Page 38 of Madness & Mercy

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. His voice is low, steady, infuriatingly calm.

“You really think I only have four cars? I’ve got a dozen more in my private garage. That one’s nothing. If I really cared, I’d buy ten more tomorrow.”

My jaw grinds tight enough to ache. Of course. The nicest thing I’ve ever driven in my life meansnothingto him. Just another toy for a man who’s never gone without. If I had even afractionof what he has, I’d be unstoppable. I wouldn’t have gone to prison. Wouldn’t have had to sell out my soul for achanceat survival.

But he’s offering. And if I’m smart, I’ll take it.

Would make a damn good getaway car when I finally put him in the ground.

Still… this isNicowe’re talking about. There’s bound to be strings attached.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, eyes narrowing.

“There isn’t one.”

Bullshit. But he’ll be dead soon anyway, so who cares?

I want that fucking car.

I shouldn’t. I’ve never cared about material shit like this. But maybe that’s just a lie I’ve always told myself, something to soften the sting of never having anything to begin with.

I exhale through my nose, tense. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll take it.”

He doesn’t say a word. Just smirks and shifts gears.

But I feel his satisfaction radiating off him like heat.

And I fuckinghatehow much I want him to keep giving me things, just so I can pretend, for a moment, that I belong in his world.

The rest of the drive is quiet, thick with everything unsaid.

Nico doesn’t bother turning on the radio. He just drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift like he hasn’t just dismantled me piece by piece. Like none of it touched him.

But I feel it in the silence. The control. The smug fucking energy that clings to him like expensive cologne.

My knee bounces the entire ride.

By the time we pull through the wrought-iron gates of the Vitale estate, I’m one sharp breath away from snapping. The mansion looms ahead, gold light spilling over marble steps and manicured hedges. The place looks like something out of a goddamn movie. And I hate how small it makes me feel.

Nico parks the Benz in front, not even bothering with the garage. Because of course not. Rules don’t apply when you own the street.

He gets out and walks around to where Enzo’s already waiting on the front steps like some well-dressed gargoyle. Nico tosses him the keys to the Benz without a word, like he’s handing off a jacket.

“Pick up the Maserati at Nocturne. Have it detailed,” he says, then adds, “It’s Cross’s now.”

Enzo raises a brow but says nothing, giving me a look before slipping into the car.

I’m still in the passenger seat, stewing, when Nico circles back around. And just like before, he opens the door for meagainlike he’s some proper fucking gentleman.

He holds out a hand, smirking like I’m supposed to thank him. Like I’m some debutante being escorted to a gala, not a man he just finger-fucked into submission less than an hour ago.

I slap his hand away with a sharp flick of my wrist and climb out on my own.

“Suit yourself,” he says, that maddening grin still tugging at his mouth.

I don’t respond. Just fall into step behind him, up the stairs and through the towering doors of the estate. His kingdom. His fucking fortress.

My fists clench at my sides. My chest tightens.