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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Nico

Blood feels different on your hands when it belongs to someone you care about. An unfamiliar thought, unwelcome. I’ve had blood on my hands before, figuratively, literally; the distinction blurred years ago. But watching Lea’s peaceful breathing beside me, the memory of my blood coating her fingers as she pressed compresses against my wounds is sharp, insistent. The sight of her, determined amidst the chaos, working to keep me alive…it complicates things.

The pale light of early morning filters through the curtains, catching the curve of her cheekbone, softening the sharp intelligence that usually guards her features. The urge to touch her in this unguarded state, is surprisingly strong. I resist, not wanting to break the spell.

My body aches, a constant reminder of vulnerability. The wounds are manageable, physical pain a familiar companion. But the other exposure from last night unnerves me more: the fever that cracked open defenses, revealing fragments I keep locked away. What did I say in that delirium? What weakness did she witness?

I’ve taken countless women to my bed. None have seen me stripped bare like Lea did. Not just physically, but the shards of memory, the grief over Marco I haven’t allowed myself to process, the raw uncertainty that follows losing the one man I trusted implicitly. And then there was the shift afterward, when the fever broke, when we acknowledged the game we were both playing and somehow chose… something else.

I trace the line of her jaw with my eyes, remembering the taste of her lips, the feel of her yielding against me. That wasn’t strategy, not entirely. Not on my part. An emotional impulse overriding decades of calculation. The thought should terrify me. It does.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs, voice husky with sleep, eyes still closed.

“Force of habit,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “I observe.”

Her eyes open then, dark and knowing, a faint smile touching her lips. “And what have you observed about me this morning?”

That you’re a dangerous complication. That you make me question everything.

“That you snore,” I say instead.

She makes an indignant sound, fully awake now. “I do not.”

“Lightly.” I trace a finger along her collarbone, feeling the slight tremor beneath her skin, watching the way her breath catches. “Almost imperceptibly.”

She swats my hand away, but the smile lingers. This easy intimacy, the shared space, the quiet rhythm of waking together is unfamiliar territory, destabilizing in its simple normality.

A sharp knock interrupts the moment. Lea tenses, pulling the sheet higher. The pattern is Alessandro’s.

“Alessandro,” I say, resigned.

He enters, his gaze taking in the scene with neutral assessment. “Moretti’s men are still probing the perimeter,” he states. “Testing defenses. We should discuss our response.”

I glance at Lea. She’s already reaching for clothes, wrapping the sheet around herself as she stands. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she says, her composure remarkable. She disappears into the bathroom.

Alessandro watches her go. “Less adversarial than I expected,” he remarks.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the sharp protest from my ribs. “Moretti is the priority,” I say, reaching for my shirt, wincing.

He studies me. “She’s quite remarkable, your journalist.”

“She’s not mine,” I reply.

His smile is knowing. “Keep telling yourself that.” He departs, leaving the words hanging in the air.

When Lea emerges from the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes, I’m struggling with the buttons of my shirt, my injured shoulder protesting. Without a word, she crosses to me, her fingers moving efficiently. The simple intimacy, Lea standing between my knees, tending to me, stirs something deeper than desire, a startling flicker of need.

“Thank you,” I say when she finishes.

She steps back, perceptive eyes searching mine. “What did Alessandro say?”

“His men are probing the perimeter.” I stand carefully, moving to the window. “We need to determine our next move.”

“Our?” she asks, the word significant.

I turn. “Yes, our . Unless you’d prefer to be excluded?”

A slow, genuine smile transforms her face. “No, I wouldn’t prefer that.”

“Good.” We make our way through the hallways, my pace slow. Lea matches her stride to mine without comment, observing everything.

“You grew up here?” she asks as we pass a portrait.

“After my parents died, yes,” I admit. “Alessandro raised me. He believed comfort bred complacency. This was a place for learning strategy.”

“Seeing people as pieces to be moved,” she mumbles.

“Yes.” I meet her gaze. “Including you, initially.”

She doesn’t flinch. “And now?”

Before I can answer, we reach the study where Alessandro waits with his team. The briefing is concise: Moretti is assessing, not attacking immediately. I keep the details minimal for Lea, but her presence beside me feels…necessary. She’s become a stabilizing force, sharp mind cutting through assumptions. This dependence disturbs me. Weakness. Yet I bring her deeper in.

As afternoon turns to evening, I suggest a walk on the grounds, needing movement, needing distance from the weight of command. We move along a gravel path toward the lake. The setting sun casts long shadows. Lea walks beside me, close, respectful of my injuries.

“Why did you really bring me into the briefing?” she asks when we’re alone. “Not because I ‘earned it’.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Perceptive.”

“What’s the truth, Nico?”

What is the truth? About us? “I wanted to see what you’d do,” I admit. “Whether you’d use the information, or…”

“Or treat it as confidential because it came from you,” she finishes. “A test.”

“Yes.”

She considers this. “Did I pass?”

“Which matters more to you now?” I ask, sitting on the bench by the lake.

She sits beside me. “A few weeks ago, my article. Now…” She looks across the water. “I’m not sure who I am anymore, Nico.”

As darkness falls, the temperature drops. Without thinking, I slip my arm around her shoulders, drawing her against my uninjured side. She comes willingly, fitting against me.

“We should head back,” I say, reluctant to end this.

She nods but turns her face up to mine. Her eyes are dark pools in the fading light. I lower my mouth to hers, the kiss gentle at first, then deepening. By the time we break apart, we’re both breathing harder.

“Yes,” she says, rising and offering me her hand. “We should head back.”

The walk is charged with anticipation. Despite the pain, my body responds, and as we step into the room, the door clicking shut with a finality that seals us away from the world, the air between us crackles. Lamps cast a warm, amber glow, painting Lea’s skin in hues of gold. Her eyes, dark and fathomless, lock onto mine, and I feel the pull. Raw and undeniable. My injuries ache, a dull reminder of the fight, but they’re nothing compared to the fire igniting in my veins. She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the bandages beneath my shirt, concern etched into her delicate features.

“Lea,” I say, my voice low, a command wrapped in velvet. “Stop worrying about me.”

Her lips part, a protest forming, but I close the distance in two strides, my hands framing her face. The kiss is immediate, hungry, my tongue claiming hers with a possessiveness that makes her gasp into my mouth. Her fingers clutch my shirt, and I feel the tremor in her touch, the desire warring with restraint. I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip.

“You think I’m fragile?” I murmur, a dark chuckle rumbling in my chest. “Sweetheart, I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name. Injuries be damned.”

Her breath hitches, pupils dilating, and I know I’ve got her. My hands move to her blouse, fingers deftly undoing the buttons, each one a slow, deliberate tease. The fabric parts, revealing the swell of her breasts, the lace of her bra barely containing her. I slide the blouse off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor, and step back, taking my time to, once again, drink her in. She’s a vision: curves and shadows, her skin glowing under the lamplight.

“Fucking perfect,” I growl, my voice thick with want. “I can’t stop looking at you, Lea. Made for me. Every inch of you.”

A delicious flush spreads across her chest, but she doesn’t look away. Good. I want her to see the hunger in my eyes, to feel the weight of my desire. I reach for her skirt, unzipping it with a slow, deliberate pull, letting it fall to join her blouse. Her panties are next, and I hook my fingers under the lace, dragging them down her thighs. She steps out of them, and I take another moment to admire her, standing bare in front of me.

“On the bed,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

She obeys, moving with a grace that makes my cock throb. She lies back, her hair fanning out on the pillow, and I shed my shirt, ignoring the sharp twinge in my side. The pain is irrelevant. All that matters is her: spread out, waiting, her eyes tracking my every move. I climb onto the bed, settling between her thighs, my hands gripping her hips as I lower my mouth to her skin.

“Nico,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

“Oh, baby,” I purr, my lips brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “You have no idea what I’m gonna do to you. I’m gonna taste every fucking inch of you until you’re screaming my name.”

I start slow, my tongue tracing patterns along her thigh, teasing closer to her core. She squirms, her hips lifting, and I pin her down with a firm hand, my fingers digging into her flesh. “Stay still,” I command, my voice a low growl. “You move when I tell you to move.”

She whimpers, and the sound goes straight to my dick. I part her with my fingers, exposing her to my gaze, and fuck, she’s glistening, already so wet for me. “Look at this pretty pussy,” I say, my voice dripping with reverence. “So fucking wet, just for me. You want my tongue, don’t you, piccola?”

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice a whisper. “Please, Nico.”

I don’t make her wait. My mouth descends, and I lick her slow and deep, savoring the taste of her, the way she arches under me. Her hands fist the sheets, and I grin against her, my tongue circling her clit with relentless precision. “That’s it,” I murmur, the vibrations of my voice making her gasp. “Let me hear you, Lea. Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good,” she moans, her head thrashing. “Nico, please. Don’t stop.”

“Stop?” I laugh, dark and wicked. “Baby, I’m just getting started.”

I slide a finger inside her, curling it just right, and her cry is music to my ears. I add another, stretching her, pumping in time with the flicks of my tongue. She’s tight, so fucking tight, and the thought of being inside her again has me grinding against the bed, desperate for friction. But this is about her. Her pleasure, her surrender. I work her relentlessly, my mouth and fingers driving her higher, until her thighs tremble and her moans turn to sobs.

“Nico—oh God, I’m gonna?—”

“Come for me,” I growl, sucking her clit hard. “Come all over my tongue, piccola. Let me taste it.”

She shatters, her body convulsing as she screams my name, her release flooding my senses. I don’t stop, lapping at her until she’s writhing, oversensitive, begging for mercy. Only then do I pull back, licking my lips as I crawl up her body, my hands skimming her curves.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come,” I say, my voice rough. “But we’re not done. Not even close.”

I shed my pants, freeing my cock. I stroke myself once, twice, letting her see how hard she makes me. “You want this, Lea?” I ask, my tone taunting. “You want me to fuck you deep, make you mine again?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice desperate. “Please, Nico. I need you.”

I position myself at her entrance, teasing her with the tip, and she arches, trying to pull me in. I grip her hips, holding her still. “Patience, baby,” I murmur. “I’m gonna give you what you need, but you take it my way.”

I push in slowly, inch by torturous inch, and fuck, she’s heaven. Hot, tight, gripping me like a vice. Her moan is low and guttural, matching mine as I bottom out, buried to the hilt. For a moment, I hold still, letting her adjust, letting the connection sink in. It’s more than physical. It’s deeper, rawer, like she’s peeling back every layer of me.

“Look at me,” I command, my voice softer now but no less intense. Her eyes meet mine, dark with desire, and I start to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate. “You feel that?” I say, my voice a low rasp. “That’s me claiming you, Lea. Every fucking inch of you belongs to me.”

She nods, her hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging in. I pick up the pace, driving into her harder, deeper, the bed creaking under us. “Tell me,” I demand, my lips brushing her ear. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “It’s yours, Nico.”

“Damn right,” I growl, slamming into her, my control fraying. “You’re mine, Lea. My woman, my everything. Tonight, you’ll be fucked so good you’ll never forget it.”

The words pour out, filthy and reverent, as I lose myself in her. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me closer, and I angle my hips, hitting that spot that makes her cry out. “That’s it,” I murmur, my lips grazing her throat. “Take it, baby. Take every fucking inch.”

She’s close again, her walls fluttering around me, and I’m right there with her, the pressure building. “Come with me,” I say, my voice raw. “I wanna feel you come when I fill you up.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, and the trust there, the raw, unguarded vulnerability, undoes me. We move together, frantic now, chasing the edge. She comes first, her scream muffled against my shoulder, and the feel of her pulsing around me sends me over. I bury myself deep, my release hitting like a freight train, her name a ragged prayer on my lips.

For a moment, we’re suspended, bodies locked, hearts pounding. I collapse beside her, pulling her into my arms, her head resting on my chest. Her breathing slows, and I stroke her, contentment settling over me like a rare, fragile thing. I truly care about her.

But as she drifts toward sleep, the weight of what comes next creeps in. Love is a luxury I cannot afford, not when the stakes are this high. The warmth I felt earlier recedes, replaced by the familiar detachment that has served me so well for so long.

I disentangle myself from Lea’s sleeping form, sliding out of bed without waking her. I dress quietly in the darkness, movements precise despite my injuries. Looking back at her one last time, I feel the weight of what might have been.

Then I turn away, heading to Alessandro’s office to plan our next move. The Diplomat is back in control, even as part of me mourns.

I close the door behind me, leaving her to sleep in peaceful ignorance of the storm that’s coming.