Page 61 of Owning Nicci

Nicci finishes her glass of wine, setting it aside. I feel her eyes on me, and after a moment, I hear the rustling of her book as she sets it aside on the coffee table, too.

“How long are we going to be here?” she asks quietly, and my heart does a quick stutter in my chest.

I set my own book down, turning to face her. “I suppose that partially depends on you.”

“On me?” She looks at me quizzically. “How so?”

“Do you feel well enough to go back? We’ll need to put together a plan for taking out Francis and Martin and then your father and brother. I have some information on the former, but you’ll need to fill me in on your thoughts about the latter. And then—” I break off because I still haven’t told her anything about Gallo, or about the ultimatum that Yashkov and Gallagher gave me.

“Ihavefelt well enough.” She looks at me almost crossly, and something in my stomach drops. “I’ve just been waiting for you to say the word.”

“I thought it was best for us to lay low for a few days. Given the…mess we left behind. But maybe we should start making plans, then.” Even as I say it, I can feel the reluctance to leave tugging at me.

“What do you know about Francis and Martin?” Nicci sits up, pouring herself another glass of wine, her attention fully on me. “They’re the last, as far as we know. Once they’re dealt with, Barca’s Crows will be finished.”

She seems eager to plan—eager to leave. I try to push aside the irrational disappointment I feel at that, and focus on her question instead.

“They own a restaurant,” I say slowly, reaching for the glass of whiskey I poured earlier. “A means to launder money, as far as I know, although it is operational—and fairly busy. I did a little recon before this last job, and it seems that on Thursdayevenings, they’re both there after closing. That seems to be the day they handle joint administrative tasks. If we hit the restaurant while just the two of them are there, we should be able to take them out.”

Nicci’s eyes glitter. “Let’s do it.” There’s an almost feverish look on her face, and I wonder if it’s at the prospect of finishing off the Crows—or at the fact that after that, her father and brother will be next.

“We’ll have to leave tomorrow.” I think, as I say it, that I catch a flash of disappointment on her face, but I can’t be sure. I know I feel it, cold in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that once we leave here, this fragile thing that I can feel blossoming between us will be lost, too. I have no intention of treating her as a submissive the way I did before, even once we’re back in New York, but the traces of the way things were before will be there in the penthouse, reminding us. Remindingher. The security I hired will be there, making her uncomfortable again.

It won’t be the same. But what I feel here, I remind myself, isn’t real. It’s the product of circumstance, of being in this close, secluded space, a manufactured intimacy. The reality is what’s back in New York. It’s the deal I made with Nicci, and nothing more. It’s the goal that I’ve been working toward for years.

“That’s fine.” Nicci sips her wine, looking contemplative. “Have you noticed that they have others there with them? Backup?”

I shake my head. “Most of these guys were all real low-level before they hooked up with Barca’s crew, and they’ve gone back to being low-level after. Not the type to have an entourage.”

Nicci nods. “Alright. You take one, I’ll take the other, then. I don’t care which.” She blows out a sharp breath. “I just want it done.”

She leans back against the back of the couch, tucking her feet under her, and takes another sip of her wine. I watch as shestares pensively into the distance— I don’t need to ask what she’s thinking about. It’s easy enough to imagine.

And what will I do when my deal with her is finished?The thought alone is enough to tell me that I don’t know. I’m no closer to making inroads with the other families. Yashkov and Gallagher have made it clear that they consider their alliances to be sacred—and that they’re not going to have any part in betraying Antony Gallo. I’m not sure that they’ll have any part in backing me, even if I find a way to take Gallo out on my own.

Which brings me to the other problem that having Nicci in my life—in any way—poses. If I kill Gallo, it will likely start a bloody war, one that I’m not entirely sure I can win. The desire to avoid that is why I spent so many years planning ways to make myself seem like a viable alternative to Gallo—and even if I can get Yashkov and Gallagher to see sense and call a truce, therewillbe bloodshed in the meantime. It would put Nicci in danger.

That’s made me falter, as much as anything else. I know it’s one of the reasons why I keep shying away from making a new plan—why, every time I think about it, I consider simply leaving. Accepting the ultimatum I’ve been given. Putting the past behind me in its entirety.

Is it failure, if I choose to walk away?I can’t decide. I’m not sure any longer if this is truly what I want or if it’s an echo of the past—something I can’t let go of simply because I’ve sunk so much into it for so long.

Nicci has no part in it, regardless. Even if I were successful in overthrowing Gallo, even if there was a truce, even if it all worked out—the other families wouldn’t accept Nicci as my wife. Gallagher wouldn’t approve of a disgraced socialite as my wife, one who’s been publicly embarrassed in front of most of New York’s society, and Dimitri?—

Well, the reasons why Dimitri would have no part of it are obvious. I’d start another war just by trying to introduce Nicci to him as my wife.

“I’m going up to take a shower.” Nicci drains the last of her wine from the glass, setting it back down, and I can tell from the way it tilts just a little that she’s slightly tipsy. I watch her go, standing up as well to gather the glasses and take them into the kitchen, and my gaze drifts down her body.

Fuck, I want her. Not in the way I did before, as a means of manipulation—I want to find out what it's like to have her in bed without all the other complications. I want something different from the rough fuck in the car or the times I dominated her, made her bend to my will. I want to find out what pleases her. I want to find out what she’d do to please me, free of any constraints or expectations.

I turn away, doing my best to ignore my thickening cock as I go to rinse the glasses out and clean up, before heading upstairs. I collect a pair of sleep pants and a fresh towel, setting them down on the bed just as the door to the bedroom opens, and Nicci steps in.

My cock instantly jerks the moment I see her. She’s wearing a pair of thin cotton shorts and a tank top, her damp blonde hair clinging to her shoulders, and my jaw tightens as my hands clench convulsively around the clothes and towel that I’m holding.

“I’m—” I swallow hard. “Did you use all the hot water?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Do you ever give a straight answer to a question?” I start to walk past her, but she smells like roses and vanilla, her skin radiating warmth, and I pause, so close to her that I could reach out and touch her. Reach out and kiss her, arealkiss, one full of nothing but desire.

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