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“This is not a conversation I want to have, Po.”
“Did your hockey man get angry with you over what happened with Sewell?”
“No—and he is not my hockey man. Anyway, this is nothing for you to worry about.”
“Nothing? You are drinking whiskey at—” he checked his watch “—three o’clock in the afternoon. Even the circles under your eyes have circles, so I know you aren’t sleeping.”
Accurate, but Nico didn’t like it. “I thought you were on a shipment tonight.”
“I came to check in on you before I head out.”
“You do not need to check in on me.”
Filippo threw himself into a chair and propped his feet on Nico’s walnut desk. “Cugino, what did you expect? His face is wrapped around that arena. They treat him like a god there.”
Nico swallowed more whiskey. “Why are you saying this to me?”
“Because your hockey man has a lot to lose.”
“So do I,” Nico said harshly.
“Dai, Nico. Not really. Not like that. You are the king here. No bosses, no public pressure. The men might not love it at first, but they would come around. But he is stuck in a world that would never understand a player loving a man, especially a man who runs a criminal empire.”
The words were sharp and pointed, daggers under Nico’s ribs. He knew this. Logically, he did. So why the bitterness in the back of his throat? “For the record—and I will only mention this once—he was willing to try. I am the one who said no.”
Filippo’s mouth fell open slightly. “You said no?”
“I did. So you do not need to worry about either of us doing anything stupid.” Nico shrugged, because what else could he do? There was no solution except for one of them to give up their entire life. And Nico didn’t have that option—a don could relinquish his position only through death or turning it over to a blood heir.
“I don’t understand.”
Nico rubbed his eyes and drank more liquor. “It’s as you said. We both have a lot to lose.”
“No, I said he has a lot to lose. But it sounds like he was willing to risk it to be with you.”
The insinuation was clear—and Nico didn’t like it. He slammed his glass on the desk with a thump. “You think I am a coward.”
Putting up both palms, Filippo grimaced. “I do not have a death wish, so I would never say it.”
“There is no need to say it, because I can see it written all over your face.”
“Let us just say that I am surprised. You do not often give up on finding a solution when there is a problem.”
“Because there is no solution!” The room felt too stifling, his clothing too tight. Unable to sit, Nico pushed out of his chair and began pacing behind his desk. He didn’t want to talk about this. The situation was hopeless and it was making him crazy. To make things worse, thoughts of Bennett consumed every second of his day, even haunted his dreams. Nico couldn’t escape—and he felt on a razor’s edge of sanity at all times.
“Cugino,” Filippo said gently. “What are you afraid of?”
The urge to argue, to lash out that he wasn’t afraid, burned Nico’s tongue. But he knew better. Filippo was his closest confidant, practically a sibling, and he deserved more than lies. “He is very high profile, a celebrity in most circles, and I must maintain a low profile for the business. There is no compromise between those two lifestyles. Even if our men accepted this about me, about him, his world would not. The association would hurt him when it became known.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?” He stopped pacing. “What does this mean?”
“You are protecting him from you. Which means you love him even more than I thought.”
“Vaffanculo!”
“Dai,” Filippo said, shaking his head. “This is me, Nico. You don’t need to pretend.”
