And then I could finally move on from this goddamn infatuation.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Blair
“I’m sorry. I think I just hallucinated,” I said, slow blinking at Nico.
We were standing in my kitchen with the island between us, both our cups of coffee set on the surface—still steaming but already forgotten.
The air between us had been crackling with tension since we climbed into the cab.
We’d been painfully silent until the coffee was done brewing.
Then he just blurted it out.
All willy-nilly.
Like it wasn’t completely absurd.
“Because you didn’t just say you’re in the—”
“Mafia,” he cut me off, giving me a nod. “That’s exactly what I said. You didn’t mishear me.”
“The mafia. The mob? Like… Tommy guns and fedoras and cigars…”
“Well, Tommy guns are not really a thing anymore,” he said, eyes warm, lips twitching. “But, yes. Guns and codes of silence and crime.”
“But…”
But what?
But he seemed like such a nice, steady, grounded guy?
Sure, he was nice, steady, grounded, but he also worked odd and inconsistent hours and made a lot of money if he was able to live in this building. He had money to loan for weddings, funerals, and engagement rings. He had a giant family. All of them seemed to know crime statistics and security.
“I honestly thought you knew. Either from Matt or his family or, well, from my name.”
“Your name?”
“Costa. Our name gets tossed in the news cycle every now and again.”
“Wait,” I said, straightening. “Costa. Cosimo Costa? Wasn’t he on trial for murder?” Ithadbeen in the news almost nonstop for weeks. I guess I just never connected the name to Nico.
“Yeah. He’s family.”
His family member was a murderer?
I mean, sure, it was a hung jury. But everyone knew Cosimo had committed the murder.
If Cosimo was a murderer, was it possible that Nico was as well?
My stomach twisted as I mentally tallied how many feet I was away from the knife drawer.
But, no.
No, he wasn’t going to hurt me.
He was confessing his truth to me.
