Page 11 of Madness & Mercy
I tilt my head. “Can I bum one?”
He turns to me slowly, his expression flat. “Do I look like I share?”
I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Got it. No smoking for the help.”
He takes a long, measured drag, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I was going to take you somewhere off-grid and shoot you in the back of the head,” he says. “But now I’m not so sure you’re the one I’m looking for.”
I blink. “Comforting.”
He keeps going, calm as ever. “Until I know for sure, you stay where I can see you. Consider yourself on averyshort leash.”
And there it is.
Exactly what I wanted.
“Fine by me,” I say, reclining in the seat and kicking my boots up onto the dash.
The slap comes fast, his gloved hand smacking hard across my thigh.
“Get your fucking feet off the dash,” he growls. “This car is worth more than your life.”
I scoff, dropping my feet with a grunt. “Wealthy pricks and their toys.”
He checks his watch—a Rolex, of course—and mutters something in Italian under his breath before starting the engine.
“At least tell me where we’re going,” I say.
His lips twitch, just barely.
“To my estate.”
I turn to look at him fully. “Seriously?”
“You heard me.”
He shifts gears, peels away from the curb, and merges into traffic like it’s a racetrack. The engine roars to life, speed climbing fast.
I grip the door. “Jesus, man. You’re doing, like, a hundred.”
“Ninety-seven,” he corrects, then revs the engine louder, just to prove a point. “What are you, a cop?”
I grind my teeth.
If only he knew.
The city fades behind us in a blur of concrete and dying light. Neon signs flicker past the windows, casting brief glows across Nico’s jawline, bone-cut sharp, and unreadable.
I can feel him watching me out of the corner of his eye, not constantly, just enough to let me know I’m being assessed like a threat he hasn’t decided how to neutralize yet.
The silence is thick.
And it’s him who breaks it first.
“You don’t look like a PI,” he mutters.
I raise an eyebrow. “And you don’t look like a man who needs one.”
