“Fine. You want the truth? The truth is you make me feel...” I gestured helplessly. “You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle.”
The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Nick just stood there, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his green eyes locked on mine. I’d laid myself bare in a way I never had before, and now I could only wait to see if it was enough.
“I would trust you a lot more,” he said finally, his voice quieter now but still edged with frustration, “if you were honest like that instead of acting like a dick all the time.”
He was right and I knew it. I’d spent so long playing a role—the confident enforcer, the untouchable Valenti—that I’d forgotten how to just be human. How to just be a man talking to another man he cared about.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll try. I’ll try to be better about that.”
He nodded slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “And I’ll try to... figure this out. Whatever this is.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. “But it has to stay between us. Nobody can know. Especially not my family.”
“Nobody will know,” I promised. “We can take this as slow as you need. No pressure, no expectations. Just... us figuring it out together.”
“Slow,” he repeated, like he was testing the word. “Yeah. Slow works.”
I wanted to close the distance between us, to pull him into my arms and kiss away the worry lines on his forehead. But I held back, giving him the space he clearly needed. This was progress. This was more than I’d dared hope for.
“I really am sorry,” I said again. “For being a dick about it.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “You’re gonna have to work on that.”
“I will. I promise.”
He held my gaze for another long moment, then nodded once. “Okay. But Dante? If you pull that cocky shit with me again, I’m sleeping in the barn.”
“Understood.”
“Good.”
But just as he turned to head into the bedroom, there was a knock at the door. We both stared at one another for a moment.
“You expecting Angelo or something?” he asked.
“No. You?”
“Nope.”
I crossed the kitchen in a flash, ignoring the pain in my ribs. Reaching down, I pulled open one of the kitchen drawers and pushed on the bottom panel. The wood flipped up easily revealing a loaded handgun. I lifted it out, cocked it, turned off the safety, and nodded to Nick.
“Open the door.”
He stared at me, a mixture of shock, surprise, and fear on his face. “You’ve had that the whole time?”
“Open the door please,” I repeated. “And step to the side when you do.”
“There’s no need for that?—”
“Do it, Nick!” I barked.
I watched the color drain from Nick’s face, but to his credit, he didn’t argue further. He moved to the door, his hand hesitating on the knob for just a second before he grabbed it.
I kept the gun at my side, my finger resting alongside the trigger guard, ready but out of view. My heart was pounding, adrenaline flooding my system in a way that made my fractured ribs feel distant and unimportant.
Nick pulled the door open, keeping it between him and the unexpected visitor. A woman stood on the porch, older, maybe sixty-something, with gray hair pulled back in a bun. She was holding a casserole dish covered in aluminum foil, and she was all smiles as her gaze landed on Nick.
I recognized her then. Evelyn. The woman from the feed store who’d helped me pick out my first set of ranch clothes. The one who’d invited us to visit the Nelson Ranch.
“Shit,” I muttered, immediately taking a step back and clicking the safety back on. I quickly tossed it in the drawer and slammed it shut, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
