AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So I take a deliberate step back, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "Get some sleep," I rasp, my voice jagged with the effort of reining myself in. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Something flashes in his eyes, too quick to decipher. Disappointment, maybe. Or relief. But he just nods, a jerky little bob of his head as he starts to close the door. "Right. Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight, Eli." The words feel weighted, tangled with a thousand things I can't say. Sweet dreams. Sleep well. I'm sorry for turning your life upside down.
The door snicks shut with a soft click, leaving me alone in the darkened hallway. For a long moment, I just stand there, listening to the rush of my own blood in my ears and trying to ignore the relentless pulse of arousal throbbing in my veins.
What the hell is wrong with me? I'm Nico fucking Caruso, the most feared man in three boroughs. I have blood on my hands and ice in my veins, a monster shaped by violence and hardened by loss. I'm not supposed to feel things like this, soft and warm and achingly tender.
But Eli, with his sunshine smile and his stubborn, reckless backbone...he makes me want to feel. To be the kind of man who could be gentle, who could hold something precious without crushing it to dust.
It's a pipedream, a fantasy as flimsy as soap bubbles. I'll never be that man, no matter how desperately I might wish otherwise. My path is carved in stone and paved with bones, a one-way ticket to hell with no detours.
But as I force myself to turn away from Eli's door and stalk back to my own room, I can't shake the sinking feeling that it might already be too late. Because Eli Bloom, with his riot of sunny curls and his heart worn brazenly on his sleeve, has already started to slip past my defenses.
As I strip off my clothes and crawl into bed, my mind is a whirlwind of warring desires and cold, clinical strategies. I need to find a way to keep Eli safe without compromising my own armor. To protect him from the world I live in without letting him become a chink in the impassive mask I wear like a second skin.
It's a delicate balancing act, one I'm not at all sure I'm capable of pulling off. But as I drift into a restless sleep, one thought crystallizes with perfect, ruthless clarity.
Come hell or high water, I will keep Eli Bloom alive and whole. Because whether I like it or not, he's mine now. And I protect what's mine - no matter the cost.
CHAPTER 3
ELI
The scent of chocolate chip cookies permeates the tiny apartment, warm and sweet and achingly nostalgic. For a moment, as I pull the tray from the oven and inhale the comforting aroma, I can almost pretend that everything is normal. That there isn't a surly, devastatingly handsome mafioso lurking in my living room like a particularly dangerous piece of furniture.
Almost.
I sigh, setting the tray down on the counter with a clatter. Who am I kidding? There's nothing normal about this situation, no matter how many batches of comfort food I whip up. My life has turned into a bad mafia movie overnight, complete with brooding, dangerous men in expensive suits and a target the size of Texas painted on my back.
Nico Caruso. Even the name sends a shiver down my spine, equal parts fear and fascination. He's an enigma wrapped in a bespoke three-piece, a walking contradiction of icy control and barely leashed violence.
And now he's my roommate. My "protector", whatever that means.
I scoop the cookies onto a cooling rack with more force than necessary, my motions jerky and agitated. It's been three days since Nico barged into my life, and I still don't know what to make of him. He's hardly said a dozen words to me, his dark gaze inscrutable as he monitors my every move.
It's unnerving, being watched like that. Like I'm a bug under a magnifying glass, my every twitch and flutter analyzed for signs of weakness. The weight of his stare makes my skin prickle, my heart beat just a little bit faster.
But it's not fear, not entirely. There's something else mixed in with the unease, a treacherous curl of heat that licks through my veins when Nico's eyes linger just a little too long. A part of me, reckless and hungry, wonders what it would feel like to have the full force of that intense focus trained on me. To be the center of Nico Caruso's undivided attention, even for a moment.
I shake my head, dispelling the dangerous thought. That way lies madness, and probably a shallow grave. Nico is a killer, a cold-blooded predator. I'd have to be suicidal to entertain even a whisper of attraction to him.
And yet...
I can't help but remember the way he looked at me that first night, when he found me crying in my room. The way his voice softened, just a little, as he awkwardly offered comfort. There was something in his eyes, something raw and almost tender, that made me want to burrow into his arms and never let go.
Stupid. Naive. I'm projecting, seeing things that aren't there because I'm scared and lonely and so far out of my depth I might as well be drowning.
The clatter of boots on hardwood yanks me out of my spiraling thoughts. I look up to see Nico filling the kitchen doorway, his broad shoulders straining the seams of his black dress shirt. His hair is damp from the shower, curling slightly at his nape, and the scent of his woodsy aftershave reaches me even across the room.
"Something smells good," he says, his voice a low rasp that sends shivers skating down my spine.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "I made cookies," I say inanely, gesturing to the cooling racks like an idiot. "Chocolate chip. I thought...I thought maybe we could have some. Together."
Nico's eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his chiseled face. "You baked...for me?"
I flush, feeling suddenly foolish. What was I thinking, trying to bond with a mafia killer over baked goods? "Not for you specifically," I mutter, picking at a loose thread on my apron. "I just...baking helps me think. Keeps my hands busy."
