Because she’d had a thing for me since she was a kid.
I wouldn’t lie and say I remembered that exact interaction. I’d chased off street harassers more times than I could count. And I definitely wouldn’t have been checking out a fucking child, so she was just a face in a sea of others.
But, clearly, I’d had an impact on her.
And all I’d done was turn that dream of hers into a nightmare.
I should have done better.
Spent time with her.
Taken her out to show her off like I told her I would.
Made her not feel so used and neglected.
I just… I didn’t fucking know better.
Now I did.
And I was going to do better.
The problem was, though, getting her to believe me, to give me another chance.
And before that, even, was getting her overprotective, likely livid, older brother to let me in to see her.
“Well, if you’re carried out in a body bag,” Elian said, smirking at me.
“Then I probably had it coming?” I asked.
“Something like that,” he agreed. “I’ll keep an eye out here.”
I gave him a nod, then made my way up the steps just as an older woman was coming out, holding the door open for me.
Nico lived on the top level, and as I rode the elevator up, I was trying to think of what the fuck I was going to say.
To him.
To her.
Before I could come up with a single fucking thing, though, the doors were opening, and I was walking up to Nico’s door, and raising my hand to knock.
The door opened faster than I’d been anticipating.
And there was Nico Costa.
Tall, fit, and fuming.
“Absolutely fucking not,” he snapped, trying to shut the door, but I kicked out my leg to stick my foot in the way.
“That’s my wife,” I reminded him.
“Yeah? Maybe you should have thought about that before you crushed her.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” I admitted. “I have no excuses to give you. I’m taking full responsibility for this.”
“For her sobbing on my shoulder?” he asked. “Crying harder than she did at our Ma’s funeral. Asking me why you can’t just love her back? You’re taking responsibility for that?”
Another knife in the chest.