winter.
“I don’t know. He’s never said anything.” She looked up at him and forced herself to ask the next question. “Are you going to hurt him?”
“I don’t think that would be very productive.”
For the first time she thought she caught shadows under his eyes. It didn’t make her happy like she would have expected. Instead she wondered if the situation was taking as much a toll on him as it was on her. Whatever he wanted from her father, he must want it badly to hold her hostage. The realization brought to mind another question.
“Isn’t this against the rules?”
He looked down at her, and she felt the same jolt of chemistry flow between them that had been present in his apartment. “What rules?”
“I don’t know… the mob rules?” She laughed a little, even though there was nothing funny about the situation. “Isn’t there some kind of rule against messing with members of someone’s family?”
For a split second, pain flashed across his usually calm features, and she saw such naked loneliness in his eyes that she wanted to cry. It was gone a moment later.
He looked away. “There used to be.”
“Not anymore?” she prodded.
“Not anymore.” He said it softly, and she had the sudden desire to reach out, lay her hand against his cheek.
They came to a wood sign that read SHAKESPEARE GARDEN. Nico stopped, tipping his head at the brick walkway that led to the hidden space.
“Shall we?”
She nodded, and they stepped onto the path. It wound away from the main walkway, leading them into a sheltered garden filled with dead or dying shrubs and flowers. She tried to see it as it must look in the spring and summer, when everything was blooming and fragrant. She’d never been here, and she promised herself that if she got out of this alive, she would take more time to appreciate all the magical things that existed in plain sight but which she’d never bothered to explore.
He stopped walking and plucked something from a nearby bush. When he held it up, she saw that it was a tiny pink flower. A miracle blooming amid the seasonal death and destruction in the rest of the garden.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to pick those,” she said.
He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and placed the flower there. “I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to do,” he said, his voice gruff.
He held her gaze, and her breath seemed to catch somewhere between her lungs and her mouth. He was violent. Dangerous. But beautiful, too. She couldn’t deny it. It took effort to form the question that had been burning in her mind.
“What exactly do you want from my father?”
He dropped his hand, and an indulgent smile touched the corners of his mouth. It was devastating, and she had to work not to look away. Letting him know how much he affected her was a losing strategy, maybe even a deadly one.
“That’s between us.”
He took her hand, leading her deeper into the garden. She didn’t pull away. She told herself it had nothing to do with feel of his slightly rough palm against the smoothness of her skin, with the false sense of protection it gave her. She just wanted to keep him in a conciliatory mood, try to draw him out.
They wound around the path. A fountain, dry and scattered with dead leaves, stood to the side. They continued deeper into the garden, farther from the main walkway. The distant sound of traffic had grown almost silent. Everything else seemed very far away.
“Maybe I can help,” she said, trying to keep the conversation focused on her father, on the things she needed to do to get out alive. “I might know something about what you want from him.”
He stopped walking. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Nico.” Using his name felt oddly intimate, and she felt a flush of something like pleasure as she said it. “You let me in on this big secret, tell me I’m one of you, but you won’t tell me what you want so I can do something to help
“I don’t know. He’s never said anything.” She looked up at him and forced herself to ask the next question. “Are you going to hurt him?”
“I don’t think that would be very productive.”
For the first time she thought she caught shadows under his eyes. It didn’t make her happy like she would have expected. Instead she wondered if the situation was taking as much a toll on him as it was on her. Whatever he wanted from her father, he must want it badly to hold her hostage. The realization brought to mind another question.
“Isn’t this against the rules?”
He looked down at her, and she felt the same jolt of chemistry flow between them that had been present in his apartment. “What rules?”
“I don’t know… the mob rules?” She laughed a little, even though there was nothing funny about the situation. “Isn’t there some kind of rule against messing with members of someone’s family?”
For a split second, pain flashed across his usually calm features, and she saw such naked loneliness in his eyes that she wanted to cry. It was gone a moment later.
He looked away. “There used to be.”
“Not anymore?” she prodded.
“Not anymore.” He said it softly, and she had the sudden desire to reach out, lay her hand against his cheek.
They came to a wood sign that read SHAKESPEARE GARDEN. Nico stopped, tipping his head at the brick walkway that led to the hidden space.
“Shall we?”
She nodded, and they stepped onto the path. It wound away from the main walkway, leading them into a sheltered garden filled with dead or dying shrubs and flowers. She tried to see it as it must look in the spring and summer, when everything was blooming and fragrant. She’d never been here, and she promised herself that if she got out of this alive, she would take more time to appreciate all the magical things that existed in plain sight but which she’d never bothered to explore.
He stopped walking and plucked something from a nearby bush. When he held it up, she saw that it was a tiny pink flower. A miracle blooming amid the seasonal death and destruction in the rest of the garden.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to pick those,” she said.
He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and placed the flower there. “I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to do,” he said, his voice gruff.
He held her gaze, and her breath seemed to catch somewhere between her lungs and her mouth. He was violent. Dangerous. But beautiful, too. She couldn’t deny it. It took effort to form the question that had been burning in her mind.
“What exactly do you want from my father?”
He dropped his hand, and an indulgent smile touched the corners of his mouth. It was devastating, and she had to work not to look away. Letting him know how much he affected her was a losing strategy, maybe even a deadly one.
“That’s between us.”
He took her hand, leading her deeper into the garden. She didn’t pull away. She told herself it had nothing to do with feel of his slightly rough palm against the smoothness of her skin, with the false sense of protection it gave her. She just wanted to keep him in a conciliatory mood, try to draw him out.
They wound around the path. A fountain, dry and scattered with dead leaves, stood to the side. They continued deeper into the garden, farther from the main walkway. The distant sound of traffic had grown almost silent. Everything else seemed very far away.
“Maybe I can help,” she said, trying to keep the conversation focused on her father, on the things she needed to do to get out alive. “I might know something about what you want from him.”
He stopped walking. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Nico.” Using his name felt oddly intimate, and she felt a flush of something like pleasure as she said it. “You let me in on this big secret, tell me I’m one of you, but you won’t tell me what you want so I can do something to help
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