The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(114)

He’d kept her safe while she went on some mission in fucking East Tremont. If I would’ve stopped her before she could go through with her plan, that ring would still be on her finger, I’d still believe she was in love with another man, and she’d still be harboring secrets until she felt her conscience was clean.

I got up, took a piss, and slipped on a pair of boxer briefs before going to see what my thieving wife was doing.

The news played quietly in the living room while she stood in front of the stove, wearing one of my t-shirts that stopped at the bottom of her ass. Her messy black hair trailed down her back, and, for fuck’s sake, my chest grew all warm at the sight. I walked up behind her and slid a palm beneath the hem of her shirt.

She yelped, throwing a hand on her chest. “Oh my god, Nico! You scared me.”

Good. Maybe she felt an ounce of what I did yesterday.

I rubbed her bare ass cheek before pulling her against me and looking over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make you breakfast.”

I eyed the burnt eggs in the pan. “Not going so well, huh?”

“No,” she sighed.

I chuckled. “You’re a bad cook, baby.” She got distracted too easily, by anything and everything: the TV, reading, eating cereal, painting her nails. She had the attention span of a kid. “If you want it done right you have to stand by the stove until it’s finished.”

“I did this time, I swear,” she insisted. “But then Mamma called your cell phone, so I answered, and she was going on and on about being ‘worried sick’ because my phone wasn’t working. I told her it must have died or something.”

Yeah, didn’t really care to share that it was currently lying in pieces on my living room floor. In fact, we were staying here until Luca had someone go clean the mess up so Elena wouldn’t know I’d lost my goddamn mind and destroyed the house. And because she reminded me she’d made me act like a lunatic again, I slapped her ass hard.

“Ow!” she exclaimed. “What was that for?”

“Stealing from me. Lying to me. Pick one.”

She went still, her guilt-ridden thoughts swirling in the air around us. I sighed, turned her around, and pressed her face into my chest. She wrapped her arms around me, and satisfaction hummed in my throat.

Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted a thing she’d told me last night, but I did. I’d thought she was difficult to read before, but that might be because I found it hard to focus on her face. Now, I could see her thoughts leak into her soft brown eyes and hear them in her voice. She had a long way to go to be a Russo, but hell, I’d walk with her the whole way.





A sharp sting on my butt cheek caused me to spin around, narrow my eyes, and rub the sore spot.

Nico glared at me with a towel in hand that he’d just used as a whip. He only wore a pair of black boxer briefs, and his hair was still wet from our shower.

“Explain what’s happening tonight again.”

I rolled my eyes like I was put out, but in reality, I had to bite my cheek to hold in a smile as I turned to walk into the bedroom. “Male strippers. You know, men who dance while taking their clothes off.”

Nico and I had spent another night at the penthouse, though I would rather go home. I stayed entertained by smothering myself with him day and night, so I guessed it didn’t matter where we were, as long as he was near.

I’d gotten a call from my mamma at eight a.m. and Nico had handed me his phone and fell back asleep while I chatted about my bachelorette party tonight—hence him snapping my ass with a towel.

I headed to my bag that sat on the dresser and dug through it for some clothes before he could welt my bare skin again.

He walked up behind me. “There’s not a chance some man’s putting his hands all over you, Elena.”

I turned, my lips pulling into a frown. “Do strippers touch?”

“It’s called a fucking lap dance, baby,” he growled.

“Oh,” I said nonchalantly and turned back around. “Good to know.”

“Good to know, why?”

“I’ll have to shave.”

That comment got me tossed on the bed, and I was laughing before I hit the mattress.

“Who the hell thought it was okay for you to have strippers at your party?” he said, exasperated.

“God, you’re crazy. I was just messing with you! We’re going to a burlesque show.” I sighed, leaning back on my arms. “You’re no fun to play with.”

He stood at the end of the bed with narrowed eyes. “Am I supposed to find other men touching you funny?”

Something vulnerable climbed up my throat. “You’re full of double standards, Nico. I know you’re going to a strip club tonight, and I know how happy everyone will be to chip in for all your lap dances.” I knew there was no way to keep this man out of a strip club—I was sure he owned one or several—but the idea of some woman with her hands on him made me feel sick.

“How do you know where I’m going? I haven’t even heard about it.”

“Benito told my mamma.”

“Benito.” He grimaced. “How would that asshole know?”

How could he not like my cousin? Everyone liked Benito.

“What else would you do, Nico?” A strip club was the tamest thing possible for a Made Man’s bachelor party. One of my older cousins had gotten married last year and there were hookers rented out for the night. I only knew that because Benito texted me to ask how to know a woman wanted him if she’d already been paid to sleep with him.