Page 43 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
The offer I’m making is generous.
But for some reason, she gives me a resounding “no.”
She doesn’t even tell me why.
She just crosses her arms and frowns at me, full of attitude that I’ve come to realize is just so her. I barely even know her, but in all the times I’ve met her—literally, every single time—she’s been full of attitude. It’s the most consistent thing about her.
Is she still pissed about the construction noise?
I narrow my eyes at her. She looks like the type to hold a grudge.
“It’s a good deal,” I say.
“Well, I don’t want it.”
“Why the Hell not?”
She cringes at the curse, and I regret saying it. I’m a curser. I swear like a motherfucking sailor. In my mind, aloud, and even in my dreams. And apparently, she’s not. I remember what she said when I first met her—darn.
She crosses her arms again. “I don’t want some strange men following me around, going where I go.”
I look her up and down. “And where is it that you go?” I can’t help but ask, remembering her walk of shame to John’s house and my suspicion that she’s a gold digger.
Antagonizing her right now probably isn’t my greatest decision, but it’s not like I judge her for it, since I do some questionable things for money, too. But I want her to say what she is aloud.
For some reason, a reason that likely has more to do with how fucked up I am than what I actually think of her actions, I want to know if she’ll own up to it.
I want to see this gorgeous, angry woman tell her truth to me without shame.
But when she doesn’t, when she says, “none of your darn business,” I sag a little in my seat in seat.
Disappointed.
But I can’t blame her.
I don’t talk about myself.
I don’t talk about my past, present or future.
I don’t even let people call me Niccolaio anymore, unless I’m about to kill them or they’re too high up in the Romano family for me to correct.
I sigh, because I don’t need her to confirm it to know my suspicions are correct. And if she’s gold digging, she’s probably in need of money.
Money I have but can’t access.
Sure, I can dip into my savings from taking out hits, but she can also easily ask for more and more and more once I begin to indulge her.
And it’s not like I’m killing enough people to be this woman’s sugar daddy.
So, I offer the one thing I think she might accept.
“You can live with me, and I’ll protect you.”
And damn, I hope I’m not making a fucking mistake.
I’ve made too many in this life already.
Chapter Seventeen
