere safe and meet you there. I need to know who this prick is and what his plan was.”
“Got it, boss.” Dom scowls at me. “Hope this fucking arm heals fast because I’m about done being on babysitting duty.”
He does as he’s told because he’s a good fucking man. Even if he’s got a shit attitude.
“Evelina, we need to move. We were never here,” I rush out.
I pick her up and carry her bridal-style, not wanting to throw her over my shoulder in case she’s hurt more than it appears, and then I sprint for the Bugatti just as Dom calls over his shoulder, “Don’t fuck up my ride, Nicco!”
We were close to fucking it up much more than I will on the way to my safe house, that’s for sure. He should be grateful, the smug bastard.
Evelina’s breathing is still erratic but not like it was when I first opened the door. I hoist her into the back seat and slide in through my still-open passenger door and over the center console.
“Buckle up, buttercup,” I call to Evelina, using Dom’s words. “Count to four as you breathe in through your nose, hold that breath for seven seconds, and exhale through your mouth for eight.”
I glance at her in the rearview mirror as I shift Dom’s baby into reverse and slam my foot onto the gas, dodging parked vehicles until I’m spinning the wheel and back onto the road we turned off of. Flashing lights from an ambulance flicker in my rearview, and I look back and forth from the road in front of me and it until I see it turn down the street Dom’s on.
My gaze meets hers in the mirror as lights from businesses roll over her, illuminating her as she sits in the back seat. She lets out a long whoosh of air just as I instructed.
“Good girl, Evelina. Everything is going to be just fine. You’ll see.”
24
EVELINA
Niccolò ignores a red light and nearly gets me into my second damn accident of the night. His foot stomps down on the accelerator as he twists the wheel, and we just narrowly miss a truck as it skids to a stop.
“Oh, I didn’t die the first time, so you’re trying to make sure I do now. Is that what this is?” I spit the words out as my heart clamors away in my chest.
My mind spins, and I feel foggy. My usual grit and tenacity show up a bit later than they usually do when he gets on my nerves. I can barely see his eyes in the rearview mirror, but I feel his stare on me like I always do, as if I’m a drug he can’t escape.
“You know that’s not true,” he says, and his words do something to me.
It’s almost as if they cut the final invisible string that’s been holding together the bits and pieces of my fractured ego—the one my husband broke into a million tiny pieces with his betrayal.
I straighten my spine as the words I’ve been holding back fly out of my mouth. Somehow I’m feeling no pain, despite the accident I was in moments ago. It’s as if my entire body has gone into overdrive or something.
“It’s about damn time I ask you about that, Niccolò,” I say, venom lacing each syllable. “Why? Why have you been so fucking fixated on me since your sister came into my life?”
I pause to inhale a much-needed breath. I swear I can almost feel the hint of a sharp pain in my lungs, but as soon as it registers, it’s gone.
“Why did you agree to help me when it came to Enzo? Why are you so willing to take me as your wife and protect me?” I continue. “And why are you so goddamn obsessed with me? Tell. Me. Why.”
It's a question that has rolled around in my head since I caught him staring at me a little too long—multiple times. Why do I have this man’s attention? What is his ulterior motive?
Because I fucking know men.
And they all have them.
It’s about fucking time I learn what his is.
The only sound between the two of us, for what feels like hours, although I know it’s mere moments, is that of the purr of the car’s engine and the traffic alongside us. The tension between us has finally been named, and my god does it have some weight to it. It feels as if someone is sitting on my chest, as if my lungs are being squeezed by two strong, overbearing hands.
Niccolò sighs. It’s a deep, throaty, almost grunt-like sigh, and I swear I can feel the emotion behind it. I don’t like it. Honestly, I think I might hate that he affects me the way he does.
When I’m alone with him, like right now, and it feels like we’re the only two people in this fucked-up world…it’s terrifying. And that’s why I do everything in my power to not give those thoughts the time of day.
I do not want to admit that I am attracted to Niccolò Amato.
