Page 47 of Madness & Mercy
My jaw clenches. “You think this is funny?”
“No,” he says, finally setting the coffee down on the nightstand. “I think it’snecessary.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, casual as hell, like I’m not restrained and vibrating with rage.
“You broke out of my house, assaulted a member of my staff, tailed me to the club, then jumped me in my sleep,” he says, dragging his fingers up my thigh. “Forgive me for thinking you might need some… structure.”
“Fuck you.”
He hums, like I’ve just complimented him. “Maybe later.”
I pull against the cuffs again, metal clanking against wood. “You gonna let me out, or are you keeping me like some trophy?”
Nico’s hand slides higher, warm through the sheet. My stomach tightens.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he murmurs. “You look good like this. Pissed off. Helpless. Half hard.”
Ihatethat he’s not wrong.
“Don’t act like you’re doing this for me,” I grit out. “You’re just a control freak with a god complex.”
“Andyou,”he whispers, leaning closer until our noses nearly touch,“are a liar with a death wish.”
His breath ghosts over my lips, his fingers curling around my jaw.
“But you’reminenow. So we’ll find balance.”
I don’t even think. Ireact.
I spit in his face.
It lands square on his cheek, and for a split second, I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion. For the slap. The threat.Anything.
But Nico just blinks.
Then slowly, he wipes it with his thumb.
And licks it off.
My stomach twists. Not from disgust, but from the twisted, humiliating heat that coils low in my gut as he grins like the fucking devil himself.
He rises without a word, pulls a chair up to the edge of the bed, and sits with his legs spread, draping one hand over the backrest.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl, yanking on the cuffs again. “Uncuff me, asshole.”
He hums, his fingers drumming on the chair’s frame. “Cagniolo,in my family, we have a saying about trust…”
His gaze darkens, sharp as a knife.
“I don’t trust words. I question actions. But Ineverdoubt patterns.”
My blood runs cold.
He says it with such measured ease. Not as a threat. Not even an accusation, but a statement. One that cuts deeper than anything else could.
He knows something.
Or at least, hethinkshe does. Either way, that look in his eyes? It’s not the usual smugness. It’s calculation. Still calm. Still quiet.
