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It was to protect me, to keep me safe from the brutal world he was born into. The world that's now dug its claws into me, determined to use me as a pawn in their bloody games.
The sound of footsteps echoing in the darkness jolts me out of my thoughts, my heart leaping into my throat. A key grates in a rusted lock, hinges screaming in protest as a heavy door swings open. Light floods the room, blinding after so long in the dark, and I flinch away, squinting against the sudden glare.
"Well, well. Looks like Sleeping Beauty's finally awake."
The voice is cold, mocking, with a thick Italian accent. I force my eyes open, blinking rapidly to clear the spots from my vision. A man stands before me, tall and broad-shouldered, his expensive suit straining over his muscular frame. His hair is slicked back from a cruel, handsome face, his dark eyes glittering with malice.
I recognize him instantly from the whispered warnings traded like currency in Nico's world. Stefano Bianchi, the vicious young upstart determined to carve out a bloody empire of his own. The man who ordered his thugs to trash my shop, who set this whole nightmare in motion.
"Fuck you," I rasp out, my voice raw and scratchy from dehydration. "What the hell do you want from me, you psycho?"
Stefano grins, the expression sending a chill down my spine. "Aw, come on now, bello. Is that any way to talk to your host?"
He prowls closer, the heady scent of his cologne making my nose itch. "As for what I want...well. I thought that would be obvious." He reaches out, trailing a finger down my cheek in a perverse mockery of a caress. I jerk away, my skin crawling at his touch.
"I want Nico Caruso to suffer," Stefano purrs, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I want him to know the agony of having his heart ripped still-beating from his chest. And you, my pretty little pawn...you're going to help me do it."
Nausea rolls in my gut, a cold sweat breaking out on my brow. "Go to hell," I spit, putting every ounce of disgust and defiance I can muster into the words. "Nico will never give you what you want. He's too smart to fall for your sick little games."
Stefano laughs, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh, I think he will," he croons, trailing the cold edge of a knife down the side of my neck. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe as the wickedly sharp blade kisses my skin.
"See, I've been watching you two lovebirds for weeks now. Seen the way he looks at you, like you hung the fucking moon. The great Nico Caruso, brought to his knees by a pair of pretty blue eyes and a perky ass."
Stefano's grin widens, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "He'll come for you, bello. And when he does...I'm going to flay the skin from his bones, inch by agonizing inch. I'm going to make him scream for mercy, beg for death...and you're going to watch every second of it."
Horror clogs my throat, tears stinging my eyes as I imagine the brutal scene he's describing. Nico, broken and bleeding, his beautiful face twisted in agony as this sadistic monster tears him apart. The thought is unbearable, a nightmare made flesh.
"You're insane," I whisper, my voice cracking on a sob. "Nico will kill you for this, you sick fuck. He'll rip you apart with his bare hands for daring to touch me."
Stefano's smile is a blade, sharp and cruel. "We'll see about that," he purrs, the flat of his blade pressing harder against my windpipe. "Personally, I can't wait to watch the light die in his eyes when I slit your pretty throat. Maybe I'll even fuck his corpse in the puddle of your blood, hmm? A final fuck you to the great Nico Caruso."
Bile surges up my throat, revulsion and terror twisting my stomach into knots. This can't be happening. This can't be real, this waking nightmare of blood and violence and sickening depravity.
Nico, my fierce, beautiful warrior...he can't fall to this madman's blade. He can't. The world would be a colder, darker place without the fire of his smile, the tenderness of his touch. A place I don't want to imagine, can't imagine living in.
But before I can spit my defiance, before I can tell Stefano to go fuck himself with his own knife...the distant pop-pop-pop of gunfire shatters the tense silence. Shouts ring out, the thud of running feet, the unmistakable sounds of chaos and violence.
Stefano stiffens, his head whipping towards the door. "What the-"
He never gets to finish the thought. Because in the next heartbeat, the door explodes inward in a hail of splinters and shrapnel, a dark figure wreathed in smoke and fury filling the frame.
"Nico," I breathe, my heart stuttering in my chest. He's here. He came for me, just like I knew he would. My beautiful, brave protector, my avenging angel in a tailored suit and blood-spattered skin.
Nico's eyes find mine across the room, wild and desperate and blazing with a love so fierce it steals my breath. "Eli," he rasps, his voice cracking on my name. "Baby, are you-"
But before he can finish the question, Stefano is moving, a wordless snarl of rage tearing from his throat. He lunges for me, the knife flashing silver in the dim light, aiming for the vulnerable hollow of my throat.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the bite of the blade, the hot rush of my own blood. But the pain never comes. Instead, there's a meaty thud, a strangled grunt...and the warm splatter of liquid across my face.
I wrench my eyes open, my heart in my throat...and the world tilts on its axis, a scream lodging in my chest.
Nico stands before me, his beautiful face pale and shocked. Stefano's knife protrudes from his chest, buried to the hilt in the meat of his shoulder. Blood blooms across the white of his shirt, vivid and obscene, a crimson flower unfurling in terrible slow motion.
"No," I choke out, straining against my bonds. "No, no, nonono Nico, oh God-"
Nico sways on his feet, his eyes glazing over with pain and shock. But even as his knees buckle, even as he crumples to the dirty floor in a boneless heap...he's raising his gun, the barrel trained on Stefano's snarling face.
The shot cracks out like thunder, deafeningly loud in the close confines of the room. Stefano's head snaps back, a spray of red mist and thicker things painting the wall behind him. He crumples like a puppet with its strings cut, his eyes wide and staring in death.
