Page 64 of Twisted Violet

His eyes narrow, and he cocks his head. “Try again.”

I look anywhere but at him, the floor, the hallway, the fine hair along his muscular forearm. “It’s… about the other night.”

His gaze sharpens. “Go on.”

I swallow hard. “I just don’t know what it meant… to you.”

For a moment, he says nothing, just studies me like he’s deciding if I can handle the truth. Then his left hand slides down andsettles over my hip.

“It meant,” he says, leaning in until his mouth is a breath from my ear, “exactly what you think it did.”

My mouth goes dry, and I blink up at him. “And… what exactly is that?”

He clenches his jaw. “You tell me.”

I frown, ready to tell him I asked first, but he cuts me off by leaning in closer, so close that his minty breath fans across my cheeks.

“I’m in,” he says, the words low and certain. “I want you. All of you. Only you.”

His gaze locks on mine, steady and unflinching.

I want to match him. I want to say something just as solid, just as sure, but my head trips over the words before I can find them. Because “only you” would be a lie. Dallas and Rome are tangled in there too.

My brow furrows as my mouth opens, then shuts again.

“Relax, Vi,” he says quietly. “I’m not expecting a response. I just wanted you to know where I stand.”

He studies me for another beat, like he’s making sure the words sank in, then he pushes off the wall and heads for the door.

“Niko… wait.” I say, flustered. “I-”

He turns back to look at me just as he crosses the threshold. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. You’re it for me, Violet Warner. Take all the time you need; I’ll be here when you’re ready or even if you’re not.”

The door clicks shut behind him, but his words don’t follow. They linger in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore.

You’re it for me.

It should feel like too much. Like something that pins me down and suffocates me.

But instead, it makes my chest warm in the best and worst ways.

I want to believe him. I want to believe there’s a world where I can be his and still be Dallas’s and Rome’s too. But wanting and having aren’t the same thing.

I press my hands to the wall, trying to ground myself in the solid weight of it. The sting of the tattoo is still there beneath my shirt. A gentle reminder that not all pain is bad. That some things are worth feeling, even when they scare you.

And maybe… just maybe… this is one of them.

TWENTY-TWO

VIOLET

I’min the kitchen when I hear the elevator.

The soft mechanical sound of it approaching is subtle at first. So quiet it barely registers over the simmering water on the stove. But then it dings, and the sound hits like a gunshot in my chest.

My body stills.

The guys are out on a mission. No one should be coming up. Not without a keycard. Not unless…