His Fake Death My Real Freedom

Less than five minutes later, the sharp shatter of glass and a chorus of screams echoed from deep within the casino.

Nico returned. The Vescovi Soldato who had spoken so rudely to me was now crumpled on the ground, clutching his head as blood seeped through his fingers. Nico casually tossed aside the jagged neck of a broken bottle, and the entire casino floor fell into a dead silence.

Marco came storming out after him, his eyes landing on me sitting calmly in Nico's car in the parking lot.

He strode toward Nico. "What the hell do you think you're doing, meddling in my business?" he yelled. "I had a meeting with you tonight, and you blew me off for some woman?"

"And you've got her stashed in your car? Let me see what bombshell has our De Luca family Underboss so captivated!"

Marco shouted, reaching for the car door.

I instinctively shrank back into the shadows.

But Marco's hand never made it to the handle.

Nico simply shot him an ice-cold glance, and Marco wisely retracted his hand. "Fine, fine, so protective. You'll have to introduce her to the guys sometime!"

"By the way, Nico, you won't believe it—I ran into Alessia. She walked into the wrong room, saw me with another woman. Scared the shit out of me, but my guys were brilliant—told her I was kidnapped and have amnesia. I'm gonna ride this amnesia thing out for a bit, then 'miraculously' get my memory back."

"Nico, you're a genius. I'm not done having my fun yet. That fake death you arranged for me was the perfect way to get rid of her!"

Nico ignored him completely, getting into the driver's seat, locking the doors, and speeding away, leaving Marco standing in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

He took me back to his heavily guarded penthouse apartment.

The moment the door closed behind us, he pulled me into his arms.

After we emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, he laid me down on the cool silk sheets, his phone landing with a soft thud on the nightstand.

Only after I had finished a hot, sweet drink did he strip off his damp shirt and slide in beside me, his scorching palm roaming over my lower abdomen, igniting a trail of fire.

The light from the crystal chandelier above was cool, glinting off the hard planes of his abs, defining the taut lines of muscle that practically begged to be touched.

And I touched them.

Nico's eyes darkened instantly, and he seized my wrist.

"Don't move," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

But I had no intention of obeying.

He gripped the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

After two years, he knew my body as well as his own.

As our passion crested, he took my hand, guiding it downward.

His voice was hoarse, laced with a raw plea. "Help me…"

I was intimately familiar with Nico's stamina; I had, after all, tested its limits on countless nights.

When he finally found his release, my wrist ached with a pleasant numbness.

He was about to carry me back to the bathroom when the phone on the nightstand suddenly blared to life.

It was Nico's phone.

My hand brushed against the screen, and before I could pull back, the call was answered.

"Nico, I'm planning to throw an engagement party with Caterina. Really rub it in Alessia's face, you know? Crush any hope she might have left. What do you think?"

"And don't you think something's off with Alessia? She sees me alive and well and doesn't even bother to check in. She's too busy sulking; hasn't contacted me at all."

"It's been two years. Looks like she's gotten bold. I need to provoke her, make her feel the sting of almost losing me all over again. I'll handle the details; you'll be in charge of…"

Marco's voice droned on through the phone.

Then, he stopped mid-sentence.

I couldn't help but let out a soft gasp.

It wasn't Marco's voice that made me gasp, but the feeling of something hot and hard stirring against my palm, pulsing with a demanding rhythm.

Marco, on the other end of the line, also fell silent at the sound. "Nico," he asked, his voice sharp with suspicion, "is someone there with you?"