Chapter 9: 7

I talked. I told him everything—everything that had happened over the last three months, leading up to this very moment. My voice trembled as I recounted the events, each word feeling like it weighed a ton. Nicco sat across from me, his expression unreadable, though his jaw was clenched so tightly that I thought it might snap.

He didn’t interrupt, didn’t speak until I had finally finished. The silence that followed was deafening. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Then, and only then, did he speak.

“Dammit, Cassie.” His voice was low but laced with barely restrained anger. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his usual calm demeanor slipping just enough to show how much I’d rattled him. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. “It was just… in the moment. I didn’t think—”

“Firstly, Cassie,” he interrupted sharply, holding up a hand, “that was a rhetorical question. Secondly, don’t think anymore. Thinking is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place.”

His words were a slap in the face, and I bit my lip to keep from snapping back. I couldn’t meet his eyes. They burned with frustration, disappointment, and something else—something that felt dangerously close to concern. My gaze dropped to the polished wood floor beneath me.

“And lastly,” he added, his tone suddenly cold, “try not to get blood on the carpet. It’s expensive.”

Blood. At his words, I looked down at my shoulder, where I’d been clutching the wound for the last twenty minutes. A fresh wave of crimson was seeping through the fabric of my shirt, dripping onto the floor in slow, steady drops. I hadn’t even noticed how bad it had gotten.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling to press harder against the wound with my free hand, but it was no use. The blood seemed to pour faster with every passing second.

Nicco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked, desperate to get away from his piercing stare.

He pointed toward a door at the back of the room. I didn’t wait for further instruction. Stumbling to my feet, I hurried toward it and slammed the door shut behind me.

The bathroom was small but immaculate—marble countertops, gleaming fixtures, and a mirror that reflected just how much of a mess I was. I peeled off my shirt, hissing in pain as the fabric stuck to the wound. The bullet had gone straight through, leaving an angry, ragged hole in my shoulder. Blood smeared across my skin, and I felt a wave of dizziness hit me like a freight train.

My vision blurred. The room spun. I gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself, but it was no use. I caught a glimpse of my pale, blood-smeared reflection in the mirror before everything went black.

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**Nicco**

When Cassie Moore stumbled into my private room, looking like she’d been through hell and back, I knew she was trouble.

I should have turned her away. Should have told her to deal with her problems elsewhere. But I didn’t. Instead, I let her sit there and spill her guts, her words pouring out in a panicked rush.

Now, as I watched the bathroom door she’d disappeared behind, I felt the weight of her chaos settle squarely on my shoulders.

With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and dialed Aleksander. The line rang twice before he picked up.

“This better be good, Niccolo,” Aleksander said, his tone thick with irritation. “I’m in the middle of something important.”

“Yeah? Well, so am I,” I shot back, pacing the length of the room. “Cassie’s here.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “Cassie?” Aleksander’s voice lost some of its edge, replaced by a note of surprise. “As in *Cassie Moore*? What the hell is she doing there?”

“Bleeding all over my damn carpet, for starters,” I muttered, glancing down at the small pool of blood she’d left in her wake. “She’s in bad shape, Aleks. Says someone’s after her. I need you to come down here.”

“I can’t,” he said, the irritation creeping back into his voice. “You know how delicate things are right now.”

“Delicate?” I snapped. “She’s got a bullet hole in her shoulder, Aleks! Whatever you’re dealing with, it can wait.”

“She always brings this kind of drama,” Aleksander grumbled. “Fine. I’ll send someone.”

Before I could argue, he hung up. Typical Aleksander. Always delegating. I shoved my phone back into my pocket, my frustration mounting.

Minutes passed, and the bathroom door remained closed. Too long. A knot of unease tightened in my gut. Finally, I crossed the room and knocked sharply.

“Cassie?” I called out. No answer. “Cassie, open the door.”

Still nothing.

I didn’t hesitate. Turning the handle, I pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted me sent a jolt of panic through my chest. Cassie lay crumpled on the floor, pale as a ghost, blood staining the pristine white tile beneath her. Her shirt was discarded, revealing the angry wound on her shoulder.

“Shit,” I muttered, kneeling beside her. My hands hovered over her for a moment, unsure where to start. Then I snapped into action. I tore a clean hand towel from the rack and pressed it firmly against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a weak groan. “Nicco?” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, my tone softer now. “Stay with me, Cass. Help’s on the way.”

Her eyes struggled to focus on me, glassy with pain and exhaustion. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispered.

“You came to the right place,” I lied. In truth, I wasn’t sure if I was equipped to handle the kind of trouble Cassie brought with her. But it was too late to turn back now.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I left Cassie just long enough to let in the medic Aleksander had sent—a wiry man with sharp eyes and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“She’s in here,” I said, stepping aside to let him through.

The medic didn’t waste any time. He knelt beside Cassie, assessing the wound with practiced efficiency. “Bullet went clean through,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Lucky for her. She’ll live.”

Relief flooded through me, though I kept my expression neutral.

As the medic worked, I leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching Cassie’s face. She looked so small, so vulnerable. It was a stark contrast to the fiery, impulsive woman who had stormed into my club not an hour ago.

When the medic finished, he stood and packed up his bag. “She’ll need rest,” he said, handing me a bottle of painkillers. “Keep an eye on her for the next 24 hours. If she shows any signs of infection, call me.”

I nodded, slipping him a wad of cash before he left.

Once we were alone, I carried Cassie to the couch in my office, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder. She stirred as I laid her down, her eyes fluttering open briefly.

“Nicco?” she murmured again.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Just rest. We’ll figure this out.”

She gave a small nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

And as I sat there, watching over her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.