Page 128 of Stricken

He tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine, Vlad. Just... exhausted."

I reach out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The raindrops on his skin are cool beneath my fingertips, so contrasting to the strange broken heat of his gaze. "You're not fine," I murmur, my voice softening. "Talk to me. What happened with Tony?"

Nico's jaw clenches, and for a second, I think he might pull away. But then he exhales, his shoulders slumping. "It's complicated," he says, his voice a rough whisper. "Uncle, he... he wants things from me that I'm not sure I can give."

A sense of unease settles in the pit of my stomach. "What things?"

Nico shakes his head, his gaze drifting to the rain-streaked windows. "It doesn't matter." His hands come to rest on my chest. "Can we just... forget about everything else for a while?"

"Something happened, didn't it?" I murmur.

"I don't want to think about it right now." The tremor in his voice betrays him. He wrenches himself out of my grasp. "I knew coming here was a mistake." He heads for the door, yanking at the handle.

I'm after him. It's an impulse. It's like I feel him slipping through my fingers already, but I'm desperately trying to hold on to the last bit. Even if the inevitable is right around the corner.

"Come on, Nico!" I cry out, stalking down the hallway.

He enters the main room and this is where I catch up to him, grabbing his arm.

He jerks away. A hurtful motion.

"You know that everything that concerns your uncle concerns me too, right?" I say, steeling my voice. "So stop being a fucking child and tell me what happened?"

Nico halts to a stop in the middle of the living room. "I don't need you patronizing me," he hisses out, shoving his index finger into my chest.

"You're forgetting my men are still working overtime to make sure the Brazilian shipment is safe. The Armenians are impatient. They've been sending their muscle here almost every night. Body parts will fly soon if we don't make a decision."

His anger seems to dissipate slightly at this reminder. In a blink, he's at the bar, pouring himself a tumbler of whatever is open with shaking hands. He throws it back in one desperate gulp. The glass hits the bar with a harsh clink.

I step closer and ask carefully, "Should we return it to your uncle?"

Nico's knuckles go white around the glass. "I… I don't know."

Gently, I take his face in my hands, turning him to look at me. Anguish swims in those eyes I know so well. "Nico, talk to me. Please."

He takes a shuddering breath. "Tony gave me a choice. Leave you… and I gain control of everything once he's retired. The whole Morelli empire."

My pulse roars in my ears as the pieces click into place with sickening clarity. This is what Tony wanted. This is the wedge he would drive between us.

Deep down I knew it. But I refused to believe it.

I search Nico's tormented expression. The silence stretches, heavy with questions held back. With emotions that threaten to swallow me.

In this breathless, aching moment, I realize I am more terrified of his answer than anything I have ever faced. Because losing him… losing him would be a wound I could never survive.

Instead, I suck in the air through my teeth and try to breathe, try to control the narrative before it controls me.

"Do you want to accept his offer?" I brush my thumb over Nico's chin as I speak. "I won't stop you if that's what you choose."

Something flashes across his face and I see tears welling in those blue eyes. "I can't, Vlad. I… I can't leave you."

His voice breaks on the words, and it takes every ounce of my self-discipline not to pull him into my arms and tell him to screw Tony and his offer. We'd be okay ruling my empire. Instead, I ask softly, "Why, Romeo?"

Nico's gaze locks with mine, raw. "You know why, Hot Shot." He smiles bitterly. "You feel it too, don't you? This thing between us… it's real. It's always been real."

My heart clenches at his confession. He's got more guts than I do. He said it out loud. And for that, he has my respect. Slowly, I trail my fingers along his jawline, savoring the rasp of stubble against my skin. "Then perhaps it's time we stop pretending otherwise."

His eyes darken. "Perhaps you're right."

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