Nico Di Angelo Aesthetic Novels & Stories

Avi noticed my gaze, and he looked pleased. “I can give you whatever you want, Nero. You need only ask. You know that. It’s always been about you,” he said, downing the whiskey in one go. “Angelo tried to get me to talk many times, but he’s never been good at intimidating me.” He shrugged. “Then tell me. If I killed your father, would that remain the same?” I asked without hesitation. He fell silent, fingers tapping on his chin still. His lashes fluttered and he heard someone walk in. I tilted my head; it was unmistakably Dante’s scent— the cologne I’d chosen for him was irresistibly sweet, and he wore it well.