CONTRACTED TO THE DON...AND HIS TWIN
Nico didn’t say where we were going.
He just walked into the bedroom late that afternoon while I was changing out of the shirt I’d stolen from Matteo, looked at me for a long second, and said, “Put on something comfortable. We’re leaving in ten.”
No explanation, no gala, no meeting. No bullshit about networking or appearances and I didn’t ask. Something in his tone told me not to. I pulled on jeans, a soft sweater, and my old boots, the ones that still had scuffs from my real life. When I met him by the elevator, he was in dark jeans and a black Henley that stretched across his shoulders. No suit or armor, just Nico.
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