Page 132 of Stricken

I sit down too. "Us being official." The words just tumble out of my mouth, casual. But there's absolutely nothing casual in the way I feel on the inside. It hurts to be the only one to know this relationship won't live long enough to see another anniversary.

I push the thoughts away. I want to be in the moment. With him.

A waiter materializes with a jar of water.

I don't mind the interruption. It's awkward, being this open about who I am in front of strangers. Even if they are just the staff who won't say anything. Not if they want to keep working in an establishment as such.

"So, anniversary as a couple?" Nico muses when the waiter is gone.

"Why not?" I say, perusing the menu.

"I like it."

My eyes skim over dishes, unable to concentrate on food. Instead, my attention keeps shifting to Nico, sitting across from me, all dressed up, cleanly shaved, looking magnificent. You wouldn't have guessed life has been dragging him through mud all this time. I'm only realizing this now myself, which only solidifies my decision.

When you truly love someone, sometimes you have to let them go. To sacrifice your own wants for the life they deserve.

The water comes and goes as we place our order, then he reappears with a bottle of wine.

Nico's eyes light up at the label, and I can't keep my smile at bay. When I drink, I'm a hard liquor man. I know nothing about the intricacies of wine-making, but of course, an Italian would have a refined palate for such things.

"I hope I chose something worth your while."

"Allow me?" he asks the waiter and grabs the bottle from him, then expertly pours us two glasses, tilting them slightly while he does so. He swirls the wine in his glass first, inhaling its aroma, then takes a sip and savors the flavors for a few seconds. His lips linger on the edge of the glass. "Da Vinci himself couldn't have chosen better," he finally says with that dumb smirk I've been missing so much. His gaze meets mine across the table. "Are you just going to stare at me?"

I realize I have indeed been staring. "I like what I see."

"Do you now?" He sets the glass back on the table. I feel the tip of his shoe brushing the bottom of my slacks. "And I like what I see."

Just then the food starts arriving, breaking the spell of sexual attraction for a short while.

As we eat, we engage in mundane small talk, discussing the nasty weather these past few days, the recent renovations at one of the restaurants Nico owns in LA, anything to avoid the elephant in the room. And the elephant is me and him together and our plans for the future. But as the night wears on, our conversation turns more personal. I find myself opening up about my brother's travels with Logan, his partner. I hardly tell anyone anything about Sasha. It's bad enough Shtyk is still in the wind and can try to use my brother again to get what he wants.

"Your turn," I prod, spearing a bite of my steak. "Any family members not in the... um, business?"

"Yes. Everyone knows Tony has a daughter. My cousin, Viola. She's in LA, studying acting or modeling, or being an influencer. Basically doing some girly things." He stops talking for a second, looking at his plate in front of him as if the food on it has hypnotized him. "I like that for her. She doesn't need to see what happened to her brothers. Especially Salvatore. To me, he was a bully when we were growing up but he was kind to his sister. Like any true brother would be."

"He chose his own path, Nico," I whisper. "He could have done what Roberto did. Just give up. But he chose to get tangled with that madman Toro and bring La Alianza into the city. It's bad for all the families in Vegas."

"I understand. Doesn't mean I can't feel shitty."

"Trust me I feel shitty too," I confess.

Nico chuckles. "Interesting. At first, I didn't think you could feel at all."

"Asshole."

"I'll take as a compliment."

"It was meant as one."

At that Nico laughs, and the sound warms me to my core. "Sounds like you have me all figured out, Vladimir," he teases.

Our banter flows effortlessly, like a dance we've honed to perfection over time. Yet tonight, an electric tension crackling beneath our words is real, physical. It's right there, on the tip of my tongue—the taste of his sweat and his cum, the feel of his body pressed up to mine.

And when an opening in the conversation appears, I take it. "I got us a suite downstairs."

Nico sets down his fork, his eyes locking with mine. "Is that so?" His voice suddenly drops to a lower register.

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