Chapter 74 -
He was wearing sleep pants that hung low on his hips and absolutely nothing else. His chest was bare, all lean muscle and golden skin that the lamplight from his room turned into something almost warm. His hair, usually so carefully controlled, was a mess. Dark strands fell across his forehead in a way that made him look younger, softer, like someone who had been sleeping instead of the cold-eyed enforcer who usually stalked these hallways.
But it was his eyes that made Nia’s breath stop entirely. Those gray eyes, usually so guarded, so controlled, were wide with surprise. Shock, even. Like he had opened the door expecting to find an enemy and instead found something he had no idea how to handle.
“Nia?” Her name came out rough, scratchy, like he had just woken up. Like he could not quite believe what he was seeing.
She tried to answer. Tried to say something, anything, that would explain why she was standing at his door at two in the morning with a stolen bottle of his whiskey and her heart in her throat. But the words would not come. They stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth, leaving her standing there like an idiot, swaying slightly, the alcohol and exhaustion and sheer terror of this moment making her unsteady.
Leo’s eyes traveled from her face down to the bottle in her hand, then back up again. His expression shifted through confusion, concern, and something else. Something that looked almost like fear, though that could not be right. Leonardo DeSanto did not get scared. He was the thing other people were scared of.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was quieter now, careful, like he was talking to something wild that might bolt at any sudden movement.
Nia opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Her tongue felt thick and clumsy, the words she needed to say hiding somewhere just out of reach. The hallway seemed to tilt sideways and she shifted her weight to compensate, overcorrected, stumbled half a step to the left.
Leo moved instantly. His hand shot out and caught her elbow, steadying her with a grip that was firm but surprisingly gentle. The contact sent electricity racing up her arm, made her skin feel too hot and too cold at the same time.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, and there was something in his voice now. Not anger exactly, but something close to it. Frustration maybe. Or worry.
“A little,” Nia admitted. Her own voice sounded strange to her ears, too loud in the quiet hallway. She looked down at where his hand was wrapped around her elbow, his fingers dark against her skin, and felt something in her chest twist tight. “Maybe more than a little.”
“Jesus Christ, Nia.” Leo did not let go. If anything, his grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid she might topple over if he released her. “Where is Matteo? Does he know you are wandering around the house like this?”
“I told him to leave me alone,” Nia said. The words were coming easier now, loosened by the whiskey and the warmth of his hand on her arm. “He tried to stop me. I did not let him.”
“Of course you did not.” Leo’s jaw clenched, that muscle jumping the way it always did when he was trying to control his temper. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be walking around by yourself? Anyone could—”
“I am not by myself anymore,” Nia interrupted, lifting her chin to meet his eyes even though the movement made the hallway spin slightly. “I am with you.”
Leo went very still. His eyes locked on hers and Nia saw something flash across his face. Something raw and unguarded that was gone almost before she could identify it. His hand was still on her elbow, warm and solid, and neither of them seemed capable of moving away.
“Why?” The question came out barely above a whisper. “Why are you here, Nia?”
This was it. This was the moment where she either told him the truth or turned around and ran back to her room and spent the rest of her captivity pretending this never happened. Simple choice. Easy choice.
Except nothing about Leonardo DeSanto had ever been simple or easy.
Nia took a breath, gathering what was left of her courage. The whiskey helped, buzzing warm through her veins, making everything feel possible even when it was probably impossible. She looked at Leo, really looked at him, taking in the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face, the shadows under his eyes that suggested he had not been sleeping before she knocked. Taking in the way he was looking at her like she was a puzzle he could not solve, a problem that did not fit into any of the neat categories he had built his life around.
“Micheal told me about Andrea,” she said.
Leo’s entire body went rigid. His hand dropped from her elbow like she had burned him, and he took a step back into his room. Away from her. The loss of contact felt like something physical, a cold space where warmth had been.
“He had no right.” Leo’s voice was flat now, empty of everything except a carefully controlled anger. “That is not his story to tell.”
“Maybe not,” Nia agreed, “but he told it anyway.”
“So what?” Leo’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You came here for what? To offer your condolences? To tell me you are sorry for my loss?” The words were sharp, cutting, designed to push her away. “Save it. I do not need your pity.”
“Good,” Nia shot back, “because I am not offering any.”
That seemed to catch him off guard. His eyebrows drew together, confusion replacing some of the anger. “Then what do you want?”
“I want to talk to you,” Nia said. The hallway was tilting again and she put one hand against the doorframe to steady herself, the whiskey bottle still clutched in the other. “I want to understand.”
“Understand what?” Leo’s voice was bitter now, hard edges wrapped around something that might have been pain if he let it show. “What Andrea has to do with you? Nothing. She has nothing to do with you.”
“Does she not?” Nia felt her own temper starting to rise, cutting through the fog of alcohol. “Because every time you look at me, I see her ghost standing between us. Every time you start to let your guard down, you remember her and you shut me out. So maybe she has everything to do with me.”
“That is not—” Leo stopped himself, his jaw working like he was trying to chew through words he did not want to say. “You do not know what you are talking about.”
“Then explain it to me,” Nia challenged. She took a step forward, closing the distance he had put between them, refusing to let him hide behind anger and deflection. “Tell me why you look at me like I matter and then push me away like I am nothing. Tell me why you fought the Don to keep me here and then avoid me for days. Tell me why—”