đź’śNicole
I felt the high-speed chase in my veins, even though I was just running down the grand staircase. Two weeks of being a prisoner in my own room, forced to stare at the walls like a tragic heroine, had made me feral. My father's grudging mercy had finally allowed me to attend this Sunday Mass with the family. Freedom, even temporary, required a tactical wardrobe choice.
I sailed into the main hall, feeling every bit of the short, fitted, silk gown clinging to my legs. It was scandalous, and I loved it.
"Nikolayushka! Too short!" Mama shrieked, instantly abandoning her morning tea.
Papa merely shrugged, pulling on his jacket. "Doesn't matter. It's a church, Katya. Not like the priest cares about her ankles."
"It's elegant," Grace commented, examining my outfit with the clinical gaze of a fashion analyst. "The first elegant thing you've worn in forever, honestly."
See? Even my doom-and-gloom father and my painfully stylish sister had to admit I looked like a queen escaping Alcatraz.
We arrived at the cathedral, and I endured the ritual of sitting stiffly while the priest discussed sins I commit on a hourly basis. Once Mass ended, and Papa and Grace launched into the obligatory, loud mingling the Dimitri Ferraro Golden Daughter photo-op, I slipped away. I moved like a phantom, just enjoying the silence of the marble hallways. I found myself thinking, as I always did in these moments, about Grace. Would I be happy if I were her? The dutiful, quiet, universally adored one? Probably. But then I think it would be also suffocating, so, meh.
I rounded a corner, my mind still miles away, and slammed straight into a wall of granite.
"Ugh.. watch where you're going," I snapped, not looking up.
The deep voice that answered wasn't annoyed; it was cool, lethal, and devastatingly familiar.
"Nicole."
My head snapped up.
He was standing there, the sun catching the perfect line of his jaw. He had a phone pressed to his ear, but his gaze was already piercing mine. Leonardo Greco. Of course. It was Sunday; the devil has to attend church, too. He was in a perfectly tailored dark suit and tie, looking disgustingly good.
What the actual hell was he doing here?
I stood there, momentarily paralyzed, noticing things I hadn't let myself notice before. How the suit draped over muscle and bone, the faint, geometric pattern on his tie, and how absolutely, staggeringly huge he was. He suddenly felt like a force of nature, and for a split second, I felt utterly small. My eyes were playing tricks on me, obviously.
Leonardo lowered the phone, not breaking eye contact. He didn't look inconvenienced; he looked... entertained. "Get out of my way."
It was then I realized I was planted directly in his path, staring like a fish. The rational part of my brain screamed, Obey the terrifying man! But my chaotic core had other ideas, maybe because I now have a habit of wanting to piss this man off.
"What if I don't?" I challenged, pushing a curl back from my face.
The phone slipped entirely from his grip and clattered softly onto the marble floor. Leonardo didn't even blink.
"I've been wondering," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that made every hair on my arms stand up. The tone was so rich and intimate that, for some stupid reason, I took a physical step backward. "But now I know. You do have a death wish, Nicole."
He closed the gap I had created. He was a predator.
"You find me so supernaturally attractive that you have to stand and stare, not caring if it's the last thing you do?" he asked, a hint of genuine confusion behind the arrogance.
"No," I shot back, forcing myself to hold my ground. "I was just wondering what the devil was doing in church." The closeness was making my heart beat faster than a hummingbird's wing. I had to run. I tried to pivot and escape, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with the strength of a vise.
He pulled me right back. Hard.
My back hit the cool marble wall with a soft thud, and his body was inches from mine, his imposing frame leaning in. It was only now, this close, that I realized he had dark tattoos disappearing beneath the sleeves of his expensive suit.
"The devil?" he repeated, scoffing slightly, his breath warm near my ear. His eyes dropped slowly, trailing down my body over the thin silk of the gown, past my hips, and then lingering on my exposed legs. He didn't stop there. His gaze moved back up, right between my legs, so intensely I felt he could see through the material.
My face was completely flushed.
He finally looked back at my face, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "I think the devil is actually you. Wearing this to church. You must have the express intention of seducing men, Nicole."
I tried to break his grip, but he wouldn't budge. "You're the one having such thoughts! That's all you can see because you probably haven't gotten laid in forever, because no girl wants an ugly-looking man!"
He chuckled, a low, rich sound that stayed with me. "Well, you want me. So…"
Furious, but blushing crazily, I spat, "Want you? I'd rather date a starfish!"
His eyes darkened with challenge. "Swear that you aren't wet right now, Nicole," he whispered, calling my name like it was the most beautiful, dark sin he could commit. "Swear you don't get wet everytime I come close to you."
I couldn't even look at him, it was like my heart beat increased by a hundred.
"What do you mean wet?, i didn't pour water on myself." I murmured looking everywhere aside his face ofc because I was sure my face would be giving the color orange by now.
"Should I check?" he asked, his voice a low growl. It felt like my skin was on fire as I felt his hand trail slowly, agonizingly up my bare leg, brushing against the hem of the short gown.
Cough!
A loud, deliberate cough came from the discarded phone on the floor. I shoved Leonardo away with all my strength, utterly mortified, and scrambled to escape. As I fled down the hall, I heard a voice screaming from the phone, "Nicole? Bro, who the hell is Nicole?"
---------------
I was on Grace's bed, twisting and turning the velvet comforter into a sad, defeated coil. Grace was sitting patiently at her vanity, putting her perfectly straight hair into heatless rollers.
"I totally screwed up, Gracie! I screwed up!" I yelled into a pillow.
Grace turned, looking totally unbothered. "Look, you ran into a stranger and you were drooling over him. So what? You've been locked up for two weeks. Just go out. Meet new people. No one cares."
I didn't tell her what really happened, I only just told her a stranger caught me staring.
"I can't! I'm still grounded! Remember? No books, no laptop, no iPad, no freedom! It's only by the mercy of God and probably Papa's need to look normal that I was allowed to leave my room to attend a church service this week!"
"Then sneak out," she said simply, returning to her reflection. "I'll cover for you. If Papa asks, you're here, helping me catalog my purse collection."
I sighed. "You know I hate going out alone. And besides, you're too obedient. You'd probably fess up the second Mama used her disappointed voice on you."
Grace just laughed.
I sat up, the plan forming in my mind. Sergei. He was my weakness and my strength. I jumped off the bed.
A half-hour later, I found Sergei coming to guard my door, looking as stern as a well-meaning golden retriever trying to be a Rottweiler.
"Sergei, my dearest," I whispered, sliding up to him. "I need a favor. Just one tiny favor for your favorite person?"
He didn't look at me, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. "No, Nicole. Your father said lock-in."
"Yes, but my father didn't say anything about me going mad from boredom and screaming through the night. You wouldn't want me to ruin his sleep, would you?" I pleaded, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes. I knew his fatal flaw: he couldn't stand to see me genuinely unhappy.
He sighed, running a hand over his shaved head. "Where?"
"Just a quick drink. A little fun. We'll be back before midnight, I promise!"
He still refused, but I watched the internal war on his face. He obviously liked me, maybe even more than a handler should like his principal. It was that fierce, quiet protectiveness I loved, the kind that made him betray my father's strict orders for a chance to make me smile.
Finally, he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. "If we're caught, you owe me a lifetime of peace."
"Deal!"
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
The club was everything my room wasn't: dark, loud, and alive. Sergei and I settled at a quiet, hidden table near the back.
"I'm going to order us some non-alcoholic drinks, and then I need to use the restroom," Sergei told me, his voice tight with nerves.
"Got it. Don't worry, I'm a big girl," I assured him, already relaxing into the music.
He left, and for two glorious minutes, I felt free. Then, a shadow fell over the table.
"Hey, beautiful. You look lonely."
I looked up at a man with a gold chain and a greasy smile. "I'm not. I'm waiting for someone."
"Oh, too bad. Because you're coming with me." He reached out, his hand wrapping around my arm with a crushing grip.
I tried to pull away. "Get your disgusting hand off me."
He laughed, tightening his grip. "Feisty. I like feisty."
I didn't panic. Instead, I grabbed the glass of water on the table and, with a satisfying splash, threw it directly into his face thinking it would make him leave me alone.
The man froze, the laughter dying in his throat. Water streamed down his face, washing away the smile and revealing a truly terrifying fury. He lunged, grabbing my hair with one hand and my wrist with the other, trying to drag me out of the seat. I struggled, yelling, but around us, the club was suddenly deafeningly silent.
Mafia clubs are great for dancing and bad for getting rescued; no one wanted to pick a fight for an unknown girl.
Just as the man succeeded in hauling me half-out of the booth, a large, powerful hand clamped down on his wrist, wrenching him back with shocking force.
I was pulled roughly out of the man's grip and spun around, crashing into the rock-solid chest of my savior.
I looked up. Oh, come on.
Leonardo Greco. Was this man my guardian angel?
The man I had just thrown water on immediately reached for the gun tucked into his waistband, but he was too slow. Leonardo had already moved, his own sleek, black pistol pressed firmly against the other man's head.