Lily doesn't seem to notice the sudden tension. She's staring up at Nico with her big eyes, clutching Bunny to her chest.
He surprises me.
Instead of ignoring her with that dismissive glance adults usually give kids when they're focused on business, he lowers himself. One knee on my cheap carpet, bringing himself to her level.
"And who's this?" He nods toward Bunny.
"This is Bunny," Lily says. Then, because she's four and has no concept of stranger danger despite my best efforts: "She's my favorite. I have a whole collection. Bunbun and Sir Floppington the Third too."
"Sir Floppington the Third," Nico repeats, completely serious. "Distinguished name."
"He's very 'stinguished." Lily nods solemnly. "Mommy says he needs a monocle."
What is happening right now?
My daughter doesn't talk to strangers. She hides behind my legs at the grocery store. She refused to speak to her own pediatrician for three visits straight.
"I'm a friend of your mother's," he tells Lily. His voice is different with her. Still low, still direct, but missing that sharp edge. "Tonight, we're going to eat dinner with my family."
"We are?" Lily's face lights up. "Can I bring my bunnies?"
"Lily—" I start.
"They can have their own seats at the table," Nico says.
My daughter beams at him. Actually beams, like he just promised her a pony and a trip to Disneyland rolled into one.
"Go get them, baby girl." My voice comes out strange. Tight. "And your shoes."
Lily scampers off to her room, Bunny bouncing against her chest.
The second she's gone, I round on him.
"I said no."
Nico rises to his full height. The softness disappears. "I heard you."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because my mother wants to thank you." He says it like it's simple. Like showing up uninvited at someone's home is perfectly reasonable behavior. "She's been cooking all day."
"I don't care if she's been cooking all week." I keep my voice low—Lily doesn't need to hear this. "You can't just—I told you?—"
"You saved her life."
Three words. Flat. Final. Like they explain everything.
And maybe to him, they do. Maybe in his world, debts get paid and that's that. But I've learned the hard way that nothing comes without strings. Jack taught me that lesson over and over until it was carved into my bones.
Pretty dress, pretty wife. Now smile for my colleagues.
Nice dinner, nice wine. Now don't embarrass me.
I take care of you. Now you owe me.
"I don't want anything from you," I say. "From any of you."
Nico's dark eyes pin me in place. That scanning look again—the one from the gala. Like he's memorising every flinch, every tell, filing it away for later analysis.
