Chapter 7

I feel better after I shower Nick's blood off me. Leaving my soiled slip dress in a crumpled pile on the floor, I wrap my steaming body with one of the pearly-white luxurious towels I find in Nick's bathroom. The waterproof makeup I applied to my face that morning turned out to be harder to remove than blood. Ultimately, I gave up even though I still have raccoon eyes. The annoying hair-spray-soaked updo was easier to remove, but even after a full half an hour of searching, I was still raining bobby pins all over the bathroom floor.

"I left out one of my t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants for you," Nick yells at me from the living room. This apartment is huge by New York City standards. I can't believe crime paid so well. Nick's clothes look ridiculous on me, but at least they are clean and easy to move in. I have to roll the waist of the sweatpants over several times to keep them from falling to my knees. As for the t-shirt, it is so annoyingly large and revealing in the wrong places. Let's say I am counting the seconds for my bra to finish drying after I hand-washed it in the shower.

"You look better in that outfit than I ever did," Nick remarks. He wasn't joking about finishing an entire bottle of whisky. I see him pouring himself another glass as he frantically texts with his non-dominant hand. I don't know if he's plotting my death or trying to get to the bottom of why he had been shot earlier today. Nick's men had shown up before I entered the shower. They're respectfully standing in the hallway. They don't talk to me. I assume Nick had told them not to. The more I see the stone-cold obedience in the eyes of his men in suits, the more I start to suspect the real Nick might not be the wise-cracking lover-boy with the easy smile he showed me.

Why bother putting up a front for me?

Does my knowledge of chemistry really matter so much?

Or is there something else he wants?

"You must be hungry and tired," Nick says hastily as he stands up from the couch. He holds his phone close to his chest as though he's about to take a call. "There is food in the refrigerator. If none of it suits you, and I know you city girls have weird dietary restrictions, you can ask any of the men to pull up a food delivery app." Nick chuckled when he noticed my raised eyebrows at the suggestion. "You're wondering where your phone is, I'm sure. While you were showering, I removed your phone from where you left it. It's for your safety. I will return it to you when you leave."

I roll my eyes at his feigned concern for my safety. Whose safety was he talking about? I'm sure it was for his safety that my phone was being detained.

"As for sleep, there is a spare bedroom upstairs. It is the one with the blue curtains. No one will bother you there."

Having a two-story apartment is quite the flex here in the city. I'm sure a million girls here in this city would happily be shot at for the chance to date a man with a two-story apartment, even if it is in Brooklyn.

"I'm not hungry," I croak out. As though anyone who had narrowly escaped death just an hour ago could really think of their stomach. "How do I know I can sleep without being murdered or worse? There are an awful lot of dangerous men here."

"You are my guest. No one will harm you, not while I am alive," Nick points at the room he is on his way toward. "Now, you must leave me to my business."

"And you will be alive tomorrow?"

"Don't worry. Your husband will see you in the morning."

"Are you sure you don't need my help digging that bullet out of your arm?"

"Once again, this isn't my first time," Nick assures me. "It's already been taken care of. I'll let you have first dibs next time, my sweet. I promise."

"Okay," I retort loudly as I head toward the stairs. "Just saying, it only seems right that a wife gets her husband's bullet removal virginity on their wedding night."

"I'm sorry if I offended you," Nick snarks back. "If you insist, I can pretend to wince in a manly way as you bandage me up later. Although truth be told, I'm actually quite good at doing it myself."

"Okay, then you can do other things to yourself," I jest, but he doesn't hear me. As I find the room with the blue curtains, I stand by the windows and look over the East River. I take a deep breath and try to calm my thoughts. I woke up today as a bride, and now I go to bed as a prisoner of a mafia boss. For some reason, I am smiling to myself at the thought of seeing Nick at breakfast.

No, stop it!

Am I really falling for a mobster?