2. Nico

NICO

The moment I step into the flower shop, the cloying stench of crushed petals and greenery assaults my nose. It"s a sickeningly sweet odor, undercut with the sharp tang of spilled water and the muskier tones of potting soil. The tile floor is a riot of color, like a kaleidoscope shattered across the surface - brilliant reds and pinks, buttery yellows, royal purples, all muddied and dulled by careless boots.

My lip curls in disgust as I take in the trio of thugs hovering over a slender figure in a green apron. Bianchi"s boys, still too stupid to realize they"re pissing on the wrong patch of turf. They"ve always been cocky little pricks, riding on the coattails of their boss"s fading reputation. But messing with one of my fronts? That"s a fatal mistake, and they"re about to learn it the hard way.

My gaze cuts to the florist - Eli, I remember from the briefing. He"s got balls, I"ll give him that, glaring defiantly up at the Bianchi enforcers even as they loom over him. There"s no fear in those vivid blue eyes, just a surprising spark of defiance, like a cornered alley cat unsheathing its claws.

I feel my eyebrow quirk up, my interest piqued despite myself. It"s not often I meet someone with a spine in this business. Most people, they see the cut of my suit and the cold promise in my eyes, and they crumple like wet tissue paper, babbling and pleading for mercy they won"t get.

But not this kid. Oh, he"s wary, I can see it in the taut line of his shoulders and the white-knuckled grip he"s got on the edge of the counter. But there"s a core of steel in him, something unbending and unbreakable. It"s almost...admirable, in a naive, reckless sort of way.

Too bad for him, that kind of backbone is a liability in my world. It paints a target on your back, invites all sorts of trouble from people who see it as a challenge. And trouble is the last thing I need right now, with the feds sniffing around and the Bianchis getting bolder by the day.

I let my power precede me as I stalk into the shop, the soles of my Ferragamos crunching ominously over the litter of ravaged flowers. The temperature seems to plunge ten degrees as the goons register my presence, their cocksure posturing withering like frost-bitten blooms.

I see the moment recognition dawns, their faces draining of color as they put a name to my face. Nico Caruso, the prodigal son, the devil in Armani. I"ve cultivated quite the reputation since my return to the city, and it"s always gratifying to see it having the desired effect.

"What"s going on here, gentlemen?" I ask, my tone deceptively mild. The words emerge in a low rasp, rough with the edge of violence I can never quite shake.

The leader, a side of beef with more scar tissue than functioning brain cells, pastes on a sickly smile. "Mr. Caruso, what an unexpected pleasure. We were just having a friendly chat with young Mr. Bloom here about his...financial obligations."

I let my gaze rake over the carnage, the pools of filthy water, the crushed stems oozing sap like blood. "Looks real friendly."

I don"t raise my voice, but the goon flinches like I"ve slapped him. "Just following orders, sir. The Bianchis told us to lean on every shop on the block, get them to pay up for protection. But if we"d known this was one of your places, we never would"ve - "

I silence him with a look, my eyes going flinty. "This is one of my places now. And I won"t ask you nicely again. Get the fuck out of here before I show you what happens to little boys who don"t know how to play in the big leagues."

There"s a frozen moment where I think the lead thug might actually be dumb enough to challenge me. His fists clench at his sides, his piggy little eyes darting to his buddies for backup. But self-preservation wins out over pride, and he signifies his crew with a jerk of his head.

"Our apologies, Mr. Caruso," he grits out through a rictus smile. "It won"t happen again."

"See that it doesn"t." The words drip with silky menace, a thousand unspoken threats woven between the lines.

They scuttle out with their tails between their legs, the door chimes jangling wildly in their wake. And then it"s just me and the florist boy, the air practically sparking with the tension crackling between us.

Eli clears his throat, drawing my gaze back to his face. Up close, I"m struck by how damn pretty he is, all golden curls and creamy skin, pink lips parted in an uncertain little smile. He looks like he belongs on the cover of some bodice-ripper romance novel, windswept and dewy-eyed.

"I...thank you," he says, the words emerging breathless and shaky. "For stepping in like that. I don"t know what I would"ve done if you hadn"t come along when you did."

I feel my mouth tighten, annoyance warring with an unexpected tug of something softer, more sympathetic. I ruthlessly quash the feeling before it can take root. I"m not here to play white knight to some na?ve little civilian. I"m here because my father ordered me to be, and because this shop is the perfect front for our less-than-legal revenue streams. Eli Bloom is nothing but a cog in the machine, a means to an end.

"I didn"t do it for you," I rasp, holding his gaze with cold intensity. "This place belongs to me now. And I protect what"s mine."

Something flares in those cornflower eyes, hot and defiant. "Yours? Excuse me, but I built this business from the ground up. It"s mine, not some mafia trophy for you to throw your weight around."

I feel my eyebrows climbing my forehead, the corner of my mouth ticking up in grudging respect. Well, well. The kitten"s got claws. Not that it"ll do him any good in the long run. He"s a lamb frolicking in the lion"s den, too stupid to realize he"s already been marked for slaughter.

"You"ve got a real fire in you, don"t you, Sunshine?" I murmur, stalking closer with predatory intent. He holds his ground, tilting his chin up to maintain eye contact as I invade his space. The move puts our faces inches apart, close enough for me to see the gold flecks in his irises, to smell the crisp green scent clinging to his skin. "But you"re out of your depth here. This isn"t some quaint little Hallmark movie. It"s the real world, and it"s mean and brutal and it will chew you up and spit you out without a second thought. You"re just lucky it was me who got to you first, and not the Bianchis or the Russians or any of the other circling sharks out there."

Eli swallows hard, his throat bobbing enticingly. This close, I can practically feel the warmth radiating off his skin, see the translucent blue of the veins pulsing beneath. It would be so easy to reach out and snap that slender neck, to silence the reckless words spilling from that pretty mouth.

But I don"t. Because beneath the bravado, there"s something...intriguing about Eli Bloom. Something that makes me want to dig my fingers in and peel back his layers, to see what makes him tick. It"s a dangerous curiosity, the kind that can get a man killed in my business. But I"ve never been good at resisting temptation.

"Well, lucky me," Eli murmurs, a hint of sarcasm lacing the words. "So what happens now? You just move in and start calling the shots?"

"Basically." I flash him a wolfish smile, all teeth and dark promise. "Congratulations, Sunshine. You"ve just acquired a new roommate. And a 24/7 bodyguard, courtesy of the Caruso family."

His eyes go wide and incredulous, pink lips parting on a disbelieving huff of laughter. "You"re joking, right? This is my home, my business. You can"t just - "

"I can, and I am," I cut him off, my tone brooking no argument. "This place is a front now, and you"re my cover. Which means your ass belongs to me until I decide otherwise. Get used to it, because I"m not going anywhere."

I can practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the instinct to argue warring with the dawning realization that he"s well and truly trapped. After a long, charged moment, he exhales gustily and slumps back against the counter, the fight draining out of him.

"Fine," he grits out, sounding like the word physically pains him. "But let"s get one thing straight, Mr. Caruso. I"m not some puppet for you to jerk around on a string. This is still my shop, my home. You"re a guest here, not the king of the castle. Capiche?"

I can"t help it - a bark of genuine laughter escapes me, rusty and unfamiliar. It"s been a long time since anyone had the balls to talk to me like that, to stand up to me without flinching. There"s a strange, foreign warmth kindling in my chest, a flicker of respect and something more dangerous, more unwelcome.

Attraction. Desire. The kind of wanting I ruthlessly buried years ago, when I learned the hard way that love is the deadliest weapon of all.

I clamp down on the feeling with brutal efficiency, my face smoothing back into its customary mask of icy control. "Whatever you say, Sunshine. Just remember - guest or not, I"m the one with the power here. It"s in your best interest to stay on my good side."

Something knowing sparks in his gaze, a wry twist curving the corner of his mouth. "Somehow, I get the feeling you don"t have a good side, Mr. Caruso."

My lips quirk into a blade of a smile, humorless and cold. "You"re not wrong," I murmur.

The words hang between us, dark and loaded, as I turn on my heel and prowl out of the shop. I"ve got calls to make, strings to pull, contingency plans to set in motion. Because ready or not, Eli Bloom just became the most important piece on my chessboard. And I"ll be damned if I let anything threaten my hold on him - not the law, not my enemies, and sure as hell not my own treacherous desires.

It"s hours later, deep in the velvet dark of night, when I hear it - a muffled sniffle, a hitched little breath that carries through the thin walls of the apartment.

I"m stretched out on the bed, hands laced behind my head as I stare up at the water-stained ceiling. Sleep is a elusive mistress tonight, chased away by the adrenaline still buzzing through my veins and the relentless churn of my thoughts.

But at the sound of Eli"s quiet tears, I go still, my entire body tensing like a bloodhound catching a scent. It"s instinct to catalogue the noise as a potential threat, to brace for danger even here, in the supposed safety of this dingy little walk-up.

Except...there"s no danger here. Just a lonely, lost boy mourning the normal life he"s been forcibly ejected from. The realization sits sour on my tongue, an unfamiliar pang of something uncomfortably close to guilt needling at my chest.

I should tune him out, roll over and will myself into the oblivion of sleep. Tears are a weakness I can"t afford, a liability that could bring my whole world crashing down around my ears.

But as the minutes drag on and the soft, hitching sobs continue to penetrate the thin barrier between us, I find myself incapable of ignoring them. Before I can stop myself, I"m rising from the bed and padding across the scuffed hardwood, my bare feet nearly silent.

I pause outside his door, my hand poised over the knob. This is a colossally bad idea. The smart move would be to turn around, to put as much distance between myself and Eli"s messy, inconvenient emotions as possible.

But I"ve never claimed to be a smart man. Especially not when it comes to captivating little florists with summer sky eyes and too-big hearts.

"Eli," I call gruffly, tapping my knuckles against the door. "You good in there?"

The crying abruptly cuts off, replaced by a mortified sniffle and a rustle of bedding. "I"m fine," he calls back, his voice wavering tellingly. "Just...allergies."

A wry smile tugs at my mouth, though there"s no real humor in it. "Allergies. Right. That must be why you"re leaking like a sieve at 2 AM."

There"s a watery huff of laughter, followed by the creak of floorboards. A moment later, the door swings open, revealing Eli in mismatched socks and an oversized Columbia sweatshirt. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, his nose pink from crying.

He looks achingly young and vulnerable, a far cry from the fiery spitfire who stood up to me this morning. It makes something clench painfully in my chest, a long-dormant protective instinct rising up to rattle the bars of its cage.

"What do you want, Nico?" he asks, exhaustion and resignation threaded through the words. "Come to gloat? To remind me who"s really in charge here?"

I flinch before I can stop myself, the accusation landing like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. Is that really what he thinks of me? Some strutting cartoon villain, kicking him while he"s down?

"No," I rasp, my voice emerging lower and rougher than I intended. "I just...wanted to make sure you were okay."

Something flickers in his gaze, there and gone too quick to decipher. Surprise, maybe. Or gratitude. "Oh. Well...I"m not, really. But I will be."

He lifts his chin, a defiant little gesture that sparks with echoes of the man who stood up to armed thugs this morning. "I"m tougher than I look, you know. I"ve survived worse than an uninvited houseguest with poor manners and a bad attitude."

Surprised laughter rumbles up from my chest, rusty but real. "Cute," I drawl, shaking my head. "But I"m not just a houseguest, Sunshine. I"m your warden and your own personal attack dog. Best get that through your head now, for both our sakes."

He rolls his eyes, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. "So you keep saying. But I"m not some blushing damsel in a tower, Nico. I can take care of myself."

"Maybe," I allow, holding his gaze. "But the sharks out there? They won"t give a damn how tough you are. They"ll rip you to shreds and use the pieces as chum without batting an eye. That"s why I"m here - to make sure that doesn"t happen."

"My hero," Eli deadpans. But there"s a softness in his eyes, a glimmer of gratitude he can"t quite disguise.

"I"m no one"s hero, kid. Just a guy doing a job." I pause, weighing my next words carefully. "But for what it"s worth...I"m sorry. For all of this. I know it"s not what you wanted or asked for."

He blinks rapidly, his throat working as he swallows. For a second, I think he might start crying again, and I tense in preparation to beat a hasty retreat. But he just shakes his head, a wry little smile quirking his lips.

"Definitely not," he agrees. "But hey, at least I"m not bored, right?"

I snort, an unfamiliar warmth kindling in my chest. "Careful what you wish for, Sunshine. Stick with me long enough, you"ll be begging for a little boredom."

"I"ll take that under advisement." Eli hesitates, something uncertain and almost shy flickering over his expressive face. "And Nico? Thanks. For checking on me, I mean. You didn"t have to do that."

"Yes I did," I murmur, almost to myself. Because it"s the truth, even if I"m not ready to examine the reasons too closely. Eli is my responsibility now, for better or worse. His well-being, physical and emotional, is just another line item on the list of things I"ll personally destroy anyone for threatening.

He"s still looking at me, his eyes dark and fathomless in the low light spilling from his room. There"s a heat there, banked but unmistakable, that sends an answering lick of fire curling through my gut.

Apologies for the abrupt cut-off. Here"s the continuation and conclusion of Chapter 2:

It would be so easy to take what that look is offering. To push him back into the room and kickstart the desperate, clawing want that"s rapidly replacing the exhaustion in his eyes. I can practically taste his surrender on my tongue already, hot and sweet as blood.

But I won"t. Because Eli Bloom is not a prize to be won or a conquest to be claimed. He"s a job, a responsibility, and the most dangerous kind of temptation. And if I give into this twisted thing sparking between us, even for a moment, it will consume us both until there"s nothing left but ashes and regret.

So I take a deliberate step back, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "Get some sleep," I rasp, my voice jagged with the effort of reining myself in. "Tomorrow"s going to be a long day."

Something flashes in his eyes, too quick to decipher. Disappointment, maybe. Or relief. But he just nods, a jerky little bob of his head as he starts to close the door. "Right. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Eli." The words feel weighted, tangled with a thousand things I can"t say. Sweet dreams. Sleep well. I"m sorry for turning your life upside down.

The door snicks shut with a soft click, leaving me alone in the darkened hallway. For a long moment, I just stand there, listening to the rush of my own blood in my ears and trying to ignore the relentless pulse of arousal throbbing in my veins.

What the hell is wrong with me? I"m Nico fucking Caruso, the most feared man in three boroughs. I have blood on my hands and ice in my veins, a monster shaped by violence and hardened by loss. I"m not supposed to feel things like this, soft and warm and achingly tender.

But Eli, with his sunshine smile and his stubborn, reckless backbone...he makes me want to feel. To be the kind of man who could be gentle, who could hold something precious without crushing it to dust.

It"s a pipedream, a fantasy as flimsy as soap bubbles. I"ll never be that man, no matter how desperately I might wish otherwise. My path is carved in stone and paved with bones, a one-way ticket to hell with no detours.

But as I force myself to turn away from Eli"s door and stalk back to my own room, I can"t shake the sinking feeling that it might already be too late. Because Eli Bloom, with his riot of sunny curls and his heart worn brazenly on his sleeve, has already started to slip past my defenses.

As I strip off my clothes and crawl into bed, my mind is a whirlwind of warring desires and cold, clinical strategies. I need to find a way to keep Eli safe without compromising my own armor. To protect him from the world I live in without letting him become a chink in the impassive mask I wear like a second skin.

It"s a delicate balancing act, one I"m not at all sure I"m capable of pulling off. But as I drift into a restless sleep, one thought crystallizes with perfect, ruthless clarity.

Come hell or high water, I will keep Eli Bloom alive and whole. Because whether I like it or not, he"s mine now. And I protect what"s mine - no matter the cost.