He parked, and I got out of the car and followed him. I stood side-by-side with him in the elevator, but he’d yet to even look at me. A ping sounded, and the doors opened to the penthouse apartment. Every shallow breath hurt.
A dark-haired man in a suit stood in the small hallway. I vaguely recognized him, but couldn’t put a name to the face. He gave my husband a small nod.
Nico unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. Numbly, I stepped inside behind him.
He stood by the open door, his gaze focused above my head. “James will be outside. He has a phone you can use if you need anything.” His voice was cold and distant.
I wanted to say something, anything, so he would look at me. “I want my own phone.”
His volatile eyes finally came to me. I ached for him to touch me, for the roughness of his hands on my face, his deep voice in my ear.
“You had a phone. You chose not to use it.”
“I will now,” was all I could think to say.
His jaw tightened. “I’ll have one brought to you then.”
He’ll have one brought to me.
He was done with me then? He hadn’t even let me explain. Maybe he didn’t care. I stole from him, and that, he couldn’t forgive. My eyes burned, and I blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Thank you.”
His bitter laugh was quiet. A small shake of his head.
“Luca will bring your bag by soon,” he said, turning to leave.
“Nico.”
He stopped with his back to me, his shoulders tensing.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed.
A few seconds passed, and when I thought he might respond, he walked out and shut the door behind him.
I stared blankly until the numbness turned into despair that scratched at my chest, stole my breath, and bubbled up my throat in sobs.
“So the lover must struggle for words.”
—T.S. Eliot
MY HEARTBEATS SHATTERED ONE BY one, sending a raw ache through my chest.
My vision blurred behind tears and the shimmer of the sun on the marble floors. Once the crying began, it flowed like I’d just opened a dam that had been closed off for years. I stood in the middle of a beautiful apartment and felt nothing but cold and empty. The emptiness expanded until it threatened to eat me alive.
How fitting my belief had been that Nico was an addiction, because this felt like the worst sort of withdrawal. I was beginning to realize it was more than that—it was love, and this was heartbreak.
I went to the master bathroom, turned on the shower, climbed in, and cried some more. My mind spun with desperate thoughts of how to fix this, but they all ended on a hopeless note when I thought of his coldness today.
Nausea rolled in my stomach.
I’d tried not to fall in love with him, and I’d fallen so hard I was physically sick at his rejection. I could have laughed if I’d had any energy leftover from crying.
I got out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and walked into the bedroom. My bag lay next to the door, and my heart clenched at the sight. A weak sense of vulnerability coasted through me at the thought of Luca hearing me cry. Any other day it would have been humiliating, but as a numbness settled in, the thought drifted away.
Instead of wearing something of mine, I found one of Nico’s plain t-shirts in the dresser and slipped it on. He could be done with me, but I wasn’t ready yet. I missed him already, with a physical sense of loss that ached.
It was still midday when I climbed into bed. It felt too large without Nico. I’d been sleeping with him for a week and now there was a big void on the mattress where he should be.
I wondered if he would let some other woman sleep in his bed. My chest tightened and burned at the thought. I hated any woman who got to touch him, to hear his voice in her ear and have his full attention. I hated her so much and she wasn’t even real yet.
If anything, I now understood why women stuck by the men in this world, no matter what they did or said. Love. Why couldn’t it work both ways?
I lay there and watched the sun drift behind the horizon until I finally fell asleep.
Red and yellow lights blurred through the floor-to-ceiling windows and into the dark room. I blinked at the alarm clock that read one a.m. and then rolled onto my back. Fear hit me in the chest, but it was quickly replaced with a relief so strong I felt breathless.
He sat on the side of the bed with his back toward me, his elbows on his knees, and his gaze out the window.
From his mere presence, my heart began to sew itself back together. I knew the stitches would tear once he walked away from me again.
“Start at the beginning,” he rasped.
Every cell in my body filled with desperation, longing, and hope.
I sat up. “Of today, or—?”
“Last winter, when you ran.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, I began to tell him about how and why I left. Everything from Oscar to the carousel to him. How I met him, how I had to watch my uncle kill him, and, wanting to get everything out in the open, that I slept with him.
His shoulders tensed. “You realize you gave him something that belongs to me, don’t you?”
I opened my mouth and closed it. How very Nico-like to claim ownership of my body before he’d even met me.
“How many?” he asked.
“How many what?”
“Men,” he growled.
I wanted to say, “You first,” for the sake of pointing out a double standard, but truthfully there wasn’t a tiny part of me that wanted to know how many women he’d been with. I pulled at a loose thread on the comforter.
“Two,” I whispered. “You and him. I haven’t even kissed another man. I swear it.”
A stillness settled over the room as I listened to my hopeful heartbeats and he stared straight ahead. He still wore the same clothes from earlier and I wondered what he’d done today, who he was with, and if he’d thought of me at all.
“Tell me why you were with Sebastian,” he said.
“I ran into him at the bank. I told him not to follow me but . . . he’s persistent.”
“He’s a fucking idiot,” was what Nico muttered.
Is. Present tense, meaning he was currently alive. Relief filled me.
I could see the lightest reflection of him in the window, smeared with yellow city lights. He glanced at his hands, asking, “Did you love him?” His tone was indifferent, but a hint of something raw bled through.
I knew he was no longer speaking of Sebastian.
“No,” I said. “I hardly even knew him.”
He let out a dry breath, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck before giving his head a shake. “Your sister seems to be under a different impression.”
I closed my eyes when I remembered our last conversation and her “Uh-oh.” After sawing my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment, I said, “Adriana assumed, nothing more.”
Sirens echoed up the walls of the building as silence swept back in. A heavy tension lay beneath.
“The ring?” he asked.
“I wore it because I felt guilty, not because I loved him.”
“Wore?”
“I gave it to his mother today.” I added softly, “I’ll get a job and pay you back.”
“You think this is about the fucking money?”
Isn’t it? I remained silent.
His gaze found mine in the reflection of the glass. “Do you know how many men would want to hurt you to hurt me?”
I wasn’t sure how to fix what I’d done, what to say to make him forgive me. All of it sounded so hollow in my head, a part of me believing I didn’t even deserve his forgiveness. I glanced at my fingers as they pulled at the thread.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck, Elena, it’s not that easy.” He shook his head in disgust, and my stomach twisted.
He hated me.
I loved him, and he hated me.
The backs of my eyes burned, and a tear ran
down my cheek. “If you’re so disgusted by me then why are you here?”
It was quiet, and then a shift in the air told me he was going to stand. Something pitched in my chest, and my visceral reaction was to lean forward and grab his arm. He couldn’t leave. The thought sent the stitches in my heart ripping apart one by one.
He tensed but didn’t get up. I inched my way closer until I sat behind him on my knees. My skin sang under the weight of his presence and warmth. Sliding a hand from his arm to his waist, I kissed the back of his neck. “Please don’t go,” I whispered.
A chill rolled through his body.
“There was never another man since we met.” I pressed my forehead to his neck. “No one but you.”
He grabbed my hand on his waist and pulled me around him and off the bed. Our gazes clashed like a shot to my chest. It was so intense I kneeled between his legs so I didn’t burn under the closeness of his stare.
His thumb ran down my lips. “Why keep your mouth from me then?”
I averted my gaze, not being able to say this as I looked him in the eyes. “Men like you break a woman’s heart . . . I didn’t want to love you.”
His deep voice filled my ears. “Did it work?”
My heartbeat drummed.
“No,” I breathed.
A quiet noise crawled up his throat, a mixture of satisfaction and anger. He brushed a palm across my cheek and my head lulled to the side as warmth fired in every synapse.
“Look at me.”
My gaze flicked to his that burned dark and hot.
“You fucking lied to my face.”
I nodded, remembering my promise not to leave without talking to him.
“You didn’t take your phone.”
I nodded again.
His palm ran down to my throat. “You stole from me.”
I swallowed under his hand.
His grip tightened, and he pulled me to my feet. We were eye-to-eye now, and a shiver coasted through me. His lips brushed mine. “I felt fucking crazy wondering where you were,” he bit out.
I nodded again.
“You don’t know,” he growled. “I can’t stay away from you for more than a fucking day and you can run off without a second thought.”
I shook my head, but his grip slid to my chin and stopped me.
“You. Don’t. Know.”
He pressed his lips to mine, softly, confusing my senses with how volatile his mood was. He deepened the kiss and I melted like butter, my heart glowing and mending itself back together. I moaned when his tongue slid into my mouth, my hands resting on each side of his face.
His palms skimmed up the backs of my thighs and stilled when they met my bare ass cheeks. He slowed the kiss, pulling back to look at me in his shirt.
His gaze sparked. “Take it off.”
My skin burned as I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over my head. I stood there, naked and breathless. He lifted my breast to his mouth and sucked on the nipple. I yelped when he bit down.
“Fuck, I’m still so pissed at you, baby.”
“But you won’t leave me here?”
“No,” he rasped. “I can’t fuck you way over here.” He cupped me between the legs, sliding two fingers inside of me.
Relief and a spike of heat ran through my veins.
He kissed me, and this time it was laced with every ounce of his anger. Deep and rough and consuming. Reality faded away to nothing but him—his heat, scent, and my eager heart feeling whole again with every touch of his hands.
The kiss burned into madness. A breathless, greedy sort of madness. His hand fisted in my hair, his lips and teeth trailing down my neck. I ran my arms around his shoulders, pressing my body against his. He stood, lifted me, and dropped me on the bed. His heavy weight settled on top of me and I released a sigh.
With his mouth on mine, he lifted my thigh and pressed his erection between my legs. Sparks fluttered through me before dissolving and eliciting a need for more. I tugged at his shirt and he pulled back to take it off. He nipped at my breasts and stomach as his mouth drifted downward. Something in my subconscious tickled.
“Wait,” I breathed, blinking to clear the lust-filled haze in my mind. Nico’s hands tightened on my legs as he kissed the inside of my thigh and then the other, and before he could get to where he was heading and I lost all train of thought, I blurted, “Platonic.”
He tensed but stopped, his gaze hot with lust and frustration.
I swallowed. “I don’t want to do this if there are going to be other women, Nico. I can’t.”
He watched me for two tense seconds.
“You’re enough for me.”
My heart grew. I suddenly realized that even if I’d heard those words from him at the beginning, I wouldn’t have believed them. However, now an unexplainable feeling told me his words rang true.
He pressed his face between my legs and I burned with bliss.
I kissed him for hours, fucked him until I was sore and there was a reminder of him inside me. He was still mad at me. I felt it with each nip of his teeth, each smack on my ass, and everything I’d had to promise to get my orgasm: Not to endanger myself by leaving the house alone. To take my phone everywhere, or else he’d glue it to my hand. To not fucking steal from him. And to always wear his t-shirts around the house and nothing else.
It wasn’t an unreasonable list, I had to admit, though I did believe the last one was selfishly motivated. I promised him everything because of four words.
You’re enough for me.
The metronome in my chest pulsed to a different rhythm. One of sleepless nights, rough hands and white t-shirts.
I lay my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, how strong it was, how in sync it was with mine.
Regardless of what I was born into, I’d always thought of myself as a moral and honest person. Maybe my roots were too deep, or maybe love gave a woman a reason to let her dark colors shine, because I suddenly knew I would lie, cheat, and steal for this man.
I would burn the world for him.
He was King of the Cosa Nostra.
And he was all mine.
“If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.”
—Oscar Wilde
I BLINKED AGAINST THE SUNLIGHT streaming through the windows like Heaven was descending upon us and realized why I’d always hated staying at the penthouse. No fucking curtains.
Reaching toward the other side of the bed and feeling nothing but sheets, something jack-knifed in my chest. The clanking of pots and pans from the kitchen sent an instant rush of relief through me. I ran a hand down my face. Jesus. I’d wanted a wife and I got a damn heart-attack waiting to happen.
After leaving her here yesterday, I’d gone to my club with every intention of shooting Sebastian Perez in the head, regardless if he touched Elena or not. He was in possession of my wife and he hadn’t contacted me. I’d been out of my mind while he sat his ass on a park bench beside her and chatted the hour away. I didn’t know what stopped me from sending his body back to Colombia in a box—well, I guess I did. Sebastian was a smooth-talker and I admired how well he could dig his way out of shit.
He’d kept her safe while she went on some mission in fucking East Tremont. If I would’ve stopped her before she could go through with her plan, that ring would still be on her finger, I’d still believe she was in love with another man, and she’d still be harboring secrets until she felt her conscience was clean.
I got up, took a piss, and slipped on a pair of boxer briefs before going to see what my thieving wife was doing.
The news played quietly in the living room while she stood in front of the stove, wearing one of my t-shirts that stopped at the bottom of her ass. Her messy black hair trailed down her back, and, for fuck’s sake, my chest grew all warm at the sight. I walked up behind her and slid a palm beneath the hem of her shirt.
She yelped, throwing a hand on her chest. “Oh my god, Nico! You scared me.”
&nb
sp; Good. Maybe she felt an ounce of what I did yesterday.
I rubbed her bare ass cheek before pulling her against me and looking over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make you breakfast.”
I eyed the burnt eggs in the pan. “Not going so well, huh?”
“No,” she sighed.
I chuckled. “You’re a bad cook, baby.” She got distracted too easily, by anything and everything: the TV, reading, eating cereal, painting her nails. She had the attention span of a kid. “If you want it done right you have to stand by the stove until it’s finished.”
“I did this time, I swear,” she insisted. “But then Mamma called your cell phone, so I answered, and she was going on and on about being ‘worried sick’ because my phone wasn’t working. I told her it must have died or something.”
Yeah, didn’t really care to share that it was currently lying in pieces on my living room floor. In fact, we were staying here until Luca had someone go clean the mess up so Elena wouldn’t know I’d lost my goddamn mind and destroyed the house. And because she reminded me she’d made me act like a lunatic again, I slapped her ass hard.
“Ow!” she exclaimed. “What was that for?”
“Stealing from me. Lying to me. Pick one.”
She went still, her guilt-ridden thoughts swirling in the air around us. I sighed, turned her around, and pressed her face into my chest. She wrapped her arms around me, and satisfaction hummed in my throat.
Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted a thing she’d told me last night, but I did. I’d thought she was difficult to read before, but that might be because I found it hard to focus on her face. Now, I could see her thoughts leak into her soft brown eyes and hear them in her voice. She had a long way to go to be a Russo, but hell, I’d walk with her the whole way.
A sharp sting on my butt cheek caused me to spin around, narrow my eyes, and rub the sore spot.
Nico glared at me with a towel in hand that he’d just used as a whip. He only wore a pair of black boxer briefs, and his hair was still wet from our shower.
“Explain what’s happening tonight again.”
The Sweetest Oblivion (Made Book 1) Page 34
