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“Is that so?” Nico’s tone is a cross between curiosity and sarcasm, but I don’t let that faze me.
“Did Leo ever say why he did what he did? Did he ever get the chance to tell you?”
Nico nods. “He was ‘tired’ of the life. Haunted by the things he’d done for my father.”
“So, now you feel even more guilty because you finally understand what that’s like.”
Nico simply looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate.
“You didn’t kill me, Nico. Imagine if it was your Don who gave the order. Would you have disobeyed?”
“No,” he says, his tone harsh.
My heart lurches. The only reason I’m still breathing is because Nico is the one calling the shots.
For long moments, we say nothing. Then I ask, “Why didn’t you send one of your soldiers, Nico? It seems like an awfully mundane task to take on yourself.”
“Because I would never send my men on a path I’ve not tread on.”
A criminal with a code of honor. It’s a testament to how sick I am because that just made me melt for him. Done with talking, I throw my legal pad to the side.
“Nico...” My voice comes out in a needy whisper.
“Don’t say my name like that, Sophie.”
“Like what?”
“Like you're ready to break out of your box.”
I remain silent.
Nico shakes his head, and mutters to the ceiling, “She’s trying to leave that part of herself and searching for a ‘new life’ where everything is black and white,”
I respond, “And his world is the darkest and murkiest shade of gray.”
Nico sits up and then pins me with a look. “But everything about you screams that gray is your true comfort zone, Sophie Kellan.”
A denial is at the tip of my tongue, but George chooses that moment to make a break for it, flapping out of the pool and making a beeline for the open doorway.
I’m on my feet in a flash, but Nico’s already up, too, cutting him off and picking him up. I’m surprised to see the careful way he handles George.
“And where exactly were you planning to go?” I ask my duck sternly as I sit back and hold out my arms as Nico transfers George to me.
George quacks, then buries his head beneath my elbow, cuddling in close.
“Suck-up,” I mock-chastise him, then stroke his feathered back.
Nico stays close, watching me. I’m acutely aware of his eyes on me even as I focus on George’s vibrant green and brown feathers.
“You’re stunning, Sofia Lauren.”
Oh dear God. I melt again—even more so because I know exactly what he means: my roots, the parts of me that people have taught me to be ashamed of.
I feel the hum of sexual energy sparking in the air all around us. It makes my whole body hyper-aware of the brush of my skirt’s hem against my thigh, the silky feel of George’s feathers, the faint brush of warmth against my cheek as Nico breathes out.
I remember the feel of his hands on me, the possessive press of his mouth over mine, the faint sting from his teeth digging into my lips.
He’s remembering too—I can feel it in the pull like a magnetic force between us.
