Chapter 7 - CONFESSIONS IN THE DARK
Marco arrived six minutes later with five heavily armed men. The penthouse was swept, the bodies removed, and the blood scrubbed from the Italian marble with cold, clinical speed.
Roberto had paid off a building maintenance worker to bypass the freight elevator codes. It was a bold, suicidal move—a declaration of total war.
In the master bathroom, the harsh vanity lights illuminated Nicholas sitting on the edge of the large porcelain tub, his shirt discarded on the floor. A deep, four-inch laceration ran along his lower ribs, sluggishly weeping blood.
I stood between his knees, a medical kit open on the counter beside me. My hands were steady as I soaked a cotton pad in antiseptic.
“This is going to sting,” I warned softly.
Nicholas looked up at me through his dark eyelashes. “Do your worst.”
I pressed the antiseptic against the wound. His abdominal muscles clenched rock-hard under my fingers, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth, but he didn't pull away.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on my face as I threaded a sterile suture needle.
“My father was a construction worker in Brooklyn,” I replied quietly, focusing on the needle as I made the first neat stitch through his flesh. “He didn't have health insurance. When he cut himself on rebar, my mother and I stitched him up at the kitchen table.”
Nicholas went still. “Where are your parents now?”
“Dead,” I said, tying off a knot with practiced precision. “Car accident five years ago. Just me and my little sister, Elena. That’s why I took the housekeeping job. She’s studying to be a pediatric nurse. I promised my parents she’d finish school debt-free.”
Nicholas’s hand rose, his fingers wrapping gently around my wrist, stopping my movement.
“You carried all of that alone,” he whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the delicate pulse point beneath my skin.
“Everyone carries something,” I replied, looking directly into his intense, golden-brown eyes. “What do you carry, Nicholas? Why are you in this life? You have the mind of a corporate CEO. You could have built skyscrapers legally.”
A dark, bitter shadow crossed his handsome face. “My father was murdered in front of me when I was twelve. The Moretti family thought they could wipe out the DeLuca line. I had to become the devil, Gabriella, so the other monsters wouldn't consume my family.”
He leaned forward, bringing his face inches from mine, his voice dropping to a raw, intimate whisper.
“I spent twenty years turning my heart into stone. I built walls no one could breach. And then you walked into my penthouse with your quiet eyes, your sharp mind, and your fierce loyalty... and you tore down every defense I had without firing a single shot.”
My breath hitched. The air between us grew impossibly thick.
“Nicholas...”
“I didn't say ‘she’s mine’ at that dinner table to save you from Roberto, Gabriella,” he confessed, his hand moving up to cradle the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my dark hair. “I said it because the moment I realized someone else might touch you, I knew I would kill every man in this city before I let you go.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. All the fear, all the rules, all the sensible boundaries I had erected vanished into thin air.
I leaned down and pressed my lips against his.
The kiss was an explosion. Nicholas groaned into my mouth, his uninjured arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me hard against his chest as he stood up. The kiss was hungry, possessive, and filled with a desperate, burning passion that tasted of danger and sweet surrender.
His lips parted mine with fierce demand, his hands tracing the curve of my spine through my silk dress. I ran my fingers through his thick, dark hair, pressing myself closer, giving him everything he demanded and demanding everything in return.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless and trembling, Nicholas rested his forehead against mine.
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“Tomorrow, we finish Roberto,” Nicholas whispered, his dark eyes ablaze with lethal purpose. “And when the smoke clears, you stay with me. Not as my maid. As my equal.”
“I’m not leaving you, Nicholas,” I answered, holding his gaze with absolute resolve. “We finish this together.”
