Page 16 of The Woman at the Funeral (Costa Family #11)

“Well, now, see, I manage to avoid that,” he said with another of those boyish smiles of his. Half flirtation, half mischief. “By never getting serious with anyone.”

“A solid plan,” I agreed, shooting him a smile.

After that, he finally sipped his coffee. Then he spent a solid three minutes rhapsodizing about its virtues.

“I suddenly see why you’re not interested in a relationship,” I said when he was done. “Your one true love is clearly caffeine.”

“She does keep me going,” he agreed, cradling his cup in both hands.

There was another knock at the door then, making me stiffen.

“Sorry, Blair,” Nico said, wincing at me, apologetic.

“I meant to tell you before they started showing up. But I…” He trailed off for a second.

I knew what he was going to say. That he’d gotten distracted.

That we both had. “I slept in,” he finished.

“That’s Leo. I had him swing by to grab the equipment for Zen to install. ”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.”

“Word to the wise,” Zen said, leaning closer as Nico went to the door. “Just make Leo a plain coffee. His palate isn’t refined enough to appreciate this amazingness,” he said, waving his mug. “But he would be too polite to turn it down.”

“Got it,” I agreed, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Nico opened the door and in walked another Costa brother. Just as handsome. But Leo was a little wider, like he really enjoyed the weights section at the gym.

He had brown eyes like Zeno, instead of Nico’s blue. And when he shot me a smile, there was a single dimple in his cheek that etched almost like a scar, giving him a darkly charming look.

“Leondro, this is Blair. Blair, Leo. The second oldest.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, offering my hand. “Oh, uh, I should probably go get dressed,” I said, suddenly realizing I was wearing next to nothing in front of two strangers.

“Babe,” Leo said, shaking his head. “We’re the ones invading your place at seven in the morning. You don’t gotta dress for us.”

True.

But the air just kicked on, and we were all going to be very aware of how chilly I felt in a second or two.

“I’ll make him a coffee,” Nico said, saving me.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a small smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Alone, I dropped down on the edge of my bed, then flopped backward, letting out the deep sigh I’d been holding in since the first knock on the door.

I could still feel the pressure on my stomach, the throbbing between my thighs, the way his hands sank into my flesh, how his lips felt on my skin.

I knew I needed to get myself together, to get dressed and get back out there.

But I couldn’t stop my hand from slipping under the waistband of my pants and panties, from letting my mind drift back to the couch, to fantasize about what might have happened had we not been interrupted.

It was the only way, I convinced myself, as I pressed my lips together and drove myself up. There was no way I could go through the whole day in close proximity to Nico with desire still sizzling across my nerve endings.

I drifted away, thinking of his hands, his lips, his tongue, teeth, and cock.

I came hard, little whimpers escaping me.

Embarrassment crept in afterward, peeling me off my bed and forcing me into the shower.

By the time I was showered, dressed in slacks and a white shirt, had my hair dried and pulled back, and slipped on some simple jewelry, I felt much more myself.

Guarded .

The word crept in—unwanted.

But I had to admit it was true.

Feeling like ‘myself’ generally just meant I had my walls up, I had my guards in place, I wasn’t soft and vulnerable anymore.

There’d been times at the beginning of my relationship with Matthew when I was more open, sweeter, less guarded.

But as the reality of my marriage sank in, bumping and bruising tender areas, it felt like I had no choice but to start raising my walls again. To protect myself from more pain.

We don’t blame turtles for hiding in shells. That’s how they survive. And existing in a relationship that involved the Ferraro family, it felt like there were predators all around, just waiting to find me belly-up and unprotected so they could sink their teeth in.

But as I looked at the woman staring back at me in the mirror—cool, collected—I couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was shell and how much was actually me anymore.

This wasn’t the time for existential dread, though.

So I squared my shoulders and moved back out of my bedroom.

Where I found Zeno and Leo leaning over their collection of electronics, talking in low tones.

And Nico was in my kitchen. Jacket off. Sleeves rolled up. Cooking.

“I was going to make breakfast.”

“Well, now you can just keep me company,” he said, waving toward the island.

This was where it could have so easily turned awkward. I even braced for the discomfort.

But Nico quickly turned the conversation to the security system, explaining how it was going to work, how I would have remote access to all of my cameras from a phone app, and how there would be motion sensors and alarms.

As I listened, I couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of disappointment. Because with a system like the one he and his brothers were installing, I would never again need to have the half-naked man sleeping on my couch to keep me safe.

And I certainly wouldn’t have him in my kitchen, whipping me up a killer breakfast with his sleeves rolled up all sluttily.

“What is this? Some fucking spy movie?” Leo scoffed at something Zeno said, making me swivel to look over. “Is someone going to bungee down from the roof to get on her balcony?”

“It’s only one floor up,” Zeno reasoned. He walked over to unlock and slide open the balcony door. He leaned upward toward the roof. “I bet I could do it without equipment,” he mused. “Yeah, I mean, it’s only a couple-foot drop onto Nico’s balcony. Same drop down here.”

“Which you’re not going to attempt,” Nico said.

“Okay, Dad,” Zeno shot back. But the light in his eyes said he was totally planning on giving it a go. “But my point stands. If I could do it, who has no real motivation, then someone who does have the motivation would risk it. What’s it hurt to put a camera out there?”

“He’s got a point,” Nico agreed.

“He does?” I asked, dubious. “I mean, really, that seems like something out of a movie.”

“Exactly,” Leo agreed, glad to have someone on his sensible side.

“But we all know that crazier shit has happened in real life,” Nico said, giving Leo a look I couldn’t quite decipher.

Huh.

That was odd.

Suddenly, something came back to me that I’d overheard at one of the many Ferraro family gatherings.

They’d been talking about Nico, which hadn’t really caught my interest at first. Why would I care about gossip having to do with my husband’s “best friend” who I’d literally never seen again after my wedding?

But something about the excited, hushed tones had me more curious than I wanted to admit to.

“Mimi was shocked,” one of Ronny’s sisters said.

“About what? Him having a gun?”

“Yeah. She said she thought he was such a fine, upstanding young man.”

Both women tittered at that.

“Well, that’s how men like him get away with their crimes, isn’t it?”

At the time, I thought maybe she was using “crimes” colloquially.

Something about how these three men were discussing security, though, had me stiffening, had me paying closer attention.

I mean, who the hell were these men I let into my home?

“You okay?” Nico asked, watching me with his head tipped to the side.

“What? Yeah. Fine. Sorry.”

I felt immediately guilty for thinking negatively about the man. I mean, he’d been nothing but good to me. So what if he had a gun? Millions of people had guns. It was a personal protection choice. It didn’t mean Nico was some kind of bad guy.

I mean, did bad guys make you an omelet and pancakes?

Still, even long after my cameras were set up and my apartment was empty, I couldn’t seem to get the ideas out of my mind.

Who the hell was Nico Costa, really?