Page 29 of Where the Wicked Reign

The way his jacket served to highlight his broad shoulders.

The way his white open-collared shirt pulled taut across his abs.

And the sexy way he moved with that swagger of his.

His black, silky hair was wilder than normal, giving it a whole bedhead, sexier edge.

Nico Marchetti was in my bedroom.

In my bedroom while I was half-naked, and more than a little sleep-deprived.

This was fucking dangerous.

It got more so when our fingers brushed as he handed me the robe.

I tried to swallow it down and snatched it from him more roughly than was needed, then hastily slipped it on, tying it tightly at my waist.

With him still in my space, because of course he couldn’t step back like a gentleman, I noted the dried blood in his hair, hard to see with the deep-black until he was up this close. My gazed dropped to his hands and his knuckles were also damaged with dried blood too and a whole lot of bruising.

The sight itself wasn’t surprising because he was a brutal bastard who existed in a brutal world. Whatwassurprising was the fact that he hadn’t done a better job of hiding it. It was cold enough out where he could have worn gloves to cover up his damaged knuckles and he could have obviously washed his hair properly too. Nico didn’t overlook things, especially not when it came to the public image that he presented to the world. The whole playboy image with fake dating socialites and being known as the educated, savvy businessman who helped to run Marchetti Holdings, his family’s legitimate front.

It was deeply concerning. Especially because he’d come here in this state to me.

“Did the bough finally break? Did you throw down with my father’s men? Is that why you’re here?”

“It wasn’t with the Leones, but it is connected to why I’m here.”

Unlike everybody else I’d had in my life before I’d gone out on my own, Nico didn’t sugarcoat things, he didn’t treat me with kid gloves, or like I was a fragile little thing who wouldn’t be able to handle hard reality and the depraved nature of the world he lived in.

In fact, he challenged me.

I wasn’t naïve; I knew that the last three years of ourwarhadn’t just been about payback for him. Just as it hadn’t been about hatred. He’d been pushing me.

To be better.

To grow stronger.

To think smarter.

That was the only positive aspect of it, though.

He’d still fucked with me.

And it was still worrying because it was clearly an obsession—on his end.

On mine, I was just making damn sure he didn’t think he could walk all over me and get away with it. I gave back as good as I got.

That was all it was on my end.

Definitely.

Just that.

It would be insane for it to be anything else to me.

So it wasn’t.

In fact, I hated him.

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