Nico (Ruin & Revenge #1)(71)

He joined Mia on the couch and looked out over the city spread out below them. His father thought of Vegas as a punishment, but Nico had always loved the city. It was all about glitz and glamour, hope and dreams, energy and opportunity, none of which were reflected in his presidential suite.

“If you were decorating, what would you do different?” Mia pulled a cushion on her lap and hugged it tight. “How would you make it yours?”

“Never thought about it.”

“Oh.”

He looked over, saw her face fall, realized his own walls had come up and she was trying to get them down. Fuck. He hadn’t expected it to be as bad as this. It was like there was a bridge between them that they were both afraid to cross.

“Come here.” He held out his hand, and she scooted sideways along the couch until she was only one cushion away. Nico leaned over, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. Almost instantly, he felt something click, and she softened against him with a sigh.

“Try.”

Nico twisted his lips, tried to remember a place he’d stayed or a picture he’d seen or something that had resonated with him when he was fitting out the hotel. “Il Tavolino.”

She laughed, leaned against his shoulder. He felt an overwhelming need to carry her to the bedroom, strip off their clothes, and lie with her skin to skin, find the connection that had brought them together in the first place. But he knew better than to push. Sex was the white elephant in the room between them, the consummation of the marriage. If she needed to go slow, he would rein himself in. Control. He exercised it every minute of every day. It was just much harder with Mia, who made him want to let go and indulge the streak of wild that coursed through his veins.

“You want to live in a restaurant?”

“That restaurant. It’s Old Vegas, Hollywood, and the golden days of the Mafia all wrapped up into one.”

She rested her hand on his chest, right above his heart. “Let’s say you have an Il Tavolino–style office where you can pretend you’re an old-school gangsta. What about the rest of the home? What is modern Nico all about? Start with a color. How about black?” She sounded so hopeful he almost didn’t want to answer.

“Deep purple.” He waved his hand over the room. “Polished granite floors, dark walls, black furniture, purple furnishings, exposed pipes in the ceiling painted black, lots of small lights that would look like stars.”

“Industrial,” she said. “Modern.”

“Fireplace.” He started to get into it as a room took shape in his mind. “Thick purple rug in front of it.”

“Romantic.” She slid down until she lay with her head in his lap. Nico stroked her hair, contemplating the fictitious room of his dreams.

“Floor to ceiling windows everywhere and one wall taken up with a massive piece of art.”

Mia looked up. “Street Art? Vintage? Pop Art? Fine Art?”

“Picasso. Blue Nude. Simple. Clean. But sensual.”

She reached up, brushed her finger along his jaw. “Sad, but erotic. Primitive. He was one of the ‘wild beasts,’ Did you know that?”

“No.” He caught her finger, brought it to his lips, smiling. “Are you saying I’m a wild beast?”

She laughed. “I think you have a wild side or we would have passed each other by. I’m the family black sheep, if you didn’t notice. Even when I was a child, I didn’t fit in. I was more interested in blocks and trains and math and computer games than clothes or makeup. I was a girl who was everything my father wanted in a son.”

He pressed her palm against his cheek. “I was a boy who was everything my father wanted in a legitimate son. He didn’t want any reminders of my mother after she died, so I learned how to hide that side of me.”

“What was she like?”

“She was the love of his life.” He leaned down and kissed Mia lightly on the lips. She tasted of vodka, naughty and sweet. “She didn’t give a damn how a Mafia mistress was supposed to act. She drank whiskey instead of wine; she wore crazy, colorful clothes; she loved to gamble…” He felt uncharacteristically maudlin in his reminiscences, uncomfortably exposed, but if Mia needed this from him, he would not deny her.

“A hard liquor love like me. I think I would have liked her.” Mia sat up, straddled his lap. Nico struggled against his instinct to shut down and take control. He didn’t do vulnerable, and she was pushing him right to the edge.

“How did she die?”

“Drunk driver.” He ran us off the road in the Valley of Fire. Our car went down a cliff. I survived without a scratch, but she didn’t make it. He crashed on the next corner so he never paid for his crime.”

“Oh God, Nico. How awful.” She pressed a soft kiss to his neck and he stared out over the city, caught in a memory he had buried long ago. Hushed whispers. Angry voices. His nonna in a rage like he’d never seen before when his father brought Nico to live with her. Even as a child, he knew it would have been seen as a dishonor to his father’s legitimate wife to have the evidence of his affair under her roof.

“You never had justice for your father, either,” she said quietly.

“No.” He realized then what had been bothering her all night, why she had been so wary around him. “You’re worried about the vendetta.”