Page 62 of Vicious Heir

Cool, Evelina.

“Do you always scream for fun or…?” Nicco asks as I head to the bed and plop down onto it.

If he weren’t so fucking hot, none of this would even matter to me. It’s much easier to make a fool out of yourself in front of people who are not ungodly attractive, it seems. Because in this Greek god of a man’s presence, I feel like a fumbling idiot. It’s a way I’ve never felt before, and guilt clutches at my chest like a vise.

I’m tired of feeling guilty about a man who did nothing but deceive me.

Niccolò sits down on the bed across from me and points to a wet spot in the shape of my upper half on the bedsheets.

“You always get night sweats like that, or is it a pregnancy thing or something?” he asks, and my mind immediately pushes away all talks of this baby.

“I’ve had them for years,” I tell him, unwilling to divulge any further information about why I have them. “So,” I say, deciding that we’re just going to avoid our conversation from yesterday and go back to the way we’re meant to be—enemies.

Enemies who are apparently going to use each other for protection. Or at least, my enemy will be protecting me.

“Are you planning on letting me out of here, or am I going to be your prisoner too? I wonder how many men I can be held captive by in one lifetime?” I sarcastically muse before realizing I don’t want to get into it.

He just sighs as he leans backward on the bed, the front of his suit jacket splaying open and revealing a black button-down shirt.

Eventually, I’ll need to get my emotions in check, but clearly today won’t be that day. A man in a suit has always been my weakness. And Niccolò Amato in an all-black suit? Ugh.

“Did we not just have a conversation yesterday about me protecting you?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he narrows his stare at me. “Why is it so damn hard to get you to just accept a fraction of help?”

I told him the only way I would marry him is if he bought me, and that didn’t go as planned. So we don’t have a deal or anything. Technically, he could let me just go and be done with all of this. Be done with me.

“Are you aware that I do not need help? You mafia men think women are just waiting on all of you to save them, when in reality, you fuck us up more than anything or anyone else.” My tone is a bit harsher than I intended, but it clearly gets the point across because he slowly nods and stands up.

“We’re on the same page, then, aren’t we?” he asks, looking me over from head to toe. “I believe I told you I’m nothing when it comes to you. I’m well aware that if I got close to you, even a little bit, I’d fucking be your demise.”

He shakes his head as if he can’t believe he’s speaking the words out loud.

“Good! Then don’t!” I shout and immediately regret the words.

My big-ass mouth and my inability to just say what it is I want once again are winning.

“What fucking happened to you yesterday? Where did that Evelina go? She was soft, and her walls weren’t up like Fort fucking Knox.” Niccolò rubs at the back of his neck as he turns and walks to my open door.

“That Evelina is gone. She’s been gone. That was an unfortunate, ugly mistake I made because I was weak,” I say, and although it’s how I feel…I don’t want to. I don’t fucking want to feel this way. But I have to because it’s the only way I can protect myself. “I can and I will protect myself. I do not need you, or any man, frankly, to help me.”

I run my fingers through my hair and push it behind me onto my back. My blood is boiling, and it’s not just because I’m angry with him. I’m angry withme. I’m angry at my inability to remain soft, to allow him to care for me.

“Well, that’s a damn shame, isn’t it?” he asks, and then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I quickly follow, my footsteps thudding against the floor as I swing the door open and run to catch up to him. His strides are long, and he’s already made it to the stairs when I spot him.

“Hello?” I call out, unwilling to let this go. Needing to see my bullshit through because this is what I’ve become.

A woman who is hell-bent on being strong and needing to push away any act of kindness for fear it may result in feeling something other than nothing.

“So, I’ll catch you around, then. I won’t be here when you get back. Goodbye. I’m sure I’ll see you when you decide to come around stalking me again.”

Although I have no idea where I’ll go.

I can’t stay in Chicago.

I can’t go home.

Anywhere but here or there, I suppose.

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