He doesn't answer, but I feel him considering it.
"Also," I murmur against his chest, "we should get a piano."
"A piano."
"You haven't played in twelve years. Chopin deserves better."
The silence shifts. I can feel him thinking about unsealed rooms and second chances.
"We'll see," he says. Which I can definitely turn into a yes.
I used to fill silence with chaos because quiet meant remembering. Tonight the silence is full. His heartbeat, his breathing, the ocean through the window, even the faint scent of gun oil from his weapon on the nightstand.
I'm not afraid anymore.
I close my eyes, feeling his cum still inside me, his arms around me.
Tonight, the silence sounds like home.
32 - Nico
Chicago greets me like it always does—with a fist of cold air off the lake and the immediate, bone-deep knowledge that I’m home. Even when home is the place that made me into something I’ve spent my whole life trying to understand.
Marisol presses against my side in the back of the car, storing heat like she’s preparing for winter. Her first time in Chicago, and she’s taking it in through the window. The steel and concrete, the elevated trains rattling past, the architecture that announces itself without apology. Nothing like Miami’s pastel seduction. Chicago doesn’t seduce. It declares.
“It’s angry,” she says, watching the skyline slice through grey clouds.
“It’s honest.”
“Both, Horse Man.”
She’s right. She usually is. Her hand rests on my thigh, the heat of her touch reminding me what waits after this. Her body under mine, helping me forget whatever ghosts today brings back.
We’re staying at a hotel downtown. Not the compound. Tomorrow is the family gathering, the official introduction, the full circus. Today is something else. Something private. Something my oldest brother doesn’t know about.
We have maybe an hour before Marco realizes I’m not at the hotel.
Three days ago, I made the call. From the penthouse in Miami, while Marisol slept curled against me. A number I haven’t dialed in over a month but will never delete.
Sofia answered on the second ring. Like she’d been waiting.
“Nico.”
“I’m coming to Chicago. I need to see you.”
A pause. Not surprise but calculation. The tactical assessment I taught her, turned back on me.
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“You’re going behind the Don’s back.”
“I’m going behind my brother’s back. There’s a difference.”
If Marco finds out I met her without permission, there will be consequences. Family or not.
Another pause. Then, softer: “The park on Ashland?”
