Page 93 of Stricken

Nico exhales sharply through his nose and wraps his toned arms around my torso from behind, resting his jaw on my shoulder. The heat of his body seeps through the cotton of my shirt. I can feel his heart hammering against my back, the wild rhythm betraying his inner turmoil beneath the expensive Brioni suit.

We stand like that for several long moments, silently sharing this new burden, breathing in sync while the city keeps on living on below, ignorant and uncaring of the machinations of men like us. Two solitary islands, temporarily bridged.

Finally, I pivot in his embrace to face him directly, our noses nearly brushing. I search his blue eyes, noticing the tightness around them, the unspoken distress hiding in their depths. An entire conversation passes between us in that loaded gaze, no words necessary. An understanding of our mutual isolation.

"It was a fucking shit show," Nico whispers. "The entire city will know by morning." His voice trembles with barely suppressed emotions.

I nod slowly. "I'm fine with it. How about you? Are you fine with it?" I cup his face in my hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

"I'm tired of this archaic bullshit," he finally says. "How can loving another man be considered weakness, when it's anything but. Especially for a man in my position. It takes fucking guts to go against the world." The fire in his eyes burns bright again.

Pride swells within me. This man has so much to lose, yet he doesn't back down.

"I'd say you're a coward if you don't have the guts to love who you truly want just because someone tells you you are not allowed to." I wish for a moment, I had the strength to do what Nico did—go against my family, my father. Tell Yuri to shove it. But I didn't. And now I'm going to do everything I can to make the one who did happy.

"Did I ever tell you how grateful I am for all that you've done for me?" he murmurs, tilting his head slightly into my touch and kissing my hand.

I press my lips to his cheek, a brief, reassuring contact. "I don't think you did but you don't ever have to."

Another endless moment passes between us. And I understand talking business seems coldhearted but we have to. We can't afford to relax for long. Decisions still need to be made.

"Nico, listen," I start. "We must think it through." My voice hardens. "The shipment... it is too risky to keep it now."

Nico frowns. "That's true. Vartan can become a problem for both of us if we don't handle it." His jaw clenches, showing his frustration. "Damn it, Vlad, I hate this! I hate having to choose between what's right and what's safe!"

A hand on his chin, I force him to meet my gaze. "I know, Nico. I understand better than anyone. Trust me. But it's not mine. It belongs to your family, so it's up to you. What do you want to do?"

"With Sal on the loose, I don't want to risk it. He's reckless enough to start messing with the network. Two days. Let's see what he does first."

"Then it's decided. We keep the shipment for two days and after we reassess the situation."

Nico's gaze drifts away. "There's something else," he says eventually, his voice low and tight. "Tony's new security detail. I saw him at the restaurant. The Sicilian…"

Nico's words trails off, but the unease in his tone speaks volumes. I study his face—the curve of his brow, the clenched teeth.

"Who is this Sicilian?" I ask carefully, knowing full well when an Italian family commissions someone from Sicily, it can't be good.

"I don't like it, Vlad. The way he watched, the way he moved. Like a viper. He's more than just added muscle. It's a message."

I step closer, my hand coming to rest on Nico's shoulder, a reassuring anchor. "We'll handle it. I'll have my men keep eyes on him at all times. He won't make a move without us knowing."

The worry doesn't fade from Nico's eyes. "You don't understand, Vlad. These people are born and bred for this life. Trained killers from the cradle. Loyalty to the family above all else in exchange for being allowed to breathe. He won't hesitate. Won't feel a damn thing putting a bullet between your eyes if he's ordered to."

A chill slithers down my spine. I know people like this. Yuri's army. Shtyk's one of soldiers. The only difference between him and Nico's Sicilian is that Shtyk came to Yuri too late. He's greedy and vindictive and has fucking ambitions.

"We'll just have to be smarter," I supply. "Anticipate every angle. And if it comes to it..." I let the unspoken threat linger. The rest is up to Nico.

He shakes his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips. "Always the protector." His hand comes up to my head and he dips his fingers into my hair, brushing the strands back. "My Vlad."

The way he utters my name, the ache of longing in his voice, stirs that primal itch in me. I skim my fingers of the soft skin on his face, capturing his lower lip. He turns slightly and grabs my thumb between his teeth. A shudder ripples through me as he swirls my tongue around the digit, sucking lightly.

Need erupts between us, a living current. Our mouths crash together, the kiss deep and hungry and desperate. Nico's fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me closer as if he wants to crawl inside my skin.

We rut against each other, panting into the kiss. I can feel the hard length of him grinding against my thigh, my own arousal pulsing in response. Nico consumes my senses—the taste of him, the musk of his skin, the needy little sounds spilling from his lips as I shove another finger into his mouth.

I'm lost in him, drowning, and I never want to resurface. Never want to go back to reality.

There's no finesse in our undressing, just a frenzied tangle of hands and fabric until we stand before each other, naked and aching. We kiss, this time with bite, cocks brushing, heat burning through every nerve.

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