It didn’t take long to realize I didn’t belong, that I was already stained by the world I was raised in. That a man with a clean conscience and clean hands would never fit me just right. I’d destroyed a decent man’s life, and while he’d touched me in places I’d never been touched before, I’d wished he did it a little rougher. I’d wished he was tainted by the darkness, as the men I was used to were.

Everyone knew you didn’t fall in love with a man in my world, like the one who stood before me now. Not unless you wanted your heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. No, I’d never fall in love. Truly, I’d never expected to. You didn’t mourn something you’d always known you couldn’t have.

At least this man wasn’t mine. He was too distracting, too fascinating . . . I’d never make it out alive.

I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and walked toward him, my heart beating to every step I took. I stopped a few feet from him. With that look in his eyes, I wouldn’t put myself in this man’s reach for anything.

“Your papà know you’re kissing men on stage?”

I faltered, my clammy hand tightening on my bag. Nicolas must have been here long enough to catch the end of the show. Where in the world was Benito? This man was going to kill me by the look of it.

My feet shifted. “I didn’t kiss anyone.”

Technically, it was a lie, but I was going to talk myself out of this. Because after Nicolas had overheard Tyler ask me out, and the fact that it was Tyler who I’d kissed—well, this might seem worse than it was. To the men in my family’s ears, it would sound like I’d gotten naked with the man. I told you—psychotic. Apparently, Russo men were the same.

Nicolas pushed off the wall and walked within a foot of me. “Yeah? Why don’t you explain what it was you were doing then?”

My cheeks grew hot. “I was Death. I was . . . sucking his life away.”

Maybe that was the wrong way to explain it, because his expression grew even darker. I thought “sucking” might have done it. Ugh. His stare crept under my skin, flustering me.

“It was completely platonic,” I said.

His gaze sparked. “You put your lips on another man’s and suck, it’s never platonic.”

He made it sound so dirty when it had really been a dry, unmoving kiss. Anger simmered in my veins. Who was he to tell me who I could kiss—Mr. I’ll Sleep with My Stepmom and Other Men’s Girlfriends?

Frustration rose in my throat, mangling any possible comeback, so I only brushed past him. He grabbed my duffel bag off my shoulder as I passed. His gaze was still heated, but he followed me out the doors.

The mist fell steady, and I blinked it off my eyelashes as I searched for his car. It sat at the curb, all black and shiny. I wasn’t getting in it; I’d wait for Benito. I stood on the sidewalk while Nicolas tossed my bag in the backseat.

He shut the door and turned to look at me. “You gonna stand there all night or get in the car?”

“Where’s Benito?”

He opened the passenger side door. “He’s got some business with your papà.”

From past experience, that meant something bad was happening in New York tonight. I was surprised Papà had sent Nicolas to chauffeur me, considering his lack of trust with me and men. But I was also a little uneasy he felt he needed Nicolas to take me home.

I’d always felt safe and it was probably nothing, but if there was a reason Papà needed to worry about my safety I was glad he’d sent Nicolas. The man had a million enemies and he had stayed alive this long.

Though, the idea of being locked in a car with him made my stomach flutter with nerves. I imagined I’d feel similar right before jumping out of a plane. I didn’t know why he created such visceral reactions in me, but when he said, “Car. Now, Elena,” I’d never disliked anything more.

I wanted to make him say please, but as my gaze coasted to his, the dark storm that looked back at me changed my mind real quick. I walked past him and got in his stupid car.

My frustration mixed with turmoil. What would he do with the information about Tyler? I didn’t think Papà would care so much about a stage kiss, but with his arm around me, asking me out . . . my stomach turned. That could sound bad.

I was resenting Nicolas Russo so much right now that I tried to ignore the warm, masculine scent filling the car. Sandalwood, clean skin, and a certain danger that made my pulse drift between my legs. I tried to ignore the way it invaded my senses and made the corners of my mind fuzzy. It hit me like a shot of liquor, and I distracted myself with buckling my seatbelt.

When he sat in the driver’s seat and shut the door, the car felt infinitely smaller. Quiet enough I could hear my heartbeat and warm enough the heater had to be on. Was it his body putting out that much heat?

Mist hit the windshield, running down the glass and blurring the outside world. I was alone with him in such a small space. The fact resounded in my mind, playing havoc on my nervous system.

Without a word to me, Nicolas typed out a text. Probably to my papà. I could only imagine it read something like: Package picked up safely.

My fingernails dug into my palms.

How did I even address him? I’d never found it so difficult to speak with someone before, but all rational thoughts flew away when he was near.

“Nicolas.” I hesitated. “Maybe we started off on the wrong foot . . . at church last weekend. I didn’t mean to glare at you, truly.”

His gaze flicked to me. A hint of amusement played in it, though it wasn’t normal amusement. This man did everything a little dark.

My cheeks warmed. “And I wanted to say I apologize. I was uncertain about the marriage in the beginning, but now . . . I think you and Adriana will be . . . good together.” I forced my sweetest smile.

It didn’t get me the reaction I wanted.

He let out a sardonic breath and tossed his phone in the center console. “Glad to hear it, but I’m still telling your papà about your romance with the dancer.”

My smile and stomach fell.

He put the key in the ignition and started the car. A metal song played quietly on the radio. I couldn’t help but notice it was the same station Adriana listened to sometimes.

“Wait,” I rushed out, putting one hand on the gearshift as if I could stop him. He glanced at it and then back at me, his gaze conveying he would remove it if I didn’t. “I’m telling you, there is nothing going on with Tyler. It wasn’t even a kiss! I was merely . . . taking his life away. It was completely platonic.”

He didn’t say anything, but his stillness made me believe he was wavering.

I swallowed. “Nicolas, please . . .”

His eyes sparked. “What’s my name?”

I paused, opened my mouth but then closed it. I didn’t want to say it. Nicolas Russo had a reputation. Nicolas Russo was a stranger. Nicolas was distant. I didn’t want to call him Nico. It would flow too easily off my lips. Sound too good on my tongue.

We sat in tense silence for a moment, before he gave his head a shake. “Usually, when someone wants something, they appease the one they’re trying to persuade. A basis of negotiating.” He told me this like I was stupid, and I flushed in irritation.

“There’s no negotiating with a cheat.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.