The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(37)

I went to turn around, but he grabbed my wrist.

“You’re not going outside alone.”

“I saw some kitchen staff go out there.” I tried to shake off his grip, but that only brought his attention to my hand. His gaze darkened on my ring like he wanted to pull it off. I curled my fingers protectively because I believed he might just try it. When his grasp slipped from my wrist, I headed toward the back door.

“You’re not going outside with the kitchen staff.”

Treat him like family, right?

“Nicolas, go find someone else to boss around—”

I froze, my heartbeats slowing like they’d been dropped in molasses. He held me by the ponytail and kept me from taking another step, like it was a leash. My breath stopped when his front pressed against my back. He felt so warm, so good, I could have groaned if I had the air to do so.

With a small tug on my ponytail, my head tilted to the side and his lips brushed the hollow behind my ear. “Tell me what to fucking do again.”

My neck would be the most sensitive part of me if the obvious didn’t count. Goose bumps rose on my skin. His gravelly tone ran the length of my nape before trailing down my spine and between my legs. My back arched on reflex.

“You’re not going outside alone. And not with the kitchen staff either.”

With half-lidded eyes and a hazy mind, it took a moment to comprehend his words. I blinked, trying to clear my head.

“Do you have a lighter?” I was going outside, whether he liked it or not. My question left the suggestion open that he was invited, though I didn’t know why. This moment here proved I couldn’t treat him like family.

He gripped my waist and pushed me forward a step. He must have let my hair go and I hadn’t even noticed.

When he opened the alley door and humid August air brushed my face, I hesitated.

With his back pressed against the door, he held it open, his hands in his pockets. His stare was edged with something heated—maybe annoyance. He didn’t want to be out here with me.

The Sweet Abelli would have considered his feelings. I didn’t have to be her around him, though.

I stepped out to smoke with Nicolas Russo.





“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart.”

—Helen Keller





THE PAST HELD A SIMPLISTIC charm in my heart, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see the beauty in my complicated present. Urban development stretched to the sky, its pollution blocking the stars, but beneath it the magic of humanity lived on. There was good in the world, and I couldn’t understand how the blonde newscaster only focused on the unpleasant.

The alleyway was still, the kitchen staff having already dispersed. Tire noise, honking, and sirens were steady in the background, but even louder than that was the soft, harmonic lilt of a saxophone.

My heels clicked on the asphalt as I took a few steps toward the music. A certain reality settled on me: I didn’t have a spellbinding love story to bring to this world. The honest truth was, I only forced myself to enjoy tragic endings because I knew mine wouldn’t be far apart.

Warmth brushed my bare back, the whisper of a thrill trailing behind. I turned around to find Nicolas standing so close I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze. He took the cigarette from my fingers, put it between my lips, and then, with the metallic clink of a Zippo lighter with an ace of spades on the side, the mesmerizing glow of a flame flickered between us.

“This is the last cigarette you’re smoking, so enjoy it.”

I smiled, and as he lit the cigarette, I puffed slowly so I didn’t cough and come off as a rookie once again.

“Something funny?”

A soft laugh escaped me. “Yeah. You.”

With a pensive stare, he pulled the cigarette from my lips, brought it to his own, and inhaled.

I tilted my head, regarding him. “So, can I call you my fratello now?” I didn’t know why I’d said it, but it had just slipped through my lips as easily as air. Nicotine ran through my veins and lightened my tongue.

He looked at me, blowing out a breath of smoke above my head. We were standing so close his sleeve touched my arm. So close his presence obliterated mine. And there was nothing that felt familial about it.

He handed me the cigarette. “No.” It was a hard no, not one you debated with.

“Why not? You will be.”

His jaw ticked. “I’ll be your cognato, not your brother.”

“Same thing, really. You already have the controlling brotherly act down.”

His expression told me he wasn’t amused and he wasn’t going to participate in this conversation.

“You can call me your sorella. Maybe a sibling is what you need to realize the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

He let out a breath of amusement, but it sounded like he wanted to choke me. “Smoke your cigarette and shut up.”

I turned around to hide the ridiculous warmth that rushed to my cheeks and walked a few steps from him. The soft clicks of my heels in tune with the saxophone’s lilt was hypnotic. The nicotine must have been mixing with the alcohol in my system. Or maybe I was just drunk on his presence.

Spinning around, I leveled my gaze on him. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I don’t usually get assaulted twice in one weekend.”