He'd arranged flowers. A bouquet of white lilies sat on the polished table—elegant, expensive, the kind of gesture that might have meant something once. Beside it rested a small velvet box. Jewelry, no doubt. Another offering laid at the altar of his guilt.
The attendant moved to pull out my chair, but Nico stopped her with a subtle gesture of his hand. He would do it himself.
I blinked, caught off guard by this unexpected courtesy.
"You really don't have to do all this."
A faint smile touched his lips—so rare, so carefully rationed. He shook his head slowly.
It seemed to take tremendous effort, but he managed two words.
"It's fine."
Such unusual gentleness. Such unprecedented communication.
The paperwork was completed with efficient precision. Signatures exchanged. Seals pressed. The safe house was now mine alone—a parting gift from the heir apparent of the Volpe Syndicate.
His final message appeared on my screen as the attendant gathered the documents.
Head back to the compound first. I have business that will run late.
A strange feeling stirred in my chest, building and building until it pressed against my ribs. Hope, perhaps. Or its ghost.