Then he wasn’t.
But the thing that makes my blood boil more than anything else is that fucking picture of him and Braga.
My voice is a low snarl. “I’m killing Braga. Tonight.”
Luca doesn’t move.“That’swhat you’re worried about?” he asks. “Braga? Cross has been lying to you since day one.”
I grind my teeth. My breath comes slow and deep, my knuckles bone-white.
“I don’t fucking care,” I mutter. “He needs to die.”
“Alright, alright,” Luca says, pulling the drive free. “Take a breath. I’ll brief Enzo and start prepping for tonight. We’ll get the bastard. Don’t worry.”
“Give me the drive,” I murmur.
He pauses. “You sure?”
I don’t answer as I hold out my hand. He hesitates, then drops the small device into my palm.
I stare at it for half a second… then slam it against the concrete floor and grind it beneath my heel until it snaps with a satisfying crunch.
“Thefuck,Nico?” Luca snaps. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get that shit?”
But I’m already walking out the door.
“Make yourself useful and get everything ready for tonight,” I call over my shoulder, not stopping.
When I get outside, I tell Enzo to leave us, pull open the door to the Maserati, and slide back into the driver’s seat, doing my best to appear calm.
But Julian clocks it immediately.
“What the hell happened in there?”
I inhale slowly through my nose, but those goddamn images won’t leave me. Thebruises.The badge. The mugshots. The hollow look in his eyes. That tremor in his hand.
“Nothing,” I say flatly.
He narrows his eyes at me, unconvinced, but lets it go. For now.
“Alright,” he says, tapping the dash. “We’ve got some time to kill. Let me take it for a spin.”
I glance at him, finally managing a faint smile. “Fine. Just don’t get us killed.”
He smirks, already reaching for the keys. “No promises.”
CHAPTER 16 – TEST DRIVE
JULIAN
Itake the keys and step out of the passenger seat, still half-convinced this is some kind of trap. But Nico doesn’t stop me. He just leans back, watching.
He said the car was mine now. Guess he meant it.
Sliding into the driver’s seat feels like slipping into someone else’s life. Everything’s leather and sleek chrome, with buttons and symbols I don’t recognize. I shift awkwardly, trying to adjust the seat, but hell if I can find the damn lever.
I grunt in frustration. “Seriously, who designed this fuckin’ thing?”
Without a word, Nico leans over, reaching across my lap. His chest brushes my arm, the heat of his body impossible to ignore. He finds the button immediately, his fingers brushing mine.
