She hung up the call and scrolled back to Scala’s number.
“Autumn,” the way he purred her name made Autumn’s insides melt.
“I’m going to Boston.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m fairly sure I can handle a train ride to Boston, Scala.”
There was silence on the other end and then a low curse. Finally, Scala responded, “I wish you would call me by my first name.”
“Really. That’s your response, Nico?”
“Much better, Autumn.” She heard a keyboard typing. “Since you’re going to go regardless of the danger surrounding you, I’ll meet you there tonight.”
“That’s unnecessary, Nico.” What was it about men who had this constant need to protect her? “I’m meeting with a victim.”
“Victim?”
Autumn told him about what Hererra sent her. “I need to see her. It's important I find as much as I can about this case so I can get Elijah.”
“I’m meeting you tonight. End of discussion.”
Autumn pulled the phone from her ear, blinked, and brought it back to her ear. “There was no discussion. I told you a fact.”
“Regardless.” She could see the man wave his hand and his chin raised. As if he were a king and his command was final. “I’m meeting you.”
“Whatever.” Why did he constantly make her feel like a sixteen-year-old having a tantrum?
“I’m bringing something for you to change into.”
Autumn heard the amusement in his voice and narrowed her gaze. “Why?”
“Might as well enjoy ourselves away from home,si?”
“Don’t throw any surprises at me. I don’t know if I can handle any more.”
“I’ll see you tonight.” And with that, King Nico ended the call.
“Son of a bitch,” Autumn muttered as she grabbed her things and left the condo.
Chapter 12
“Promisemeyou’llneverget into the life, Nico.”
He looked at his mother, who lay dying in the hospital bed. Her breathing was choppy even as she used most of her oxygen for those few words. Severe fourth-degree burns destroyed the right side of her body during the car crash that took her husband’s life.
Maggie Scala was collateral damage. She shouldn’t have been in that car.
Nineteen-year-old Nico nodded emphatically at his mother. He gripped her cold, lifeless hand. “I-I promise, Ma. I’ll stay away from Uncle Art as much as I can.”
“You’re a good boy, Nico. God blessed me with your birth. You’ll do good things with your life. I just know it.”
Nico squeezed her hand tighter, “You’re gonna be fine, Ma, stop talking like this.” A stray tear dripped down the side of his face. He wiped it away with his free hand.
She gasped, then a racking cough tore from her throat. It was several minutes before his mother could calm herself down.
She looked at him with watery eyes. A pained grimace stretched across her face. “Oh, Nico, mio amore, I love you.”
