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"I am."
"Only because you think I'll agree to your psycho…baby contract."It's still weird to say that out loud.
"That's hardly the reason."
Nico shifts, adjusting the blanket to cover him, too. It nearly tugs it off me, and I vengefully yank it back over myself, determined to make him uncomfortable enough that he'll leave.
"Yeah? I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want,monella.And youwillagree to the contract."
He says it with such certainty that I just want to reach over and pinch him. Hard, so he'll know he's dreaming if he thinks I'll agree to something that…well, insane. It is, isn't it? There's no way he actually wants something like this, and certainly not with me. It just shouldn't sit right with me.
Shouldn'tbeing the key word. Because, annoyingly enough, I can't stop thinking about what would happen if Ididagree.
My body tingles thinking about it, but more importantly, I keep picturing how peaceful and happy my family would be without having to worry about the Gattos ever again. Krista would continue with college, worry-free—and if he's not bullshitting me about the million dollars, maybe I could cover her tuition. Mark wouldn't avoid relationships like he does now. He'd be safe to pursue a family. My mother wouldn't be scared to pick up the phone.
But if I agree to the contract, I'm giving up a baby to its mafioso father…who can protect me and everyone I love.
No. I can protect them, too. I'll just have to find some other way.
It's quiet in the dark room for several long moments before my curiosity gets the better of me. I want to not care about the details of Nico Attolini's life, but I still clear my throat and ask, "So. Is this dingy little apartment where you live, then?"
I suppose it would be fitting, for a guy who surely can't have the best credit score to get a nicer apartment in the city. But my question makes Nico bark out a short, sharp laugh. He doesn't answer, and his amusement rankles me.It's not like it was that naive of a question, but sure. Be elusive.
I nestle into my pillow and shut my eyes, intent on ignoring his seductive presence and his masculine scent—spiced teakwood and worn leather. It feels almost impossible to tune out both Nico's nearness and my own thoughts, but finally, my eyelids get heavy. It's been a long day, and my nap earlier didn't cut it.
But just as I'm beginning to slip into a half-dozing state, his quiet voice breaks the silence.
"I'm sorry about your sister, Sybil."
His words aren't crafty, but they're not clear, either. He's not specifically apologizing for what he said about her earlier. Maybe he's sorry she died, or maybe Nico is implying he's sorry I had to catch the flack for everything she did—I did tell him all about it, that day four years ago.
For a long moment, I don't know what to say. Finally, I shrug. "I'm really sorry about your brother, too. I hope you know that."
I can sense his tension at the mention of his brother, but he doesn't say anything. In a way, it isn't unpleasant to just be quiet together. Angry and hurt and just…sort of broken. Not that I agree with anything he said about me being broken earlier.
"What happened?" Nico asks. "You got involved to protect her, so what went wrong?"
I purse my lips. It would be easy to try kicking him out again—not that it would work, but I could use the excuse to deflect his question. I don't talk about it with anyone. It was hard enough to tell my mom four years ago, and I didn't give her all the details. I couldn't give the police the full truth, either—not after the Gattos threatened to break my mother's legs for calling them in the first place.
But right now, in the presence of this mafia monster, I feel like it's not so difficult to put the words together. Oddly enough, it won't be hard to express the horror of it because he's probably seen things like this more than I want to know. I don't have to give him details—he'll just know.
"They were going to send her so she could pay off some of her debt, but you know that. I found out and went instead. I told her to stay home, but Angela…I think contradicting me was my sister's favorite thing. She got it in her head to get back at Mateo Mad Blood for everything he'd done to her and my family, and…." I swallow against the thickness in my throat. "He's the one who killed her. I'm the one who found the scene."
I still remember the blood everywhere. Her skull bashed in. Her naked body and dead eyes and the smell. I shiver and fight back my nausea, curling up into a tighter ball.
Nico doesn't say he's sorry. He doesn't drip forced empathy or fake pity like most people do when they hear that my twin was brutally murdered. Instead, his warm hand finds my arm, and he drapes it over me. Like an embrace, but not. Just sort of there to prove he's here with me.
I shouldn't be so comforted by him. He threatened to kill me. He's not letting me go. He's killed, too—for all I know, he's worse than Mad Blood.
No. No one is worse.
"I hate him," I whisper, wiping away another tear. God, you'd think my tear ducts would be fresh out by now. "All of the mafia. I hate it. Gattos, Attolinis, the other families…I just want to be done with all of it, Nico. And I want to get my family away from here. They deserve better."
His voice is closer to my ear, the purr of it softer than I've ever heard before. "So do you. But leaving isn't the answer,il mio crudele piccolo triste tesorina."
"Whatever the fuck that means," I mutter.
