Nico (Ruin & Revenge #1)(64)



“I’m sorry, bella,” he said, finally. “But I have to decline.”

“Why?” She didn’t want to know, but she did.

“I’m engaged.”

“Ah.” Her breath left her in a rush. Of all the scenarios she had imagined, of all the responses she had prepared for, she hadn’t even considered that he might be with someone else. But why wouldn’t he be? He was rich, powerful, devastatingly handsome, charming, protective and utterly compelling. She had been a fling for him, but nothing more. Her world fell out from under her and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even consider … I thought when you … when we … that was wrong of me.” She pushed her chair away, and her napkin fell to the floor. “I feel so stupid. I mean, it’s not like we were in love or anything, or I thought it would be real, but I was desperate … my sister … I needed help, and … of course, you can’t—”

“Mia.” A pained expression crossed his face, the first hint he felt anything for her at all.

“No. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else. I knew it was a bad idea anyway. I don’t want to be married into the mob. My whole life has been about escaping my Mafia roots. I’m sure I would have made your life a living hell in the short time we were together, even if it wasn’t real. I would actually be a terrible mob wife. I can’t cook. I’m awkward in social situations. I always use the wrong fork at the table. I’m not easy to live with. I’m very messy, listen to loud music, dress weird, eat a lot of unhealthy food, and I never screw the top on the toothpaste. I’m glad you found someone who does want the life, though. I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely.” Her bag fell off the end of the chair as she slid off her seat. Hand shaking, she bent to pick it up and rose too quickly, snagging her stocking on the rough metal piping of the chair.

Her face flamed, and her pulse beat so hard all she could hear was the frantic pounding of her heart.

“Mia. Wait.” Nico stood, his chair making a high-pitched shriek as it scraped over the floor.

Suddenly the enormity of the situation hit her in a rush, and she began to unravel. For five days she had focused on this meeting, hope giving her the courage to carry on. But now there was nothing to hold her up, no one to catch her as she fell. She stepped back to get away, stumbling on the uncomfortable, unfamiliar heels. She grabbed the chair for balance and tipped it backward to the floor.

No. She was not going to humiliate herself further by falling on her face. She steadied herself, took a deep breath and then turned and walked out the door as the run in her nylons zipped up the back of her thigh.

*

Nico opened the throttle on his Ducati Superbike and turned off the road toward the Valley of Fire State Park. The winding roads through colorful cliffs, and past Lake Mead, were the best part of the journey. Usually he rode to relax and take his mind off all the responsibilities of being a capo, the constant need to assert his power, the delicate balancing act between illegitimate and legitimate businesses, the risk of violence, and the even greater risk of being caught. But today, he saw nothing except the asphalt rushing up to greet him, felt nothing but the cold mountain air on his face, and heard nothing except the rev of his engine and the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

He wanted to get away, and yet the road would take him back. Back to the promise he whispered as his father died. Back to the legacy his father had left him and the responsibility of caring for a family that was now a mix of crime and blood.

From the Cadillac he drove, to the Vacheron Constantin watch he wore, and from his Brioni suits, to his Italian leather shoes, he was everything his father wanted him to be. And yet there were chinks in his armor. Small defiances that only his mother would understand: the ink on his body, the leather jackets, boots and jeans he preferred to wear, the bike he rode weekly into the desert in search of something he hadn’t realized was missing until he held Mia in his arms.

He wanted her.

He wanted her with a ferocity that took his breath away.

He wanted her with every drop of his bastard blood.

He wanted her on his bike and in his bed. He wanted her by his side and beneath his body.

What would it be like to have a woman with her strength by his side? A woman who defied convention, forged her own path, and knew her own mind. A woman who at once challenged and infuriated him, seduced and resisted him. A woman who was prepared to sacrifice herself for her family, to give herself to him for the rest of her life.

And he’d said no.

Torn between doing his duty to his family and following his heart’s desire, bastard in all ways, he’d said no.

Nothing in his life had cut him as bad as watching her crumble. There was nothing in his life he regretted more than causing her pain.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He had rehashed the terrible meeting over and over in his mind, and every time bile rose in his throat, and guilt wracked his soul. He remembered everything in painfully excruciating detail—the way her hand shook when she gave him the contract, the chipped, painted nails, the mask that hid her beautiful skin, her clear discomfort in the hideous pink outfit, the bun that hid her glorious hair, the way she wobbled on her heels, the hope that had shattered in her face.

His heart ached at the thought of his brave, strong Mia; so desperate she would dress in the clothes she hated and offer herself willingly into a life she despised, so afraid she would ask for help.

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