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Something shatters in his expression, the last of his walls crumbling to dust. And then he's hauling me into his lap, his mouth crashing down on mine in a bruising, desperate kiss.
I gasp into the kiss, my hands fisting in his hair as I open for him. Nico's tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me, consuming me, and I melt into him with a needy moan.
His hands are everywhere, sliding beneath my shirt to map the contours of my back, dipping into the waistband of my jeans to grip my hips. I can feel the heat of him, the coiled strength in his muscles, and it sets me on fire, my blood singing with want.
But as his fingers brush the button of my fly, I freeze, sudden uncertainty dousing my desire like a bucket of ice water. We're moving too fast, the heat between us burning out of control, and as much as I want this, want him, I'm not ready for the inferno.
I tear my mouth away, panting harshly against his jaw. "Wait," I rasp, my hands splaying across his chest. "Nico, wait. We can't...not like this. Not when you're hurt and bleeding and hopped up on adrenaline. I don't want to be just another battle high, another adrenaline-fueled mistake."
Nico stills, his breath gusting hot against my throat. For a moment, I'm terrified he's going to ignore me, to take what he wants regardless of my hesitation. But then he's pulling back, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he searches my face.
"Okay," he rasps, his hands gentling on my hips. "Okay, Sunshine. We'll slow down. I'd never force you, never hurt you. I just...I want you so fucking much. It scares me, how deep this goes."
I shiver, my heart clenching at the raw honesty in his words. "I want you too," I whisper, my fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. "So much it terrifies me. But I need to know it's real, Nico. That I'm not just a convenient outlet, a way to blow off steam."
His eyes soften, his thumb brushing tenderly across my bottom lip. "You're not," he says roughly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're everything, Eli. Fucking everything."
I make a soft, broken sound, my heart swelling until it feels like it might burst. And then I'm kissing him again, soft and slow and achingly tender, pouring every ounce of my fear and longing and desperate, terrifying love into the press of my lips.
And as Nico kisses me back just as gently, just as reverently, I feel a flicker of hope kindle to life in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to make this work. To carve out a place for ourselves amidst the chaos and the violence, a sanctuary built on trust and devotion and the stubborn, unshakeable belief that love can conquer all.
But as Nico's hands tighten on my waist, his body tensing beneath mine, I know our troubles are far from over. The specter of his world still looms over us, dark and hungry and poised to strike. And if we're not careful, it will devour us whole, leaving nothing but ashes and regret in its wake.
CHAPTER 4
NICO
The pounding bass of the club thrums through my bones, the flashing neon lights painting lurid colors across the undulating mass of bodies on the dance floor. The air is thick with the stench of sweat and spilled liquor, the sticky-sweet tang of cheap perfume and cheaper cologne. It's the kind of place where sins are bartered like currency, where secrets are spilled as easily as the vodka sloshing in the glasses.
Normally, I thrive in this environment. The grit and grime, the pulse and grind of flesh on flesh - it's as close to home as I've ever known. A place where I can lose myself in the physicality of it all, drown out the chaos in my head with the pounding rhythm of the music.
But tonight, even the bass can't drown out the thoughts churning in my brain. Thoughts of golden curls and summer-sky eyes, of a smile as bright as sunshine on a field of wildflowers. Thoughts of Eli fucking Bloom, the man who's somehow burrowed under my skin like a splinter I can't shake loose.
It's been a week since the attack at the flower shop. A week since I spilled my blood on Eli's floor, since he stitched me back together with trembling hands and a tenderness that cracked me open like an eggshell. A week of heated glances and lingering touches, of a tension so thick it's like wading through molasses.
I want him. Fuck, I want him so badly it's like a physical ache, a hollow yearning in my gut that no amount of booze or anonymous fucks can fill. I dream about him, about the satin-soft glide of his skin beneath my fingertips, the breathy catch of his moans in my ear. I wake hard and aching, my cock throbbing in time with the relentless pounding of my pulse.
It's a fucking liability, this bone-deep hunger for a man I have no business wanting. A distraction I can't afford, not with the Bianchis breathing down my neck and the feds sniffing around my father's operation. I need to be sharp, focused, ruthless. I can't let myself be compromised by a pair of pretty blue eyes and a smile that could melt a glacier.
"You're thinking too hard, brother. I can practically see the smoke pouring out of your ears."
I startle at the voice in my ear, my hand twitching towards the gun holstered at my side. But it's just Tommy, my idiot kid brother, grinning at me with a mouthful of too-white teeth.
"Fuck off," I growl, taking a swig of my whiskey. The glass clinks against my teeth, the burn of the alcohol searing my throat. "I'm not in the mood for your shit tonight, Tommy."
He just laughs, the sound carrying over the thump of the music. "You're never in the mood for my shit, Nico. That's why you love me - I keep you on your toes."
I roll my eyes, but I can't quite bite back the twitch of my lips. Damn him, but the kid's not wrong. For all his playboy antics and devil-may-care attitude, Tommy's always had a knack for cutting through my bullshit. He sees me, the real me, beneath the icy exterior and the hardened shell of violence and cynicism.
"So, you gonna tell me what's got your panties in a twist?" he asks, signaling the bartender for another round. "Or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?"
I snort, my fingers tightening on my glass. "As if you could take me, little brother. I've been wiping the floor with your scrawny ass since we were in diapers."
Tommy grins, sharp and feral. "Maybe. But I fight dirty, and you know it."
He's not wrong. For all my superior strength and skill, Tommy's always been a wily little bastard. Quick and cunning, with a vicious streak a mile wide. It's what makes him such a valuable asset to the family, and such a pain in my fucking ass.
"It's nothing," I mutter, draining the last of my whiskey. The ice clinks in the empty glass, a mocking counterpoint to the hollow ache in my chest. "Just...business shit. The usual."
