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He's dressed in a shirt with sleeves meticulously rolled up, no jacket, showcasing his sculpted arms. His hair is slightly disheveled, as though he's been continuously running his fingers through it while awaiting my arrival.

He takes my bag and easel effortlessly, carrying them toward his car. Two men from the group saunter over, probably intrigued by his expensive-looking car. A flicker of apprehension touches me. That's a familiar sensation in this neighborhood.

“Nice wheels, old man," one remarks. He's young, with two sleeves of messy tattoos, grills on his teeth.

"Walk away," Nico says dispassionately.

The man coughs out a derisive laugh. “Say what?"

"Walk away," Nico reiterates, his tone unwavering.

The man is about to retort when a third approaches. He's older. When he catches sight of Nico, unmistakable terror floods his expression. He whispers something to the tattooed man, and instantly, the tattooed man's expression mirrors the same dread.

"We won't bother you again," he says, glancing between Nico and me. "Either of you. Uh, enjoy your day."

Nico replies through clenched teeth. "Likewise."

In the car, as Nico pulls away, I ask, "What do you think he said?"

Nico's hands grip the steering wheel tightly. He's reluctant to talk about it. "No idea."

"It must’ve been related to who you are. Don't you think? You are connected to the mob."

"I don't know, Vignette."

"Hey – none of that, remember? That chapter is closed."

"I have no way of knowing what he said."

"One second, he looked ready to rob us, then suddenly, he looked terrified. Did you see his fear?" When he remains silent, I keep going, "Or maybe you're accustomed to people looking at you with such terror. Maybe it doesn't even register."

"What do you want me to say?" he growls. "I thought you wanted to go back to our old dynamic. You're merely a painter. I'm simply a hedge fund manager. Remember?"

I fold my arms. He glances at me: my face, then my chest. My folded arms accentuate my chest, and he appears thoroughly captivated by that.

A spark of electricity dances across my skin. I maintain my position. I savor his attention, even while knowing I should pretend not to.

"They likely recognized me," Nico says after a pause. "They intended to start trouble, then wisely reconsidered."

"Because you would hurt them."

"That's their assumption."

"Is it wrong?"

At a red light, he doesn't merely glance at me. His gaze sears into my soul.

"What would you have me say, Vignette? That I would have beaten those men bloody had they tried to hurt you? That the thought of you living in such an environment sickens me? That I yearn to protect you? Or perhaps you need me to embody a monster so you can maintain your resolve; so, you can ensure nothing happens between us again."

A car behind us honks impatiently. The light has changed.

"I just want to focus on my work."

"Then quit with the interrogation."

His tone irritates me, primarily because I want to comfort him. The contradiction only compounds my... well, my confusion. I'm doubly perplexed.

"Have you heard anything about my mom? Have you investigated?"