The whiskey burns going down. I drain half of it in one swallow, then the rest, like it's water. Like I'm dying of thirst and this is the only oasis for miles.
It hits my empty stomach like fire. My eyes water. I don't care.
Nico watches me with that unreadable expression. He doesn't pour himself anything. Just stands there, arms crossed, waiting.
I set the empty glass on the coffee table. The crystal makes a sharp sound.
"We need to talk."
"Clearly."
I sink onto the leather couch, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that's been carrying me since the playground finally drains away, leaving me hollow. My arm still aches where Jack grabbed me. I can still see Lily's confused little face, her refusal to leave me.
Mommy will be alone.
My four-year-old protected me today. My four-year-old shouldn't have to protect anyone.
"Dante was following us." It's not a question.
Nico doesn't deny it. "Yes."
"Before Jack showed up. You knew something was wrong."
A muscle ticks in his jaw. "I knew enough."
"Enough to have me watched."
"Enough to make sure you were safe."
The words hang between us. He says them like they're obvious. Like of course he assigned someone to tail me and my daughter. Like that's a perfectly normal thing bosses do for their temporary housekeepers.
"Why?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended. The whiskey is warming my blood, loosening something in my chest. "Why do you care what happens to me?"
Nico is silent for a long moment. Then he moves, lowering himself into the armchair across from me. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped between them. This close, I can see the faint scars on his knuckles. Old wounds, long healed.
"You saved my mother's life."
"That's not an answer."
His dark eyes meet mine. "It's the only one I have."
Liar, I think. But I'm too tired to push. Too tired for games.
"Jack knows where I live," I say instead. "My mother told him. And now he's threatening custody, and I can't—" My voice breaks. I swallow hard, force myself to continue. "I can't lose her. She's everything. She's the only good thing I ever did."
Nico's expression doesn't change. But something in his posture shifts, like a predator scenting blood.
"Tell me about the debt."
My stomach drops.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nico
The whiskey glass trembles in Kristen's hand. Just slightly.
"How do you know about that?" Her voice comes out steady, but the tremor in her fingers tells a different story. "About the loan?"
