Page 23 of Owning Nicci

Instead, I stay quiet. Compliments would only bring us closer, and I need to keep that wall up. That reminder that she’s a possession. Something that belongs to me. A trophy.

I avoid her until the evening, when I bring her the outfit that I chose for her tonight. A long, slinky, teal silk gown, one that I know will look stunning on her.

She’s sitting on the bed when I walk in, legs hanging over the edge, pressed tightly together. I see her flinch when I step inside, that momentary urge to cover herself that I always see her fight. Her hands clutch the side of the bed, and her gaze slowly rises to meet mine.

“Is that what I’m wearing?” she asks neutrally, but I see the way her mouth tenses ever so slightly. She resents being told what to wear. Resentsme. And a small part of me, one that I’ve buried and tried to silence, whispers that she has a right to. That I’ve taken every part of her agency, her decision-making, and stripped it from her.

But I’ve given her back something, too—or I will have, once this mission of assassinating the remaining Crows begins. And why shouldn’t I take what I want? After all, that’s whattheytried to do. My father, my brother. Only they failed, in the end, where I’ll succeed.

Nicci rises up from her chair, gracefully, and takes the dress from my hand. “Thank you, sir,” she says smoothly, and I can picture her suddenly in a different place, a different setting. In a ballroom, maybe, at someone’s gala, dressed in teal silk with her hair piled on her head, holding out her hand to me as she speaks in that same silky, softly French-accented voice.

And then I snap back to reality. To her as she is now, naked, standing in front of me and reaching for the clothesI’mallowing her to wear, completely at my mercy.

“I’ll bring you jewelry and makeup in a moment,” I tell her. “We’ll leave in an hour.”

There are still a few bruises—the worst ones faded to a sickly green and yellow. Every time I see them, something clenches tight in my stomach, a possessive anger sweeping over me. Andevery time, I force it back down, because it shouldn’t matter to me now.

Whoever touched her before never will again. She’sminenow, but I’m not foolish enough to pretend that she always has been. And beyond the uses I have for her, she means nothing to me. I shouldn’t care that someone grabbed her hard enough to leave bruises that take weeks to heal, maybe even struck her to leave marks like that.

I shouldn’t care.

I clear my throat, taking a step back. “I’ll be back in a moment,” I tell her, and retreat to collect the jewelry and makeup that I had a shopping assistant purchase for this evening.

An hour later, Nicci comes downstairs, transformed. I’ve seen her in that garish outfit that the club made her wear, I’ve seen her in workout clothing, and I've seen her naked. But this is a Nicci from a different time—from the time when my brother knew her, maybe. Glittering like a diamond, sleek, polished, a jewel meant for rarefied society.

The teal silk dress fits her perfectly, skimming over the slender, angular lines of her body, the thin straps so fragile that I know I could break one of them with a twitch of my finger. Long slits run up either side of the dress, ostensibly to show off her long, slender legs, but I know the true point of them—to make sure she can move when it comes down to it, maneuver in a fight.

A pair of diamond earrings twinkle at her ears, simple studs, nothing that can be grabbed or twisted in a fight. Similarly, I didn’t give her a necklace or bracelet to wear. Just the dress, earrings, and a pair of sleek heeled pumps, which Nicci assured me she can move in as easily as flat shoes.

“If I can dance in those ridiculous heels they gave me at the club, I can run and move in regular heels,” she’d said, almostdismissively, and for once I’d let her attitude go. She’d had a point—and beyond that, once again, I was impressed.

She impresses me more often than she should, more often than I want for her to.But then again,I remind myself as I watch her move towards me, sleek and graceful,art is impressive. Art can be admired. But it’s still owned.

Nicci looks at me, flicking the skirt of her dress sideways to show the thigh holster hidden under it. “Well,sir?”

I don’t fail to notice the hint of sarcasm in her emphasis onsir, and not for the first time, I wonder if it’s really wise to arm this woman with a gun. But I slide the handgun into her thigh holster all the same, the knife on the other side, as Nicci lets her dress fall back into place and gives me the first genuine smile I think I’ve ever seen on her face.

“Let’s go hunt a Crow,” she says, and I can hear the venom on her tongue.

Our target is supposed to be at a party tonight—not one of the grand charity galas or dinner parties that the major families in the city throw. But a smaller gathering—One that’s still above his pay grade—but Lucas Giacometti is there tonight on behalf of his new boss, meeting a potential client.

I was careful in my research, making sure that nothing about Lucas’ business at this party connects back to the Yashkovs or the Gallos, nothing that could complicate my own plans. I wouldn’t have hesitated to put a stop to this entire plot if it might have. But there’s no connection that I could find, so the plan goes ahead.

Nicci is tense on the drive to the party, her hands folded in her lap, fingers knitted together. She doesn’t look at me, her gaze glued to the city lights passing by outside, and I have the sudden urge to reach for her, to drag her focus back to me. But I don’t—not because I care about how she’s feeling, I tell myself firmly. Because I don’t want to distract her, upset her, when I need herto focus on the task ahead. This is dangerous, and if she falters or fails, it could putmein danger.

I ignore the odd throb that I feel in my chest at the idea of her being hurt again, dismissing it as a possessive instinct over something that’s mine.

The car pulls up to the venue. The driver comes around to open the door for me, then for Nicci. I feel tension ripple through me—this is the first time I’ve been to an event here in the city since my return. But it’s unlikely that anyone will recognize me here, and even if they do, I’m fine with it. Let the rumors start swirling that Savio Valenti is back in Manhattan, that the disgraced capo’s son who disappeared has made his reappearance. Rumors like that create mystery, intrigue, and that’s fine with me.

Even if it gets back to other, more important ears, it’s alright. They’ll wonder what I’m going to do, how I’m going to make my entrance.

Walking into the venue, I notice something shift in Nicci. She’s alternated between shrinking and being furious with me, but here, I see something come over her. Her shoulders straighten, her chin tips up. She’s poised, and yet there’s a relaxation in her too, as if she’s in her element. As if she’s stepped back into a world that makes sense to her.

“Remember the plan,” I say quietly. “We’ll go get drinks, and I’ll stay at the bar. You look for Lucas. Seduce him into taking you back to his apartment. I’ll follow as soon as I see the two of you leave.”

Nicci nods, following me to the bar. We each order a drink—an Old Fashioned for me and a gin and tonic for her—and she takes her glass, slender fingers wrapping around it as she moves into the crowd, looking for Lucas.

I feel the leash that I have on her lengthen, going taut, and I resist the urge to yank it back. I lean against the bar, sipping mydrink, focusing on the burn of the whiskey down my throat as I watch her pinpoint her target—ourtarget—and head toward him with the swiftness of a great white shark cutting through water.

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