Nicoli: A Forbidden Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 4)

I can smell the blood. It’s pungent and sharp, like iron mixed with the stench of rotten meat. It’s making my stomach turn, leaving the acidic taste of bile in the back of my throat. The hair on the back of my neck is raised, my skin cold and clammy as the talons of death stroke my flesh.

It’s everywhere—the sticky liquid that clings to my fingers, my palms. I think it’s under my feet too.

I’m trying to breathe, but malevolence thickens the air and congeals my throat. It’s hard to get air all the way down so it can fill my lungs. My eyes are closed, but I pinch them even tighter. I don’t want to open them. I don’t want to look.

I’ve been here before. This place. This nightmare where nothing good happens. I’m too scared to move. Too afraid to breathe. The more I struggle for air, the sharper the smell of death and carnage.

“Mirabella.”

I suck in a breath as a gentle hand touches my shoulder. “Momma,” I whisper.

“You need to keep quiet, okay?”

I nod without saying a word.

“Promise me you’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

“I promise.” A tear slips down my cheek as I allow her familiar presence to wrap around me. It’s welcoming and haunting at the same time.

“Keep your eyes closed. No matter what you hear, you don’t look. Do not open your eyes.”

“I won’t,” I reply with a shaky voice. The dread that bubbles in the pit of my stomach is debilitating, my heart hammering against my rib cage with a frantic rhythm.

“You have to stay hidden.” Her hand cups my cheeks, her thumb swiping at the tears. “You can’t come out. No matter what happens.”

“Hide with me, Momma.” My plea is a desperate prayer. “We can hide together.”

“Not today, la mia luce.” My light. It’s what she has always called me, saying my smile is as bright as the sun, my laughter the light that smothers the dark. Always her little light.

My bottom lip quivers. “Momma?”

Her touch is gone, and I instantly mourn it, my gut filled with an emptiness that hurts all the way to my bones.

“Momma!” I cry.

“Please, Mirabella. You have to be a brave little girl. For me. Please, promise me.”

“I don’t—”

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t open your eyes.” Her voice drips with a desperation that sounds painful, as if the words hurt her insides, tearing her apart and making her bleed. I want it to stop. I want the sound to go away. I want to hear her voice echo with the light and love of my momma who tucks me in at night, my momma who sings for me while she brushes my hair.

I hate hearing her like this. It’s like nails scraping along a chalkboard, hurting my ears, a raw tone that spreads an ache through my veins, curdling my blood.

“Please,” she whispers. “Be my brave little girl, just one more time.”

“I will. I promise, Momma,” I say, struggling to keep my eyes closed because everything inside me is begging for me to open them so I can see her face. Her eyes. I want to see her, but I promised I wouldn’t. “I promise.”

Something changes. The air just got colder, and I’m shaking, my teeth clattering. “Momma?”

“Open your eyes, Mirabella.”

“Marco?” How did my brother get here? Where’s Maximo? Why aren’t they together? They’re always together.

“I said open your eyes.” I don’t like the way his voice sounds. It’s hard. Angry. It scares me.

“No.” I shake my head. “Momma said I shouldn’t.”

“You need to know.”

My heart beats impossibly fast. “Know what?”

“Mirabella.” It’s my mom’s voice, the cold instantly gone. “Don’t look. You promised.”

“I know, Momma. I won’t.” I suck in a double breath when I feel her kiss my forehead, her lips warm and comforting. My entire body shudders, and I lose control of my tears.

“My beautiful little girl.” She places her nose tenderly against mine.

“Momma.” I sniff as tears lap down my cheeks.

“I love you, Mirabella.”

“Don’t go, Momma. Please.”

‘Momma.’ I jerk up, my palm flush against my chest as I gasp for breath. Sadness crushes me, my insides torn to shreds. Every bone aches, and my lungs screaming for air.

I yank open my bedside drawer, grab the bottle, and pop the cap, swallowing two pills. Whenever I dream of her, my eyes are always closed. She always asks me not to look. Why? I want to see her. It’s been so long, and I’ve already forgotten what her face looks like.

“Shit,” I mutter, wiping beads of sweat from my face with the back of my hand.

I hate waking up like this, feeling like the nightmare has stolen my breath. Whenever I dream of her, the sound of her voice, I wake up feeling like I lost her all over again, as if that night happened yesterday. Every nightmare is a reminder of what I truly am.

An orphan.

“Goddammit.” I slam the drawer shut, pulling my fingers through my tangled hair.

The pain is heavier today. The grief is screaming louder than usual. Of course, it is because today marks the seventeenth year of Maximo and me being orphans. Seventeen years since we lost our family.

God, it sucks.

I swipe the lingering tears from my cheeks and close my eyes, breathing deeply, visualizing the oxygen filling my lungs. Years of therapy, hours of sitting on a couch talking about my feelings, and the one thing I’ve managed to gain from it is how to breathe so I can have the strength to smile and pretend like my head is filled with nothing but unicorns, and my heart pumping little chocolate hearts all day long.

On an exhale, I force myself out of bed, my feet sinking into the plush pearl-white carpet as I move toward the window. The view is beautiful, especially at this time of morning when the sun starts to peek out over the horizon, the early rays sending a warm glow over the maple trees. In the spring and summer, flowers bloom in waves of yellows, whites, and vibrant fuchsia splashed across acres of green. But now, as summer rolls into autumn, the colors slowly lose their luster while the trees’ leaves trade their forest green for shades of ocher. No matter how often I look out my silver-curtained casement window, the view always reminds me of what I have to be thankful for.

I’m thankful Maximo and I are here, blessed with a life only the Del Rossa family can give us. Grateful they took us in and treated us as their own. I can’t imagine what would have become of us had it not been for Vincenzo Del Rossa refusing to let the foster system swallow us.

I catch my reflection in the large, ornate mirror of my platinum French vanity. The dark circles under my eyes are proof of a bad night, of the tears I cried in my sleep.

My fingertips trace along the scar that streaks down the side of my face. It’s barely visible to most, but I see it—a reminder of a sick man who blamed me for his perversions.

Micah was Vincenzo’s bastard son, a son no one knew about, not even Alexius. Last year, Micah forced his way into our lives by gruesomely murdering women at the Dark Sovereign clubs and slaughtering Isaia’s girlfriend. He then turned his attention to me, claiming I was the cause of his sins. That God wanted him to rid the world of beauty that has the power to make men fall from grace. Beauty that elicits sin.

A cold shiver runs down my spine at the memory of that day inside the Del Rossa mausoleum.

“It’s beauty like yours that leads so many sheep astray. Even me.”

“You need to repent for leading so many men astray.”

“God says if thy right hand causeth thee to stumble, cut it off, and cast it from thee.”

“The scripture says the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey, and her seductive words are smoother than olive oil, but she is bitter as wormwood, a sharp two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death, and her steps lead straight to the grave. And that’s where I sent them. To their graves just like God told me to.”

“You might not be a harlot, but you’re the hand that caused me to stumble. I still do every time I look at you. My mind becomes a snake pit of sin, and the serpent infects me with its evil.”

“Your beauty infects my soul.”

Micah maimed me by dragging his knife down the side of my face, from my temple to my chin, right before Nicoli jumped through the mausoleum window, colored glass shattering as a gunshot echoed between the walls. Nicoli didn’t think twice about putting his life in danger to save me. He took a bullet for me, and as blood soaked his white shirt, all I could think about was how I couldn’t lose him, thinking that there was no way I’d want to live in a world he wasn’t part of. Leandra says I screamed that night, that she could hear me all the way outside where Alexius left her in the car. But I don’t remember it. I don’t remember screaming…or moving…or breathing. All I remember was the fear.

Cold, paralyzing, debilitating fear.

Nicoli’s courage that night almost had me fooled by thinking he might care more than he led on. But the very next day he proved me wrong by acting like ‘feelings’ had nothing to do with it. After that, he pretended like nothing happened, just like everyone pretends Micah never existed.

Chills run along my skin, and I inhale slow and deep, shaking the memory and turning away from my reflection in the mirror. I can’t allow my thoughts to hover around memories that can tear open old wounds. The dead have no place in my life and can only hurt me if I let them.

I turn and lean back against the windowsill, glancing around the three-hundred-square-foot bedroom. I’m not oblivious to the fact that my room is larger than some apartments in this city. I have the best of the best—the finest furnishings, luxury bedding, and an enormous walk-in closet filled with more clothes than one person really needs. But there’s this hole inside me, one I hide behind a thousand smiles, one I try to fill with every swipe of a credit card. Then, of course, there’s the guilt that comes along with it. How can I feel like there’s something missing when I have everything? I’m blessed to live here on the estate, enjoying the finer things in life—a life the Del Rossas have generously given me. I have everything a girl could need.

Everything except him.

“Nicoli,” I whisper to myself simply to hear his name on my lips, then push myself upright, square my shoulders, and pull on the mask of the perfect Del Rossa daughter—even if it’s not by blood.

My walk-in closet is half the size of my bedroom, with different fabrics and textures of every color and style imaginable. But there’s one color that dominates my wardrobe. It’s like a scarlet wave across a sea of white shelves and chrome rails. To some, it’s the color of blood. To me, it’s the color of life—which is kind of odd considering what happened to my real family.

I slip on a short, red, Boho-style, sleeveless, halter-neck dress, finishing off the outfit with a pair of nude heels. Today is probably one of the last warm summer days we’ll have this year, and I intend to make the most of it.

I’m about to walk out of my room and open the door just as Maximo readies to knock.

I smile. “You’re knocking on my door early today.”

“You okay?” he asks as he rakes over me with his concerned gaze. We both know what today is, which is why he feels the need to check on me.

“I’m fine. You?”

He nods. “I’m good.”

There’s this awkward silence, and even though he doesn’t move, I know he’s secretly squirming. My brother is not the touchy-feely type, and anything that has to do with human emotion activates his gag reflex.

“I’m okay, Maximo. Really.”

“Okay, well,” he drags his fingers along his beard, “I’ll be around all day if you, you know…need me for anything.”

I smile, appreciating his effort to show me that he cares even though it’s probably giving him heartburn.

“Thank you,” I say and move in to hug him. We don’t have to talk about the fact that today is the anniversary of our parents’ massacre. We don’t have to say a word about losing our oldest brother that night either. Maximo doesn’t have to tell me that the night we lost Marco, he lost his best friend. I already know because Marco and Maximo were as close as two brothers can be, and even though I don’t remember much, I do remember a ten-year-old Maximo screaming at the top of his lungs when Mr. Del Rossa told him that Marco had died along with our parents.

“I know you miss him,” I whisper against my brother’s chest, and he stiffens before letting go of me.

He steps back, deflecting. “You should go grab some breakfast before Isaia gets there. That guy is a fucking Hoover when it comes to food.”

“Yeah, okay. Are you joining us?”

“Ahm, I grabbed a muffin on my way here. I need to check on security, make sure everyone is at their post.”

“I’m sure the security around here is ironclad. You can spend half an hour having breakfast with us, Maximo.”

“No. Not today.” He leans close and places a peck on my cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

It’s like he suddenly grew wings, flying down the hall in record time. I’m used to him pulling away whenever I mention our older brother. But I get it. He misses him, and we all handle grief differently.

The dining room is empty, so we follow the sound of laughter and find Leandra and the kids on the patio. Although it’s much more than a patio. It is a luxurious dining experience with an outdoor chef’s kitchen, a ten-foot-tall stone fireplace, and a poolside bar.

Leandra looks up and smiles. “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve arranged for us to have breakfast out here this morning.”

“Of course not.” I take a seat next to her. “I told you this a thousand times already. With Alexius’ mom gone, you are now the Del Rossa First Lady of this house.”

“Pfft. No, I’m not.” She tries to get Aria to eat a slice of papaya but ends up picking it off the floor. “You’re the one who was raised to be the perfect Del Rossa hostess.”

“Oh, please.” I pour myself some orange juice. “The only reason I got raised to be hostess is because, literally, no one in this household thought Alexius would get married, let alone marry a decent woman like yourself.”

“I heard that.” Alexius touches Leandra’s shoulder, leans down, and lays a long kiss on her eager lips. A really long kiss.

I clear my throat. “Ahem—get a room.”

Alexius pulls away half an inch and licks his lips like Leandra’s taste is his drug, and he just got a fix. God, I wish someone would kiss me like that.

He turns in my direction. “Good morning, Mira.” Then he narrows his eyes, and I know he knows what day it is. “How are you doing this morning?”

“I’m great,” I reply with a smile as he takes a seat across from me. “Your wife just agreed that instead of having a party here at the house as we always do for my birthday, we can go out instead.”

“I did?” Leandra frowns.

“Yup. We’re going to paint the town red, as they say.”

“We are?”

“Yes, we are.” I take a few spoonsful of fruit and place them in a bowl. “It’s my birthday in two weeks, and I feel like doing something different this year to celebrate by going out.”

“Out where?” Caelian reaches over my shoulder and grabs a piece of toast before rounding the table and sitting next to Alexius. It’s easy to spot that they’re brothers, apart from the sharp difference in eye color—Alexius and Nicoli with their piercing blue eyes, Caelian and Isaia with their smoldering dark chocolate irises.

I pop a strawberry into my mouth. “We’re going to that new place in town. After Dark.”

Alexius lifts a brow. “After Dark is a nightclub.”

“Um…thank you for clearing that up.” I lean my head to the side. “Here I thought After Dark is a late-night bingo club.”

Caelian chuckles and Alexius’ expression turns hard. “You’re not going to After Dark.”

“Who’s going to After Dark?” Nicoli sits next to me, and I struggle to swallow my mouthful of fruit, which shouldn’t be this hard since I just chewed it into a puree. Instantly, it feels like all the air got sucked into an invisible vacuum, which says a lot since we’re sitting outside where there’s an abundance of air.

“Mirabella seems to think she and Leandra are going to After Dark for her birthday.”

Nicoli snorts. “What?” He looks at me. “No, you’re not.”

“Ooh. Drama.” Caelian has a huge-ass grin as he leans back in his chair like he’s about to watch a show.

I shift in my seat, steeling myself before I meet Nicoli’s blue-eyed gaze. “Yes. We are.”

“After Dark is a nightclub.”

“My God. Yes, I’m aware of that, thank you. We’re still going.” Without looking her way, I nudge my best friend with my elbow. “Leandra, back me up here.”

“Oh, no. I’m not getting involved. Besides, you’re Aria and Alessio’s babysitter. So, if you go, I can’t.”

“We’ll get Esther to watch them,” I chime back.

“Esther is—”

“An amazing and responsible woman who has worked for this family for years. It’ll work out,” I say without breaking eye contact with Nicoli, even though it feels like my heart is about to explode.

“Alexius,” Nicoli starts, “didn’t you give Esther that weekend off?”

“I sure did.”

I narrow my eyes at Alexius. “No, you didn’t.”

“He’s about to,” Nicoli says, followed by taking a bite of his toast.

“It’s my birthday, and I’m going out. Leandra is my best friend, which means she’s coming with me. So, either you lock me in my room—”

“Which you know the men in this family have no problem doing.”

“Or,” I enunciate at Nicoli, “you can all join us and make sure Leandra and I don’t get into any trouble.”

“Who’s getting into trouble?” Isaia plops down next to Nicoli, his forehead creased with confusion.

“No one,” Nicoli responds curtly. “Because they’re not going.”

“Who’s not going where?” Isaia glances from Nicoli to Alexius. “What the fuck am I missing?”

Caelian rights himself and places his arm on the table as he leans closer to Isaia. “Mirabella wants to go to After Dark for her birthday. Alexius clearly has a problem with it. Nicoli definitely has a problem with it. And do you know what that means, little brother?”

Isaia lifts a brow in question, grabbing a warm, buttery croissant drizzled with melted chocolate. I’m debating whether being bloated for the rest of the day might be worth indulging in one of those.

“It means we’re in for a very entertaining breakfast because what’s about to happen is Mira will be stubborn as hell as she always is. Leandra will not appreciate Alexius’ tone and the fact that he thinks he can control her, and by the time the women leave this table, our twin brothers will sit here wondering what the fuck just happened. And you and I, we’ll enjoy the fuck out of it.”

Isaia bursts out laughing, and Alexius slaps Caelian against the back of his head.

“You’re an idiot. You know that?”

“Says the one whose day is about to get shot to shit.”

Leandra stands, her glare aimed at Alexius, who, by the expression on his face, already knows what’s coming. “It’s Mirabella’s birthday, and if she wants to go celebrate at After Midnight—”

“After Dark,” I correct her.

“After Dark, then I’m going with her. Join us. Don’t join us. But we’re going.”

“Like fuck you are,” Alexius snaps, but then he’s forced to watch his wife walk away without sparing him another glance. Her only response is the determined click of her heels across the patio.

I smile at Alexius, reveling in my victory as I reach for a croissant at the same time Nicoli does. Our hands touch, and it’s as if his skin is an inferno of wildfire, heat spreading up my arm and across my chest. I let out a silent gasp, my pulse racing and my heart thundering with its echo beating between my ears.

It’s always like this. For me, at least. Whenever he’s near me, whenever there’s the slightest sensation of physical touch between us, it’s as if my world comes to a screeching halt, and I’m robbed of gravity. There’s no air. There’s no light or darkness. There’s no past or future. There’s only him. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. He’s never given me any reason to believe he harbors any kind of feelings for me. In fact, if he does feel something, I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere between apathy and contempt, judging by the way he looks at me ninety-nine percent of the time. But this moment right now is that other one percent where his gaze is white-hot and I feel it caress my skin.

I’m frozen, our pinkies still touching as I look into his eyes. Alexius and Nicoli are almost identical in many ways, even the color of their irises. But where Alexius’ eyes are sapphires that shimmer with mystery, Nicoli’s are dark and deep blue, like azurite, with a vitreous luster that hypnotizes me with a single glance.

For a few breaths, our eyes remain locked, and I’m lost, heat kissing the back of my neck. I can feel my body and soul wanting to get closer, every nerve ignited with flames that lick my flesh. His lips part, my gaze drops to the movement, and he…looks away.

Ice clamps down around my spine, and it all fades to nothing, like water sinking into desert sand.

“I have a busy day.” He stands, slipping on his suit jacket. “I’ll grab breakfast on my way to Myth.”

My cheeks warm as I place my hands in my lap, looking down. I’ve been part of this family long enough to know it’s not only business that takes place at Myth. I’m painfully aware of Nicoli’s sexual prowess and late nights at Myth. It hurts, but it is what it is.

I listen as Nicoli’s footsteps disappear, and I swallow the hurt slowly creeping up my throat. “I, um…”

“I’m telling you,” Caelian starts, “out of us four douchebags, Nicoli is the cunt.”

I get up from my seat. “I have to go inform the chef that plans have changed for my birthday.”

“You’re not going,” Alexius calls after me.

“You and I both know we are.”

“And be careful while you’re stomping through the house like you’re the spawn of Satan. We’re having new art delivered.”

I give him a dismissive wave over my shoulder and stomp off…like I’m the spawn of Satan on a mission.