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I should stay put. I should let Nico handle it, trust that he knows what he's doing. But the thought of him down there alone, outnumbered and outgunned, makes my stomach twist with dread.
I'm moving before I can second-guess myself, my feet carrying me down the stairs and into the chaos of the shop. The scene that greets me makes my blood run cold, my breath freezing in my lungs.
The shop is in shambles, torn petals and broken glass littering the floor. And in the middle of it all is Nico, his shirt torn and bloodied, his face a mask of cold fury as he grapples with a snarling, beefy thug.
There are two more men sprawled at Nico's feet, groaning and clutching at various wounds. But the third assailant is still on his feet, a glittering knife clenched in his fist as he slashes at Nico's belly.
"No!" The scream rips from my throat, high and terrified.
Nico's head whips towards me, his eyes widening in shock and fear. The thug takes advantage of his distraction, lunging forward with the knife. The blade sinks into Nico's shoulder with a sickening thud, a crimson stain blooming across the white of his shirt.
Nico roars in pain and fury, his fist smashing into the thug's face with a crunch of cartilage. The man goes down hard, his skull bouncing off the tile with a hollow thunk.
And then it's over, the sudden silence broken only by Nico's labored breathing and the wet, gurgling gasps of the downed men.
"Eli," Nico rasps, his eyes wild and desperate as he staggers towards me. "What the fuck are you doing down here? I told you to stay put!"
I shake my head mutely, my throat closed up with terror. "You're hurt," I manage, my voice a strangled whisper. "Oh god, Nico, you're bleeding."
He glances down at his shoulder, at the sticky redness seeping between his fingers. "It's fine," he grits out, even as his face pales to a sickly gray. "Just a scratch. I've had worse."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, the casual brutality in them making me flinch. How can he be so cavalier about being stabbed, about the violence that clings to him like a second skin? What kind of life has he led, that this is just another day at the office for him?
But beneath the bravado, I can see the pain etched into the lines of his face, the way his jaw clenches as he tries to hold himself together. He's hurting, in more ways than one, and the sight of it cracks something open in my chest.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm closing the distance between us, my hands coming up to frame his face. "You're not fine," I whisper fiercely, my thumbs stroking over the stubble on his jaw. "You're hurt and bleeding and probably in shock. We need to get you to a hospital, or at least patch you up before you bleed out on my floor."
Nico shakes his head, a wry twist to his mouth. "No hospitals," he says, his voice gravelly with pain. "Too many questions. I've got a first aid kit upstairs, I can take care of it."
"Like hell you can," I snap, a sudden flare of anger burning through the fear. "You can barely stand up straight, much less stitch yourself back together. Let me help you, Nico. Please."
He stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his eyes. And then, to my shock, he nods, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Okay," he rasps, leaning into my touch like he can't help himself. "Okay, Sunshine. You win."
Relief crashes through me, dizzying in its intensity. I slide my arm around his waist, taking some of his weight as I guide him towards the stairs. He leans on me heavily, his breath coming in short, pained gasps, and the trust in that simple gesture makes my heart clench.
I get him settled on the couch, his ruined shirt tossed carelessly to the floor. In the harsh light of the living room, the wound in his shoulder looks even worse, a jagged gash oozing blood.
My hands shake as I rip open the first aid kit, nausea churning in my gut. I'm no doctor, no combat medic. I don't know the first thing about stitching up knife wounds. But Nico is counting on me, trusting me to take care of him, and I'll be damned if I let him down.
I clean the wound as best I can, my fingers gentle as I dab at the torn flesh with antiseptic. Nico hisses through his teeth, his hands fisting at his sides, but he doesn't pull away.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, my voice cracking. "I know it hurts. I'm trying to be careful."
Nico huffs out a strained laugh, his eyes glassy with pain. "You're doing fine, Sunshine. Believe me, I've had worse bedside manner."
I swallow hard, my throat tight. "I hate that you can say that," I whisper, my fingers trembling as I thread the curved needle. "I hate that this is normal for you, that pain and violence are just another day at the office."
Nico's quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching my face. "It's all I know," he says finally, his voice low and rough. "All I've ever been good for. Hurting people, breaking things. It's in my blood."
My heart clenches, a fierce ache blooming behind my ribs. "That's not true," I say fiercely, tying off the last stitch with shaking fingers. "You're more than what you do, Nico. More than the sins of your father. You protected me today, put yourself in harm's way to keep me safe. That's not nothing."
He stares at me, something raw and achingly vulnerable flickering in his dark eyes. "Eli," he rasps, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "You don't...you don't know the things I've done. The kind of man I am."
I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut. "Then show me," I whisper, turning my head to press a kiss to his palm. "Let me see the man beneath the mask, Nico. The one who bakes cookies with me and bleeds for me and looks at me like I'm something precious."
Nico makes a low, wounded sound, his fingers tightening on my jaw. "You are," he growls, his voice ragged with emotion. "Precious. Too fucking precious for a beast like me to touch."
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. "I'm not afraid of you," I say softly, my heart in my throat. "I'm not afraid of this, of us. I trust you, Nico. With my life, and with my heart."
