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“No, but . . . holy fuck. Is he, I don’t know, okay with it? What did he say? Are they planning to kill you or overthrow you or—”
“Breathe, Bennett,” Nico said gently. “We did not go into detail, but he said he supports me. That nothing changes between us.”
Bennett exhaled. “Do you believe him?”
“Yes. I do. And he likes you. Even more so after bocce today.” Filippo had been insufferable, actually. He declared the bocce date a classic romantic gesture worthy of Hollywood, and began offering suggestions for what Nico could do in return. Though most of Filippo’s ideas for a date with two men involved guns, which Nico didn’t think was Bennett’s style.
Nico would come up with something better.
“You were adorable with those old men,” Bennett said after a long minute.
Adorable? Him? “I hear head injuries are common in your sport.”
“Wait, why are we talking about concussions?”
“I have been called many things, but adorable is not one of them.”
Bennett pinched Nico’s side. “I do not have a concussion and you were adorable.”
That was debatable, but Nico was too wiped out to argue. He’d used every bit of his energy fucking Bennett tonight. And it was worth it.
He should leave. Filippo was waiting down in the car, so Nico couldn’t stay all night. But he couldn’t bring himself to move just yet. Instead, Nico began dragging his fingertips over the marble sculpture masquerading as Bennett’s muscular torso. The flat, hard sternum. The heft of his pecs. Rows of ribs that framed sharp, sexy lines of abdominal muscles. The trail of hair from his navel to his groin. Then Nico began an agonizingly slow return trip, grateful he had the right to touch Bennett whenever he wanted. At least for now.
“I’ve been thinking,” Bennett said carefully, the words measured, and the back of Nico’s neck tingled with premonition. It was the same instinct that had kept him alive all these years, the sense that danger was ahead.
“Oh?”
“About your cousin. The one drugged at the club.”
Now Nico was even more concerned. This wasn’t a conversation for lying down, so he rose up on one elbow again, which allowed him to loom over Bennett. “And what of her?”
“I have an idea I want to share with you, but I need your promise that you won’t kill anyone.”
“You know I cannot make that promise. This man has hurt my family. To preserve our honor, I must make an example of him.”
“Can’t you make an example by turning him over to the authorities?”
“To the people who know me, this would be worse than letting him go unpunished.” Nico watched Bennett struggle with this answer. Good. Because this would not change, no matter how many times the two of them slept together. Despite homemade cookies and bocce. “Do you know who is responsible?”
“No.”
Considering the way his mouth tightened, it was clear Bennett wanted to say more. Nico prompted, “But?”
Bennett’s nostrils flared as he dragged in a deep breath, then he let it out slowly, his gaze on the ceiling. “I want him caught, Nico. I do. But I want him turned over to the TPS. Helping you feels as though I’m an accessory to murder.”
“This will not blow back on you, te lo prometto. But there will be no trial, no charges filed.”
“So he goes missing and I’ll be questioned by the police—the whole team will be questioned. And several players know that I’m in the center of this. When asked, I’ll be forced to either lie or tell them your name.”
Nico grew very still. He’d put Bennett in an impossible situation. Last week that wouldn’t have mattered.
Today, it mattered. Not because he’d changed his mind about retribution—he hadn’t—but because he selfishly wanted to keep Bennett after all this ended. And it was becoming more apparent that this was unfeasible.
Chi troppo vuole nulla stringe. He who wants too much ends up with nothing.
Clearing his throat, Nico eased off Bennett’s body. He missed the warmth immediately. “You must do what you feel is right. The TPS will find no evidence to implicate me or my family in any wrongdoing. There will be nothing to tie me to the crime.”
“Except me.”
