“He was supposed to be with the sitter tonight,” I say, the words tumbling over each other now. “She was supposed to pick him up from daycare after school, and I—I didn’t see my phone because I was on the floor and now she says she never went and I don’t know where he is.”
For a second the world goes very quiet.
Nico’s hands loosen on my arms, not letting me go but grounding me.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
“Breathe.”
I try. It comes out shaky and uneven.
He waits.
I hate how much that helps.
“What is your boy’s name?” he asks.
I swallow hard.
“Noah.”
For the smallest fraction of a second, something flickers across his face. Something I don’t understand and too terrified to examine. It’s gone before I have time to dwell on it.
He turns his head slightly.
“Leone.”
His second appears almost immediately, like he was never more than a few feet away. Which, in hindsight, he probably wasn’t. Men like Niccolò Neri do not exactly move around unattended.
“Ready the car,” Nico says.
Leone doesn’t ask questions. “Yes, boss.”
He’s gone in the next breath.
I blink up at Nico.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I’m doing it anyway.”
My throat tightens.
I should refuse.
I should say no, thank you, I can handle it, because that is what I always say and because letting Niccolò Neri any closer to my life is the kind of decision that ends badly in every known universe.
But Noah is out there somewhere.
Noah comes first.
Always.
So instead of arguing, I nod once, because that is all I can trust myself to do without breaking.
Neri releases my arms, but only to guide me toward the door with one hand at my back. Like panic is a thing he can simply walk me through by force of will.
