She pounds on the door again, her voice sharp and mocking as she screams, “Coward!”
My hand freezes on the pen. The ledger stays blank.
She laughs, sweet and sharp through the door. “What’s wrong, Esposito? Afraid you’ll break a sweat training me? Or maybe you’re just afraid of me.”
My jaw tightens. My pulse slams once, hard.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because deep down, I know she’s right.
Afraid ofher? No. Afraid of myself when I’m near her? Absolutely.
I press the heel of my palm into my brow, exhaling slow. My chest feels too tight, my control stretched thinner every day she’s inside these walls. If she knew how close I’ve come to snapping—to grabbing her by the jaw, pressing her against the nearest wall, and fucking the fight right out of her—she’d stop poking.
Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’s reckless enough that she might lean into it. And that’s the problem.
I close the ledger and push it aside. Numbers blur on the page anyway. The only thing I see is her on the mat beneath me,wrists pinned, chest heaving. The only thing I hear is her voice whispering “please” in the safe room.
I grit my teeth and reach for the glass at my side. Scotch burns down my throat, but it does nothing to the gaping wound she keeps opening.
I swore to myself I wouldn’t repeat history. That I wouldn’t let another woman get close. Not after Andrea. Not after her blood was on my hands. I didn’tloveher, but I caused her pain until her last breath.
You can only make a mistake once. And Mara Folonari is the kind of mistake that will cost me everything.
I stare at the locked door, at the faint shadow of her feet under the crack.
Her voice drifts in again, softer this time, almost a whisper. “You can’t ignore me forever, Nicolo.”
My grip tightens around the glass until it cracks.
Watch me, nixie.
21
MARA
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The seconds tick by. I watch as the clock reads 4:55 a.m.
If I’m going to ambush that robotic caveman, I’m going to have to be strategic about it. Which means lying awake in bed waiting for the clock to hit 4:59 before blocking him from ignoring me by standing at his door.
I’ve memorized his morning routine. He’s more on time than a damn clock, if that’s even possible. It’s not, but he’s so robotic that it feels like it.
I debate actually going through with it. The bed is so warm, and I’m still so tired. I hate waking up early.
Despite not really wanting to leave my warm bed, I fling the comforter off, pushing my hair behind my ears.
Right. I can do this.
Quickly tying my robe around me, I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering. It’s freezing. I quietly make my way out of my room and shut the door behind me. Not even five seconds after I stop in front of his bedroom door, the handle turns and it opens. I ignore the butterflies that always show up when he’s around.
Nicolo’s expression doesn’t change when his eyes land on me standing in front of his bedroom. He shuts the door behind him and goes to step around me, but I block his path. Still no indication of what he’s feeling.
That’s if he feels anything.
“I want to start training again,” I blurt out before he tries to side-step me again.
His eyes narrow just a fraction, as if he has a list of information just by looking at me. “You were complaining about training.”
