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“Only when they deserve it.” She shrugs. “At least I think I do. When your men came after me, that was the first and only time I’ve killed anyone. My ears felt foggy, and all my other senses were heightened. It felt good. I know it shouldn’t.”
My hands are still on her waist. I could kiss her. Something about her confession makes me feel closer to her.
“It was either them or you. Don’t feel bad.”
I accept her. And she accepts me.
“When I found out who my real father was, it started to all make sense. Why I like it so much, why I get a rush from killing those men. Now I can’t help but wonder if one day I’ll be like him,” she confesses.
Peter Liu was a sick son of a bitch. Everyone knew it.
“That’s up to you, if you let it consume you or not.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“Nico?” She’s still whispering.
“Yeah?” I breathe out, still face-to-face with her.
“What happens after we find Andrew?”
I have to send you back.You’re not mine to keep.
We both know the Cosa Nostra would never allow it, neither would the Triad. Hell, not even the Outfit. I am so fucked. Yet, just as the thoughts escape me, I know it’s a lie. Again—fate. Not even the mafia could stand in the way of fate.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
She nods as she breaks away and heads back to the house.Fuck.
Nico
A whole week since she asked me what was going to happen after we found her uncle. Lying in bed next to her every night without touching her was killing me. We spent our days training, going on walks and eating every meal together when I wasn’t hunting Andrew. I had to train twice a day, and my cold showers lasted twice as long if I wanted to get a good night’s sleep.
When I did perimeter checks, she’d join me. When she read in the library, sometimes I’d work in there with her in comfortable silence, or she’d join me in the security room, helping with the search.
She’s been spending time with Valentina, trying to learn to cook to avoid boredom. She’s the worst cook ever, and Valentina is about one more fire away from banning her from the kitchen all together. I didn’t care if she knew how to cook. I love that she can fight and shoot and is easy to talk to.
We made a habit of going on walks after dinner. I wouldn’t make a move on her, but I’d find reasons to touch her. I’d graze her hand when she passed me something at dinner, walk too close to her when trying to get past her, grab something from the fridge over her shoulder while she had it open. I want to get her hooked on my touch as much as I am to hers. We talk—a lot. I have never talked like this with a woman. Not only talked but laughed. I enjoy spending time with her.
I told her what it was like growing up with Bash and Enzo.
She told me Cesare would readThe Little Princeto her every night when she spent summers with them. I had a hard time imagining him reading a children’s book. He was a beast of a man.
She told me about the time she and Donna left a frog in Dom’s bed.
I told her how we convinced Enzo to stick a marble up his nose when he was three and how Ma tanned mine and Bash’s asses afterward.
Her middle name is Meilin.
My middle name is Amadeo.
I told her if I wasn’t a Delucci, I’d probably still be a hacker but maybe for the government. She laughed at that. God, I love her laugh.
She thinks she’d still be a lawyer, just maybe not a criminal lawyer.
She’s been teaching me Mandarin. I didn’t think I was half bad; I speak Italian, French, and Russian, so I’m pretty good at picking up languages. Her face when I repeated after her told me she didn’t agree with the sentiment, but she encouraged me anyway. She’s brilliant.
“What was it like growing up apart from the Violantes?” I ask, still taking myself by surprise every time I show interest.
