Page 30 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

“Is there enough coffee for me?” Nic enters the kitchen, and my breath catches in my throat. The man who wears an Italian suit like he was born to it looks equally as masculine and handsome in sweatpants and flannel. The soft fabric of the Henley shirt clings to his broad chest. His damp hair is slightly tousled, giving him a boyish charm.

I find myself admiring him, unable to look away.

He arches a brow, then looks down. “I know, it doesn't scream underboss, does it?”

I shake my head, irritated at myself for getting caught up in him again. “Coffee?" I offer, holding out a mug to hide my sudden nervousness.

He takes it with a grateful smile, his fingers brushing mine. The brief contact sends a jolt through me, and I quickly pull my hand away. I don’t know what to think about all these feelings and sensations, and I’m unsettled at my inability to control them.

"Thanks," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "For everything."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I sip my coffee, using the mug to hide my flushed cheeks. What's wrong with me?

"We need to venture out and buy a burner phone to call Max," Nic says, breaking the silence.

“We can’t venture anywhere. Not today. Maybe not for a couple of days.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

I pull back the curtain. “There must be five inches already, and the way it’s coming down, there will be a lot more.”

He looks out the window. I follow his gaze, taking in the thick blanket of white covering everything in sight. The snow continues to fall steadily, erasing any trace of the world beyond our little cabin.

"We're stuck here," I whisper, a mix of fear and strange relief washing over me. I wonder how he’ll respond. The Nic from before struck me as a person who was a take action sort of man. Decisive. Proactive. I don’t think he’ll like being stuck, unable to find out who is after us and why.

To my surprise, Nic's lips curve into a small smile as he watches the falling snow. There's no frustration in his expression. "Looks like we are.”

His acceptance of our circumstances throws me off balance. I'd expected anger or impatience, not this quiet resignation.

"You're not… upset?" I ask hesitantly.

Nic turns to me, his eyes softer than I've ever seen them. “Why would I be upset? You haven’t finished readingThe Maltese Falconto me. Based on the amount of snow coming down, you may end up reading all the books on the bookshelf to me.”

“Once that happens, you’ll be bored.”

He shrugs. “There are a lot of ways to pass the time.” Before I can react, he reaches out and gently tugs on a lock of my hair.

The gesture catches me off guard. It's so unexpectedly playful, so… intimate. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold or the danger lurking outside. My breath catches in my throat as I become acutely aware of how close we're standing.

Nic's hand lingers near my face, and I lean into his touch without thinking. His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light, and I swear I can feel sparks dancing across my skin.

"Bella," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

I look up into his eyes, unsure of what I see there. Does he want to kiss me? Do I want to kiss him?

Yes. Yes, I do.

11

NIC

I’d watched Bella for a moment before I entered the kitchen. The way she moved around the kitchen making coffee, looking out the window. The domesticity of the scene felt oddly comfortable, despite our circumstances. There’s an inexplicable draw to her that feels wrong even as it feels right.

As a made man in the Mafia, I'm no stranger to breaking rules. Hell, half my life revolves around skirting the law and living by our own code. But this, the growing desire I feel for Bella, is different. The fact that I can’t seem to control it is irritating. I'm a grown man, hardened by years in this brutal world. I shouldn't be affected like this by a mere girl.

My gaze traces the curve of her neck as she looks up at me. I want to kiss her there, to feel her pulse quicken under my lips. The urge to pull her close, to claim her mouth with mine, is almost overwhelming.

The wrongness I feel about this attraction has nothing to do with my father and how she belongs to him. Then again, there would be a sweet thrill to take something of his. The thought of my father getting his hands on her makes my stomach churn. She doesn’t deserve the depravity she’d endure from him.

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