Nico

by Sarah Castille

  “You want to live in a restaurant?”

  “That restaurant. It’s Old Vegas, Hollywood, and the golden days of the Mafia all wrapped up into one.”

  She rested her hand on his chest, right above his heart. “Let’s say you have an Il Tavolino–style office where you can pretend you’re an old-school gangsta. What about the rest of the home? What is modern Nico all about? Start with a color. How about black?” She sounded so hopeful he almost didn’t want to answer.

  “Deep purple.” He waved his hand over the room. “Polished granite floors, dark walls, black furniture, purple furnishings, exposed pipes in the ceiling painted black, lots of small lights that would look like stars.”

  “Industrial,” she said. “Modern.”

  “Fireplace.” He started to get into it as a room took shape in his mind. “Thick purple rug in front of it.”

  “Romantic.” She slid down until she lay with her head in his lap. Nico stroked her hair, contemplating the fictitious room of his dreams.

  “Floor to ceiling windows everywhere and one wall taken up with a massive piece of art.”

  Mia looked up. “Street Art? Vintage? Pop Art? Fine Art?”

  “Picasso. Blue Nude. Simple. Clean. But sensual.”

  She reached up, brushed her finger along his jaw. “Sad, but erotic. Primitive. He was one of the ‘wild beasts,’ Did you know that?”

  “No.” He caught her finger, brought it to his lips, smiling. “Are you saying I’m a wild beast?”

  She laughed. “I think you have a wild side or we would have passed each other by. I’m the family black sheep, if you didn’t notice. Even when I was a child, I didn’t fit in. I was more interested in blocks and trains and math and computer games than clothes or makeup. I was a girl who was everything my father wanted in a son.”

  He pressed her palm against his cheek. “I was a boy who was everything my father wanted in a legitimate son. He didn’t want any reminders of my mother after she died, so I learned how to hide that side of me.”

  “What was she like?”

  “She was the love of his life.” He leaned down and kissed Mia lightly on the lips. She tasted of vodka, naughty and sweet. “She didn’t give a damn how a Mafia mistress was supposed to act. She drank whiskey instead of wine; she wore crazy, colorful clothes; she loved to gamble…” He felt uncharacteristically maudlin in his reminiscences, uncomfortably exposed, but if Mia needed this from him, he would not deny her.

  “A hard liquor love like me. I think I would have liked her.” Mia sat up, straddled his lap. Nico struggled against his instinct to shut down and take control. He didn’t do vulnerable, and she was pushing him right to the edge.

  “How did she die?”

  “Drunk driver.” He ran us off the road in the Valley of Fire. Our car went down a cliff. I survived without a scratch, but she didn’t make it. He crashed on the next corner so he never paid for his crime.”

  “Oh God, Nico. How awful.” She pressed a soft kiss to his neck and he stared out over the city, caught in a memory he had buried long ago. Hushed whispers. Angry voices. His nonna in a rage like he’d never seen before when his father brought Nico to live with her. Even as a child, he knew it would have been seen as a dishonor to his father’s legitimate wife to have the evidence of his affair under her roof.

  “You never had justice for your father, either,” she said quietly.

  “No.” He realized then what had been bothering her all night, why she had been so wary around him. “You’re worried about the vendetta.”

  “Are you going to kill my father?”

  If she’d asked him that question before the ceremony, he would have answered yes. But he’d made a commitment in the chapel, an oath to join two families together and to protect this woman who had been joined to him forever. And even though it was before Elvis and not God, and in a tacky Vegas chapel instead of a church, it meant something to him. Something more than vengeance.

  “I will withdraw the vendetta if he acknowledges me as head of the family and agrees to an alliance. Ending the feud will save many lives, and it will ensure you are safe.”

  “Oh.” She let out a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around him. “I know how hard that will be, and what it means to you. Thank you.”

  Nico held her soft body against him, looked around the stark, characterless room, seeing it through her eyes—the bland colors, neutral decor, soulless and detached from the light and life of the city below. She was right. It wasn’t him, if he even knew who he was anymore. And clearly, it wasn’t Mia either.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured against her hair. “It’s our wedding night, and we’re in Vegas. Let’s make it something to remember.”

  He waited for her to remind him again that it wasn’t forever. Instead she sat up and smiled. “Where?

  “Take me somewhere you love to go.”

  *

  A dive bar to end all dive bars, Red 27 was heaving when Mia walked in, dragging Nico behind her. If there was a heaven on earth, this was it. Goths with dreadhawks, Daken-fans with lazy hawks, and ravers with shark fins of all shapes and colors, were scattered through the dimly lit bar. Over on the small dance floor, a few punk fairies in frills and corsets strutted their stuff, and in the shadows near the restrooms, a tattered greaser wearing a suspiciously padded vest clocked Nico a wary look. Her favorite watering hole was a cornucopia of eccentric underworld delights with speakers blaring punk music loud enough to make ears bleed.

  Mia leaned up to yell in Nico’s ear. “Get ready for a sick night of punk, new wave, goth and rock heaven.”

  Nico took one look around and put a possessive arm around her shoulders. “This is where you like to go?”

  “Love it,” she yelled over the noise of the rowdy crowd. “It’s raw, it’s unadulterated, and it’s sinful. It’s the real Vegas that the tourists don’t see, the polar opposite of glitz and glam.” She pulled him over to the drinks menu scrawled in black marker on the torn paper wall.

  “Punk rock and grime.” Nico lifted a booted foot. Mia had insisted he wear his jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket with his kick-ass biker boots, but even dressed down he looked too tidy for Red 27 and she fought back an urge to reach up and mess his hair. “My feet are stuck to the floor and it looks like a tagger went crazy on the walls.”

  She laughed, not because of his words, but because he was clearly drinking it all in, from the psychedelic spray paint graffiti all over the walls, to the bras of all shapes and colors hanging from the pillars, and from the tacky mobiles on the ceilings, to the pennies pasted to the floor. The air was thick with smoke, the lighting barely enough to see, and with each breath, she drew in the scents of hops, dry ice, and the unmistakable peaty odor of pot.

  “Let’s go to the bar.” She pulled him through the crowd, and past the worn, raised stage where a toothless longhaired banger was shredding his way through “Jesus of Suburbia.” She skirted the pool table jammed into the far corner, and pulled up at the sticker-clad bar where the bartender, King, an aging hipster in a knit hat, his long beard dyed green, leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  “Welcome back, my friend.”

  Wham. Nico had him by the throat and halfway over the bar before Mia had a chance to introduce him.

  “Let him go.” She tugged on Nico’s wrist, dislodging his hand from King’s throat.

  “Sorry.” She reached across the bar to straighten King’s collar. “He doesn’t get out much.”

  “Hey, no problem.” King held up his hands, palms forward in the universal sign of surrender. “Just being friendly, man. We got a hands-off policy until five a.m. That’s when the clubs shut down and the strippers come in looking for some fun.”

  “You.” Mia turned and poked Nico in the chest. “Take it down about one thousand notches. I know these people, and they know me. Nothing’s going to happen to me here.”

  Nico grunted but didn’t look convinced. Mia ordered a couple of two-dollar drinks
and found a small table near the back that wasn’t covered in empties.

  “Don’t use the washroom unless you’re desperate,” Mia said, amused by how uptight her Mafia boss was in the pit of sin. Or maybe it was because he had left his bodyguards outside and he was alone for the first time in forever.

  “I’ve got my piece.” He patted his jacket, and Mia laughed. “Oh. It’s a gun. I wondered what that was when you were pressed up against me at the bar. I thought you wanted me.”

  His eyes darkened and he reached over, dragged her chair toward him. “I wanted you back at the hotel. Now it’s a fucking need.”

  Mia leaned over, kissed his neck. “Do you know what I need?”

  He threaded his hand through her hair, pulled her closer. “What do you need, bella?”

  “I need to dance.” She pushed away and wound her way through the tables to the tiny dance floor in front of the stage. How the hell could she make this work if she wanted to jump him every time they were together? She didn’t want to get emotionally involved in a fake marriage that tied her to the mob, especially when it was never meant to last. And yet, she was already emotionally involved. She could never have said ‘I do’ to a man she didn’t trust, a man she liked and cared deeply about. There was so much more to Nico than the cold, ruthless mob boss he let the world see. He was passionate, protective, deeply committed to his family, and so damn sexy she couldn’t keep her hands away.

  Someone put the Clash on the jukebox and she danced with two biker chicks as punk rock videos played on the projection screen behind the stage. She glanced over at the table, but Nico was already behind her.

  “You trying to fucking kill me?” He wrapped one arm around her waist, and pulled her against him, as if they were alone and not in the middle of a dance floor in a grungy dive bar.

  “I was trying to dance.” Her nipples tightened as he ground his hips into her ass. “I see you want the X-rated version.”

  He kissed his way down her neck, and nipped the sensitive skin on her shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine. “I could fuck you right here and no one would bat an eye.”

  Mia turned to face him, wound her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “I like watching you.” He pulled her close and danced like his hips were unhinged, grinding against her until her clit throbbed and she was so wet for him, the thought of fucking him in the filthy bathroom held considerable appeal.

  “Nico.” She moaned softly, and he thrust his thick thigh between her legs, rocking her against the rough fabric of his jeans.

  “Can you come like this?” His voice was a low, sensual rasp in her ear, his hands firm on her hips, his body hot and hard in her arms.

  “I don’t know, but I want to.”

  He twisted her hair in his hand, yanked her head back, and kissed her fiercely. “How bad is the restroom?”

  “Bad.”

  She slid her hand down, smoothed it over his T-shirt, tracing over his rock hard pecs, the ripples of his abs. Nico’s grip tightened and his voice dropped to a husky growl. “How much do you want me?”

  “Worse.” She rubbed the palm of her hand along his rock hard erection. People danced around them, laughed, and joked. Their R-rated behavior was nothing in a bar where she’d witnessed X-rated shenanigans.

  “Come.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her across the dance floor and through the maze of tables to the tiny, dark hall leading to the restrooms. He angled left and Mia pulled back.

  “Women’s.”

  He ducked his head in the men’s washroom and chuckled. “Good call.”

  Moments later they were in the women’s toilet, door closed, bare bulb flickering overhead. The walls were covered in spray-painted graffiti in a multitude of fluorescent colors, torn band posters, and stickers of all shapes and sizes. Two toilet stalls were set off in the corner, and a chipped enamel sink sat on a pedestal beneath a broken mirror.

  Nico turned on the tap and grabbed a handful of paper towel from the dispenser.

  “What are you doing?” Mia leaned against the door, frowning.

  “Cleaning the sink?” He gave it an inexpert wipe, scrubbing along the edge.

  “Why?”

  He looked back over his shoulder. “So I can fuck you on it.”

  “I thought you knew. You didn’t marry a princess.” She came up behind him, slid her hand over his hip and tugged open his belt. “If you want to fuck me over a dirty sink, go for it.”

  She had barely finished her sentence before he ditched the paper towels, spun her around, and lifted her against him, bracing her against the door.

  “Fuck the sink.” With his free hand, he tugged open his jeans and freed his cock from its restraint. Mia clung to his shoulders as he sheathed himself so she didn’t land on her ass on the sticky floor.

  “God.” She rocked against him, desperate to feel him inside her. “I want you so bad, Nico. Hurry.”

  “You wanna fucking ride me, bella, you better be ready.” He reached under her skirt and shoved her panties aside, slicking his thick finger along her folds.

  “Jesus Christ. You’re so wet for me. So hot.” He thrust one finger inside her and she jerked back, slammed her head against the door.

  “More.”

  He gave a strangled grunt, added a second finger, and curled them both to pulse against her sensitive inner walls. Mia fisted his hair, kissed him hard, furious, frantic, her heart pounding to the heavy bass of the music outside. She wanted this man like she’d never wanted anyone before, wanted to wrap herself around him, feel him deep inside her, take her pleasure from his hard, powerful body.

  She felt the blunt head of his cock at her entrance, levered herself up on his shoulders to take him in. Desire became a raging inferno inside her. “Now, Nico.”

  “Ride me, bella. Ride hard.”

  She moaned as he entered her, swift and brutal, thrusting as deep as he could go. His face contorted in pleasure and he eased out and pushed inside again, sending sparks of pleasure dancing across her skin.

  “You feel so good,” she whispered. “Fuck me. Hard. Don’t hold back with me. Give me everything you’ve got.”

  With one hand against the wall, and the other under her ass, he pounded into her, his powerful hips rocking back and forth. She lost herself in the delicious feel of him moving inside her, his firm strokes sending fire streaming through her blood.

  Nico groaned, the sound wanton and erotic. She panted her breaths as he quickened his thrusts. Her muscles tightened, need spiraling out of control. Their lips met in a clashing, bruising, kiss, and as she neared her peak, he slid a hand between them and rubbed his slicked thumb over her clit.

  “Oh God. Yes.” She buried her face in his shoulder as she climaxed, an exquisite rush of pleasure that swept through her body, wiping everything away except the exquisite feel of his firm, thrusting cock, his heady, masculine scent, the rasp of his breaths, and the rock hard muscles that tensed when he came, pulsing and throbbing inside her.

  He held her after the rush, possessing her with a gaze of intense pleasure and satisfaction as they panted their breaths, sweat soaked clothes clinging to their bodies.

  “Not how I imagined a wedding night to be.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

  “Me either.”

  “Fucking perfect.”

  Someone thudded on the door. “Hey! Get out of there. Some of us have to pee. Go fuck in the bar where everyone else does.”

  Nico gave her a quizzical look. “People fuck in the bar?”

  “I’ve seen some X-rated scenes.”

  A slow, sly, sensual smile spread across his face. Pure mob boss. “You want to see another?”

  NINETEEN

  “You okay, Kat? You need anything?” Ben paused in the doorway to his living room. He’d brought Kat to his place after Nico’s and Mia’s wedding, and, after watching some television with her, he was ready for a cold shower and then bed.

  Fucking hell. He hadn’t b
een able to sleep since that encounter with Gabe and Mia, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to sleep with a beautiful woman in the next room. Although he was pretty sure he’d managed to talk his way out of Gabe’s big reveal about his work as a cop, worry niggled at the back of his mind, and he had planned to meet Jack tonight to talk through his options. After a call with his lawyer, he realized his plan to wait out a custody hearing wasn’t in the cards. He’d been thinking days, but his lawyer said it could take months

  “Actually, I need help changing the dressing on my back if it won’t squick you out.” Kat looked up from the black leather couch and smiled.

  Ben melted. God, she was beautiful. Tall and willowy, with long, chestnut hair, dark eyes, deep olive skin and a body to fucking die for. Die being the operative word. Nico had instructed him to protect Kat until it was safe for her to go home, and he had a feeling taking advantage of Nico’s innocent nineteen-year-old sister-in-law didn’t count as keeping her safe.

  “No problem. I did a first-aid course back in the day.”

  Kat pulled a first-aid kit from her overnight bag. “Back in the day? You aren’t that old.”

  “Twenty-nine,” he answered honestly.

  “Not that old at all.” She handed him the kit, and turned on the couch, lifting her filmy blouse. Ben tried not to look at the gentle curve of her hip, the smooth skin, the narrow dip of her waist. Instead, he focused his gaze on the large white bandage taped to her lower back.

  Very carefully, Ben peeled it away.

  “What the hell?” Her skin beneath the bandage was seared red in the shape of a letter C, the edges black and starting to scab.

  “Sorry. I thought you knew. My dad ordered my brother to brand me. C for Cordano.” Her voice tightened. “That was after he had Dante beat me with his belt. I’m popping the pain killers or I wouldn’t even be able to sit down.”