Page 15 of The Cost of Silence

“Because someone sent him,” I answer. “He wasn’t acting alone, and thanks to you, this affects me and my family now.”

Her breath hitches. “You think it’s about the article?”

“I know it is.”

Her eyes flick to her Christmas tree, still lit, glittering in the chaos. Ornaments sway gently from the disturbance. My gaze climbs the tree, the ridiculous number of lights, the crooked star. It’s like the eighties threw up in here. “You really decorated like this on purpose?” I mutter.

She gapes. “Are you judging my Christmas decorations after I was just assaulted?”

“There are twelve strings of lights on that tree,” I say. “It’s a fire hazard.”

“They’re festive.”

“They’re excessive.”

“If you hate joy, just say that.”

For the first time all night, the corner of my mouth twitches. Just barely. I shut it down fast. “Go pack, Isabella.”

“I’ll be fine to stay here. I can wedge the door shut, and I have a mace.”

I drop my head and sigh loudly, because this woman is determined to shred my last nerve. “Pack a fucking bag, or I’ll pack one for you and toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”

“Gee, you gonna spank me too?”

Fuck that mouth of hers is going to get us both into trouble, because the scene that ignites behind my eyes at her words is fucking red hot. But I won’t go there. She might be hot as Mount fucking Etna, but she’s the enemy. “Pack a fucking bag. Now!”

She glares at me for a second as I glare at her, and I admire the lack of fear she allows to show on her face. Grown men quake when I yell, but not this woman. Just my fucking luck.

“Fine, but only for one night.”

Her hands shake as she packs, and I pretend I don’t see it. She moves slowly, like her ribs hurt more than she’s admitting. I hover, not close enough to smother her, but close enough to catch her if she falls. Although I kid myself, it’s to make sure she does it.

“Pack faster,” I say gruffly, because gentleness feels dangerous.

She glares. “I’m not thanking you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

She zips her bag, shoulders trembling with the effort, and goes to pick it up, but I snatch it away with another glare. As ifI’d let her carry that bag, let alone with her ribs bruised. When she steps past me, her arm brushes mine, soft and warm, and the smallest sound escapes her, a wince quickly swallowed.

That sound does something violent to my insides.

I call for Rossi. Then look back at her standing in the glow of those stupid twinkle lights, bruised and shaken but somehow still standing straight.

“Let’s go, Isabella.” My voice is low, rougher than before. “You’re safe now.”

For tonight, at least. Until I figure out who sent someone after her. Until I figure out why the thought of losing her before I can get answers tears something sharp through my chest.

6.Isabella

The rideto his penthouse moves in a muted blur, the city lights sliding across the windows like streaks of gold and white. Every shift of the car sends a dull ache through my ribs, but I force my posture straight, refusing to let the pain show more than it already has.

Nico drives with a focus that feels carved from granite, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting across his thigh, his jaw set in a hard line that hasn’t softened since he dragged me out of my apartment. The air between us hums with something sharp and unsettled, and the longer the silence stretches, the more the night feels unreal, like a film reel that hasn’t caught up with itself.

I keep my eyes forward. I can still feel the imprint of the attacker’s grip on my arm, a phantom pressure, and every time I swallow, the throb in my cheek tightens. My hands stay clasped in my lap, knuckles pale around each other.

I shouldn’t feel safer in this car—his car. I shouldn’t feel anything at all where Nico Mancini is concerned, but he saved me tonight. From what, I shudder to think about. Everyone is a threat except the man who should be. He’s dangerous, but he’slooking at me like I’m breakable. And I hate that I want him to hold me together.