Page 68 of Stricken

"No, listen to me," he interrupts, his hand finding mine in the darkness. "You're already a target. Every step you take with us puts you in more danger from my family. Salvatore is unpredictable. If he's willing to undermine Tony's word, he won't blink when it comes to an outside threat. I can't ask you to risk your life for this."

It's the truth I cannot deny. But there's a deeper truth, one that simmers in the very marrow of my being.

"You didn't ask," I reply. "I chose this path. I offered help. My decision. Not yours. You can't talk me out of it now."

Silence stretches between us, a fragile bridge made up of our fears. Nico's hand tightens around mine, his touch searing through the chill that has settled in my body. In that moment, I realize the depth of my own statement.

I have chosen him, not the path, time and time again. Over power, over the drone of an old ghost who would see me drown in blood.

"Caro," Nico whispers, his gaze flicking away before returning to mine. "If something happened to you, I–"

"Shh," I breathe, brushing my fingertips against his lips. "Nothing's going to happen to me. I'm too stubborn for that."

A sad smile quivers on his lips, creasing the corners of his mouth. "I know." He sighs. "And that's the problem."

"How about this?" I supply. "In exchange for my assistance with your family matters, if I ever need your help, you'll return the favor. Sound good, Romeo?"

Nico stares at me with those intense eyes the color of a winter lake. "Alright," he whispers eventually.

Then he leans in, his nose brushing mine, his lips finding my lips.

Mouths finally meet, tentative at first, a question and an answer all at once. My hands reach up to grab at his shirt and I groan, my grip tightening on the fabric as I pull him closer. He responds in kind, his fingers digging into my hair as the intensity of the kiss deepens.

We are lost in each other, the city and the desert around us vanishing into nothing. Our tongues dance together, desperately seeking out every inch of the other. He tastes like sweet promises and I find myself craving more. So much more.

As we break for air with our breaths mingling in the confined space of the car, I know that I would walk through the fires of hell and back for this man. For this feeling.

This kiss right here and now is different, more than a fleeting moment of something that has an expiration date. It's a seal, a sacred bond that transcends the boundaries of our warring worlds.

It's the taste of the forbidden fruit of hope, a dangerous elixir that threatens to unravel the careful tapestry of my ambitions. And as his fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me back to him, I surrender to this insanity fully.

When the time comes, ending things between us will be like tearing out a piece of my own soul, leaving a gaping wound that will never truly heal. It will be the hardest thing I'll ever have to do.

For his sake, not mine, I repeat in my head. For his sake, not mine.

CHAPTER24

NICO

The plate before me is a messy canvas of untouched eggs and bacon, a still life of my unraveling world. My fork hovers, poised to pierce the second yolk, but my hand freezes in the air as my mind latches on to some other crazy idea of how to fix this mess I'm in. Vlad said to sit tight. Yes, this was his exact expression. Sit tight and wait while he's working out the details and talking to people.

Around me, the kitchen bustles. It's a racket of clanging pots and sizzling pans, yet I'm drowning in silence.

Last night's discovery is death itself perched on my chest. It pulses in my mind like a toxic heartbeat.

"SignoreNicola, is everything alright with your breakfast?" Maria, one of our longtime cooks, peers at me with concern.

I force a smile. "Sì, grazie. Just lost in thought."

She nods, unconvinced, and returns to her task of peeling vegetables for Chef Trombetta, who's apparently preparing dinner for the family tonight again. The women chat in both English and Italian, discussing Trombetta's explosive temper. Kitchen staff here at the house don't like him, but Uncle does. So, that's that.

After hearing enough gossip, I push the plate aside. My appetite is as absent as my peace of mind.

The risks of this alliance with Vlad dance through my head like smoke rings, beautiful and ephemeral, yet choking. Each possibility branches into a labyrinth of consequences. If we succeed stealing back the shipment from Salvatore, we gain power, leverage.

But at what cost?

And is Vlad really helping me or is he helping himself?

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