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I feel him tense beneath me. “What about it?”
“Is there a line you won’t cross?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, like the Reaper Druids have club bylaws. There are things… crimes that bikers aren’t allowed to commit.” I swallow a lump in my throat, “For example, drugs.”
“Was that why the club wouldn’t protect Rafe from going to prison?”
I nod.
Nico unwinds his fingers from mine and places a hand on my thigh. It does not squeeze or work its way higher—it is just… there, like it had been on my neck earlier.
“Fiammetta, if you’re trying to find out if I’m redeemable, the answer is no.”
Why does this man want me to believe the worst of him when it’s clearly not true? I decide to let it go, though.
“Okay,” I place my hand on Nico’s, the tips of my fingers barely reaching his top knuckles.
Hands and mouth off the client, dumbass, my sensible brain chastises me. But I’m done listening to rational thought. I lean back against him and we both settle into a companionable silence, watching Fang and the sweetbutt and a few others around the bonfire.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d be observing an orgy taking place in my home with anyone, let alone someone like Nico Vitelli? It’s like a baring of my soul. That part of me that I always feared would be repulsive to others who don’t understand how things work here.
“You don’t really want therapy, do you?” I suddenly ask
Nico shakes his head.
“I guessed as much. And so, have you decided what you want to do after all this is over?” I throw my hands out in a gesture.
What you want to do with me.
“No,” he says simply, understanding the unspoken question.
It’s harsh but true. I nod, appreciating his honesty. It’s grounding to know this night isn’t real. He’s still the mafia don who thinks the Outfit is better off without a certain therapist. And I’m the idiot who is employing all her physical and intellectual skills to stay alive.
The fact that we enjoy being wrapped around each other is just a pesky complication. Easily remedied, right?
And speaking of complications… I spot Cade out of the corner of my eye, heading right for us, and he definitely isn’t wearing his happy face.
I sit up straighter, but Nico’s fingers tighten around mine, keeping them laced together on my thigh when my first impulse is to yank my hand away.
Cade’s gaze moves back and forth between Nico and me as he stops right in front of us.
“You’re making a lot of people uncomfortable, Soph. You know what Phoenix thinks about you getting cozy with anyone out here—never mind an outsider. And Grease… can you at least give the man some respect?”
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Nico mutters. Gently, he lifts me, puts me on the bench right beside him, then stands up to his full height, nose to nose with Cade. They’re both of similar height and build.
Ugh. That’s all I need; a playground fight in the clubhouse yard.
“Listen here, amico, what Sophie does with me is none of your business, so I suggest you fuck off. Now.” Nico snaps in a tone that says he’s used to people listening to him and doing what they’re freaking told.
Cade scoffs, “You’re the one who needs to run, Vitelli. How about I give you a twenty-four-hour head start? One day. Start crawling back into the hole you appeared from, or I’m coming after you—”
“For fuck’s sake!” Fear for Cade grips me, forcing me to get between the men. I plaster my back against Nico’s front, my eyes snapping angrily at Cade. Does he have a fucking death wish, or is his brain clouded by grief?
“Back off, Cade. I’m not stripping and shaking my tits for every club brother passing by. I’m fully fucking clothed here, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Sophie, you can’t possibly—”
