.
Okay. I’m going to say something I probably shouldn’t. But I keep thinking about it, so fuck it, here it is:
Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we met? Like, for real, in the real world.
And to that end, I have a confession of my own to make: I don’t mean “let’s meet and have coffee and talk about Goethe.”
I mean let’s meet and do all the things we’ve talked about.
Like…the dark stuff.
Fucking hell, I can’t believe I’m even writing this.
Here’s the thing: like it or not, you’ve managed to become one of my closest friends. Maybe the closest one I’ve ever had.
I trust you. I’ve never MET you, but I trust you, and if there was ever one person I could work up the courage to try my fantasies out with…well, surprise: you’re it.
But I’m also scared it’ll ruin this. That seeing your face might make it all too real. Or that it will change things.
Is it the anonymity that allows me to be so open with you?
So tell me I’m crazy. Tell me I just took things too far. Better yet, burn this note and pretend I never said a thing.
Ugh.
-Me
MILENA
Rurik insists on driving me himself. As if a dinner date with a man is grounds for an armed escort. Mind you, Rurik is basically always on war-time alert.
I suppose that makes him a pretty good head of security for Papa. It also makes for one fucking morose Uber driver, though.
He hates when I tease him about that.
“Five stars coming your way,” I grin as we pull up the curb outside the ultra-chic Oolong, a Fujian Chinese-inspired two Michelin star restaurant, waving my phone.
Rurik turns and shoots me a baleful look from the front seat of the Range Rover.
“Although, if you’re going to glare at me,” I sigh, “it might go down to four—”
“Milena,” he mutters quietly, eyes narrowing.
“Enough with the Uber jokes?”
He frowns. “I really think I should accompany you.”
“Yeah, because nothing sets the mood for a romantic evening like a scary six-foot-four Russian guy with prison tats joining the party,” I say dryly.
“Six foot five. And they’re not all prison tattoos.”
I smile at him and reach forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Rurik, you know I love you. But tonight is about me and Nero, okay?”
He scowls. “Milena—”
“It’s a date, Rurik. I’m not storming an enemy stronghold.”
He turns away, reaching for the glove compartment. “I must insist, then, that you take this.”
I snort when he turns back holding a gun.
“A date, Rurik,” I sigh again. “And where exactly did you imagine I would be putting that, anyway?”
I gesture eloquently at the form-fitting, summery, knee-length white dress, high heels, and tiny clutch purse.
Rurik frowns again. Admittedly, it’s his default look.
“Okay, maybe if I had huge boobs like the girls I see you going out with, I could hide it in my cleavage. But, unfortunately…” I reach up and cup my little handfuls. “I’m just not built—”
“We’re not continuing this conversation,” Rurik mutters, looking everywhere in the car except at my hands on my tits.
I smile and reach for the door handle. “Works for me.” I pat his shoulder again. “I’m going to be fine, Rurik. But you know I appreciate the concern.”
His brow furrows heavily. “I will wait right—”
“No you will not,” I say firmly. “Go home. Enjoy your night.” I grin at him. “Call up one of those girls with the big titties—”
“Keep your phone on, Milena,” he grunts.
“That, I can do.”
I pick up the wrapped present from the seat next to me and step out of the back of the Range Rover. A man in a suit who looks much more Italian mafia than Chinese hospitality opens the door, ushering me inside. The maître d’ bows formally, smiling politely before escorting me to our table.
Woah.
The entire restaurant is empty.
Forty tables at one of the trendiest, most exclusive fine dining restaurants in New York, and it’s empty.
…Except for one table near the back, by a window overlooking a little tea garden.
Nero stands as the maître d’ brings me over, then pulls out my chair. I don’t sit. I grin, slightly nervous all of a sudden.
“H-hi,” I say quietly, my face flushed.
He just nods, his jaw steely. I almost want to laugh.
What, is he nervous too?
I place the present on the table and step toward him, wrapping my arms around his body in a warm hug.
His arms don’t leave his sides, which only makes me smile even more.
He’s seriously nervous.
For some reason, that makes me feel better.
I get up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, still smiling as I pull back.
“So did the health department find a problem, or did you book the whole place?”
He dips his chin, lifting a shoulder. “I wanted us to be alone.”
I waggle my brows as we take our seats. “Very baller move, Mr. De Luca.”
Nero’s already got a glass of red wine sitting in front of him, half gone. It’s truly adorable that Mr. Dominant and Cocky has a case of the nerves he doesn’t know what to do with.
I chew on my lip, drinking him in, my pulse picking up.
I mean, the man is gorgeous. He’s in a dark charcoal gray linen suit, rocking a very European style—crisp white dress shirt underneath, unbuttoned, no tie. The combo makes his tanned Mediterranean skin pop and his green eyes glimmer in the low candlelight.
He looks incredible. Extra broody, for sure, but freaking incredible.
My eyes drag over his chiseled jaw and cheekbones, his dark hair swept back from his face. The vein pulsing in his neck.
…The tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve and snaking over the back of his hand.
Krakatoa.
Be heard.
I fidget nervously for a moment before I exhale and put my hand on the wrapped present in front of me.
“I, uh…this might be dorky, but I got—”
“Is that new?”
His eyes pierce across the table, looking right at my chest. A smile creeps over my face as I finger the pendant.
“No, actually.” My smile widens. “I’ve had it for years. It was actually an earring that belonged to my mother. It’s a—”
“Louis Monte Noir diamond.”
I blink in surprise. He says it so cooly, like he already knew. My brow arches as the grin curls even wider on my face.
“Yeah, actually.” I laugh lightly. “What are you, a secret jewelry expert?”
He says nothing.
“So full of surprises, Mr. De Luca,” I grin, blushing.
I take a shaky breath and put my hand on the present.
It’s time.
I exhale and look up, my blue eyes igniting as they gaze into his green ones.
“I…like you,” I blurt. “Like, a lot. And I know that’s not necessarily what this is, or…” I try again, my heart pounding in my chest. “I mean, I know we never defined what this is between us. But I think this might help us do that.”
I tentatively push the wrapped book across the table.
Nero’s brow furrows. There’s a tightness in his mouth, and I suddenly realize he’s barely said a dozen words to me since I walked in. But he pulls the present to him, then hooks a finger under the edge of the wrapping paper.
“You can open it now.”
He barely nods as his hand jerks, ripping the paper off as he turns the book over in his hands.
His whole body stiffens. His shoulders clench under the linen of his suit, and I watch that vein in his neck start to pulse wildly. His eyes go steely and dark, and his jaw is so tense it almost vibrates.
He doesn’t say a word, but it’s clear he knows exactly what he’s holding in his hands. That alone has my pulse skyrocketing as warm excitement bubbles and dances inside of me.
“I think you should open it,” I say quietly. ‘I wrote something inside.’
He opens the front cover, and his eyes land on the inscription:
I know it was you.
“I know it was you.”
The words rumble darkly from his lips as he reads the words aloud. His whole face is tight, his eyes stabbing into the page.
“I know it was you…” he says again, taking a slow, deep breath.
My own breath is still held. I’m still waiting for that “ah-ha!” moment where he looks up at me with a big smile and a burst of realization in his eyes. Where he sweeps aside the table, captures me in his arms, and seals his lips to mine. Where he tells me he always wanted it to be me, and then kisses me, and holds me forever.
But none of that happens.
He stays frozen, staring at the book in his hands. Jaw tight. Eyes steely.
“I…” I swallow nervously, beyond confused.
Torn.
Hurt.
“Nero, I—”
He stands abruptly from the table, drawing up to his full height. Finally—finally—his eyes meet mine again.
But they’re hard. Unreadable. Cold.
What the fuck.
He slowly walks around the table toward me. I lift my chin, my heart racing, waiting for him to stop with this cold act and scoop me into his arms.
He slowly keeps walking, until he’s right behind me. Then he pauses.
My heart hammers in my chest. My throat goes dry. I gasp quietly as his hand suddenly slides around my neck, wrapping around my throat from behind.
Oh God, he’s going to kiss me.
Any second now, he’s going to twist my hair in a fist in that way that drives me wild, turn my head, and kiss me until I can’t breathe.
His hand tightens.
“I know it was you,” he murmurs, quoting my words back at me.
I smile nervously. “Nero—”
Wait. Something’s not right. His fingers tighten—not possessively, not in that way that I love.
Just hard.
Too hard.
I choke, my eyes bulging as his hand wraps around my throat like a vise. My body jerks, trying to stand. But his iron grip keeps me planted in the chair as his lips descend from behind to brush my ear.
“And I know,” he snarls, sending an icy chill up my spine, “that it was you.”
There’s a sharp jab to my neck. I flinch, gasping in shock and ripping my eyes to the side…
…Just in time to see Nero pulling out the hypodermic.
Alarm bells explode in my head as his hand loosens its grip and drops from my throat. My body feels numb and sluggish, the candlelight of the room suddenly flickering manically. My head lolls as my vision swims, eyes vainly trying to focus on him as sheer terror swallows me.
“What…” I moan as the room goes dark.
“Whyyyy….”
The last thing I see is pure, venomous fury igniting in those sharp green eyes.
Then it all goes dark.
