Chapter 75 -
Leo’s hand closed around Nia’s wrist, and before she could process what was happening, he pulled her inside his room. The movement was quick, almost desperate, like he was trying to hide evidence of a crime. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that made her stomach flip.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Leo’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it that cut through the whiskey haze clouding Nia’s thoughts.
She blinked, trying to focus on his face instead of the fact that she was now standing in Leonardo DeSanto’s bedroom. The room smelled like him. Tobacco and leather and something else, something darker that she could not quite name. It was overwhelming, being surrounded by it, being surrounded by him in this space that felt more intimate than anywhere else she had been in this massive mansion.
“I do not care,” Nia said, lifting her chin even though the movement made the room tilt slightly. “What time it is, I mean. I do not care.”
“Well, you should.” Leo released her wrist and took a step back, putting distance between them like he needed the space to think clearly. He ran both hands through his hair, making it stand up in different directions. “It is two in the morning, Nia. Two in the morning and you are drunk and standing in my room, rambling nonsense and this is—” He stopped himself, shaking his head like he could not find the words to finish that sentence.
“This is what?” Nia challenged. She swayed slightly, caught herself, and lifted the whiskey bottle like it was proof of something. “This is inappropriate? This is dangerous? This is against the rules?”
“All of those things,” Leo said. His jaw clenched and unclenched, that muscle jumping in a rhythm Nia was starting to recognize. “And more. Jesus Christ, Nia. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I needed to talk to you,” Nia said. The words came out sharper than she intended, fueled by frustration and alcohol and the way he was looking at her like she was a problem that needed to be solved. “I was thinking that I am tired of waiting for you to come to me, so I came to you instead.”
“ Come to you? Oh my God you are so drunk,” Leo said again, like repeating it would somehow change the situation.
“A little,” Nia admitted. She held up her thumb and forefinger, pinching them close together. “Maybe this much. Or maybe this much.” She spread her fingers wider. “It is hard to tell at this point.”
Leo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, then released it slowly. When he opened his eyes again, they locked onto hers with an intensity that made her forget how to breathe. “Where is Matteo?”
“Oh.” Nia waved her free hand dismissively, nearly losing her balance in the process. “I lost him somewhere around the third staircase. Or maybe it was the second. There are a lot of staircases in this house, Leo. Has anyone ever told you that? It is excessive. One house should not have this many staircases.”
“Nia.” Her name came out like a warning. “Matteo is your guard. He is supposed to know where you are at all times.”
“Well, he does not,” Nia said. She took a step forward, closing some of the distance Leo had put between them. “I told him to leave me alone and he did. Because unlike some people in this house, Matteo actually listens when I say things.”
“That is different and you know it,” Leo said, but he did not move away when she stepped closer. “Matteo is supposed to protect you. That is his job. And he cannot do that if you are wandering around in the middle of the night going places you should not go.”
“Like your room?” Nia asked. The whiskey made her bold, made her reckless, made her willing to say things she would probably regret when she sobered up. “Am I not supposed to be in your room, Leo? Is this another one of your rules that you never told me about?”
Leo’s hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists and then releasing, like he was trying to figure out what to do with them. “You cannot be here,” he said, and there was something in his voice now. Something that sounded almost like desperation. “You cannot be in my room at two in the morning smelling like whiskey and looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Nia took another step forward. They were close enough now that she could see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, could see the way his eyes had gone dark in a way that had nothing to do with the dim lighting.
“Like you trust me,” Leo said quietly. “Like you think I am someone worth trusting.”
“Maybe I do,” Nia said. The bottle was getting heavy in her hand so she set it down on the nearest surface, which turned out to be a dark wood dresser that probably cost more than everything she had ever owned combined. “Maybe I am stupid enough to trust you, Leonardo DeSanto. What are you going to do about it?”
For a moment, Leo just stared at her. His gray eyes searched her face like he was trying to solve a puzzle, like she was speaking a language he had forgotten how to understand. Then he shook his head slowly, deliberately, and took a step back. Away from her. Again.
“You are not stupid,” he said. “But you are drunk, and this is a mistake.”
“Stop saying that,” Nia said. Frustration bubbled up in her chest, hot and sharp, cutting through the pleasant fog the whiskey had wrapped around her thoughts. “Stop telling me I am drunk like that changes anything. I know I am drunk, Leo. I drank your whiskey. Micheal and I drank a whole bottle of it, and then I took another bottle because I needed the courage to come here and say the things I need to say to you.”
“What things?” Leo’s voice was careful now, measured, like he was trying to keep something locked down tight.
“True things,” Nia said. She moved closer again, refusing to let him keep putting space between them. “Real things. Things about Andrea and you and the way you look at me when you think I am not paying attention.”