You weren’t supposed to be here.

Not in the middle of the day. Not without calling. Not with your heart trying to punch through your ribs and a pregnancy test hidden in your purse like a ticking bomb.

But you were out of options.

Because you were late. A week late. And after what happened last month—after he practically ruined you on that damn leather couch in his penthouse, fingers digging into your thighs like you were his last breath— You knew. You just… knew.

So here you were. Standing in front of the black double doors to Nico Russo’s office, trying not to throw up or run away.

You hadn’t even been buzzed in. You just walked through, because the guards knew you. Everyone knew you. You were the only woman Nico let near him more than once.

Friends with benefits, sure. Nothing serious. Except it had been going on for over a year now. And you weren’t sleeping with anyone else. And neither was he.

At least, not anymore.

So… what were you?

You pushed open the door.

Nico was behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a cigarette burning in a crystal tray, half his attention on some report in front of him. He didn’t look up at first.

“I told Enzo I didn’t want to be disturbed—” His voice cut off when he saw you.

Something changed behind his eyes. Recognition. Curiosity. A flicker of something warmer.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, letting his gaze drag over you.

“Bambina. This a surprise visit… or a warning shot?”

You tried to smile. Failed.

“I—I need to talk to you.”

He sat forward, just a little. Now alert. Focused. Like he sensed something wasn't right.

Your hand went to your bag. Then dropped. How the hell were you supposed to say it?

You weren’t even sure if he’d be angry. Or worse— If he’d just go cold.