Chapter-17 Ruin

Song: Not Afraid Anymore (Halsey)

Gianna

When I opened my eyes, there was no roaring sound of gunshots going on or tires screeching. It was all peacefully silent. Was I dreaming? I turned my head, and the throbbing pain in my temples and my entire body in general screamed that I wasn’t. It all happened. The chase…the firing…the attack…Nico firing…wait—

Nico.

I sat up on my bed and looked around. I was all alone.

Where was Nico?

Panic rushed through me with such a fury that I almost felt nauseous. I remember Caelian taking me away. But Nico…he was still there. My stomach was in knots. But before I could do anything about it, I heard something.

Voices. Downstairs. My heart lurched.

I didn’t think—I just moved, pushing off the bed, my legs unsteady as I rushed out of the room. My head still ached from where I’d hit it, my body sluggish from exhaustion, but none of it mattered. I gripped the stair railing as I hurried down, my breath coming short, panic curling inside me like a vice. The sight of Caelian, Domani, and a few other men standing in the foyer made my stomach twist.

“Where is Nico?” I demanded, my voice frantic, shaking. “Where is he?” Caelian turned at the sound of my voice, his face unreadable. Domani exchanged a look with him, but before either of them could answer…the door creaked open.

I felt him before I saw him. And then—there he was.

Nico stepped into view, looking like he had crawled out of hell.

His shirt was rumpled, smeared with dirt and something darker—blood. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing the cuts along his forearms. His jaw was locked, bruises forming along his cheekbone, and his breathing was uneven, like it hurt to pull in air. The second our eyes met, the world around us ceased to exist. Relief hit me like a punch to the chest, making my knees weak. My throat burned, my vision blurred as tears welled up, but I barely registered them. Nico’s face remained unreadable, but his voice was razor-sharp when he spoke.

“Leave.”

One word. The men hesitated, but then Domani gave a small nod. Without another word, they filed out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Silence fell.

And then the weight of everything crashed into me.

Nico stood there, his body wrecked, his dark eyes burning with something I couldn’t name—something raw, primal, undeniable. His black shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, dirt smeared across his jaw, blood staining his knuckles. His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath labored, his entire body taut, as if he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

But I didn’t care how wrecked he looked.

I only cared that he was here.

Alive.

A broken sob choked its way up my throat as the weight of everything slammed into me hard. Without thinking, I ran.

I threw myself at him, my hands fisting in his shirt, and his arms caught me instantly, crushing me against him. My fingers curled into the fabric, desperate, shaking, pulling him in as if I could hold him there forever. And then his mouth was on mine.

The kiss was frantic, bruising, wild. There was no hesitation, no control—only heat, need, and the desperate, unspoken relief that we had survived. Nico groaned low in his throat, the sound guttural, animalistic, vibrating through my body. His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, owning.

I gasped against his lips as he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. My back hit the nearest wall, his weight pressing into me, pinning me there. I could feel the solid planes of his chest against mine, the heat of his skin through his ruined shirt.

His hands slid under my thighs, gripping, fingers digging into my flesh like he needed to feel every inch of me. His lips broke from mine only to drag down my jaw, my neck, his breath hot and ragged as his teeth scraped against my pulse point.

“Nico…” My voice was nothing more than a desperate whisper. His body shuddered against mine at the sound of his name on my lips.

And then he moved.

He turned, still holding me against him, still kissing me, never once breaking contact. Each step he took was controlled, his grip tightening around me as he carried me up the stairs.

His lips crashed back onto mine before I could even catch my breath, swallowing my gasps, my sighs, my everything. It was a mess of hands and teeth, of tongues and lips, of pure, raw, undeniable hunger. By the time we reached the bedroom, I was burning. Nico kicked the door open, stepping inside. The second my back hit the bed, he hesitated.

For just a moment.

His forehead pressed against mine, his breath hot, heavy. His fingers ghosted over my face, tracing the cut on my cheek from the shattered mirror.

“You got hurt,” he murmured. His voice was rough, filled with something dark and dangerous.

“I don’t care,” I whispered. His jaw clenched. His fingers brushed lower, over my throat, down my chest, lightly, like he was still fighting himself.

“Nico…” I reached for him, my hands finding the front of his shirt, pushing it up, needing more.

He sucked in a sharp breath when my fingers grazed over his stomach, tracing the hard ridges of his abs, the deep lines leading downward.

“Gianna,” he rasped, his voice thick with warning.

I didn’t stop.

I pushed the shirt up higher, my fingers slipping beneath the fabric, gliding over bare, sweat-slicked skin.

His body was on fire.

Hard muscle, taut and straining beneath my touch. His skin was warm, hot to the point of burning. Every inch of him felt coiled, like he was barely restraining something dark and dangerous beneath the surface. I wanted to break that restraint.

I wanted him.

I tugged at his shirt, and he let me pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. My breath hitched. His body was gorgeous. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, abs carved into perfect ridges. His olive skin was littered with old scars, a map of past battles, of pain, of survival. His biceps flexed as he braced himself over me, his forearms tense, veins prominent.

God, he was lethal—and utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

I bit my lip, my fingers trailing lower, across his lower stomach, just above his belt. His breath hissed through his teeth. His eyes snapped to mine, dark and dangerous.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, cara mia,” Nico warned, his voice low, thick, vibrating through my skin. I met his gaze, my fingers unbuckling his belt with slow, deliberate movements.

“I do.”

Something snapped inside him. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest as his hands shot forward, gripping the front of my top. And then—

He ripped it apart.

The fabric tore like paper beneath his hands, the sound sharp, primal, sending a shiver down my spine. His breath was ragged, his eyes burning as he took me in, my bare skin exposed to him, my body trembling under his touch. His hands explored, fingers trailing down my stomach, his palms pressing against my heated skin, claiming me. His hand slipped beneath my skirt.

I gasped as his fingers brushed against my core, light at first, teasing. Something dark and feral danced in his eyes when he felt the heat of me through my panties, how ready I already was for him. I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

He slid his fingers along my slit, pressing just enough to make me arch, to make me need more, but not giving me what I truly craved. Then, in one fluid motion, he yanked my skirt down my legs, along with my panties.

I was bare. Completely exposed to him. Nico pulled back slightly. His eyes roamed across my naked body, slow, heavy, appreciating every inch of me. The raw hunger in his gaze sent heat flooding through me, a flush rising over my skin under his scrutiny. This was what I have always fantasized about—that look in his eyes…for me.

But there was something else too, something deeper, something almost hesitant. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over my hip, my waist, my ribs—like he was memorizing me. Then, his hands fisted into the sheets beside me, and his jaw clenched.

“Gianna,” he rasped. “Tell me to stop.”

I blinked, my breath still uneven. “What?” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his muscles taut with restraint.

“If I start this, I won’t stop. I will ruin you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how to be gentle. I don’t make love.”

Fuck.

I met his gaze, deeply, no hesitation in my eyes. At this point with desire fogging all my senses, I couldn’t care any less what he wanted to do with me. And I was not letting him ruin this moment. So I took his hand. Slowly, deliberately, I guided it between my thighs, pressing his fingers against my slick heat.

His breath shuddered against my lips. My own eyes fluttered closed, pleasure rolling through me as I rocked my hips forward, pressing myself into his hand. A curse spilled from his mouth, low and feral. And then…

Nico snapped.

He crushed his lips against mine, raw and desperate, as his fingers slid inside me, deep and slow, stretching me, filling me. I gasped, gripping onto his shoulders as he moved his fingers, curling them, teasing me, pulling out just enough to drive me insane before plunging back in.

“Fuck,” he rasped against my ear and I moaned harder in response. Nico groaned, his lips trailing fire down my neck, my collarbone, between my breasts. His tongue flicked over my nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking hard, making me cry out.

Pleasure coiled deep in my stomach, tighter, hotter. I was unraveling, breaking apart under his touch, and he knew it. And just when I thought I would lose myself completely—

He pulled his fingers out. I whimpered, my body trembling. Nico hovered over me, panting, his eyes locked onto mine as he reached for his belt, shoving his pants down, kicking them off. Then he reached for a condom from the bedside table. I was panting, wet and needy as fuck as he sat back for a moment to put that thing on.

My lips parted as I took him in. Every inch of him was beautiful. Big, thick, heavy with need, his length standing proud against his stomach, tip glistening. I swallowed hard, heat spreading between my thighs at the sheer size of him or how fucking hot it was to watch him roll that condom on. Nico saw the flicker of apprehension in my eyes and his eyes darkened in response—a warning again. His fingers curled beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his.

“Last chance, cara mia,” he murmured, his voice dark, rough. “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down, our bodies aligning perfectly.

“I want you, Nico,” I whispered, my lips grazing his. “You know that…” His jaw clenched in response.

And then—

He pushed inside me.

I gasped, my nails digging into his back as he stretched me, filled me completely, his cock sinking deep into my heat in one long, slow thrust.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against mine, his arms trembling from the effort to hold himself still, to let me adjust.

I could feel him everywhere. Thick, hot, pulsing inside me, every inch of him stretching me in ways I didn’t think possible. I clenched around him, and he let out a ragged breath, his grip on my hips tightening.

“Gianna,” he growled, voice wrecked, almost pained. I pressed a kiss to his lips, rocking my hips slightly, encouraging him. That was all it took. Nico moved. His hips rolled into mine, slow and deep at first, but then—he lost control. His thrusts turned rough, desperate, hungry. He meant it when he said he was rough.

But I loved it.

I met him stroke for stroke, my nails raking down his back, my moans filling the room–loud, uncontrolled, unrestrained. It was fire. It was everything I didn’t imagine, yet more. Fast and slow. Rough and reverent. Passionate and raw. Every time he pulled out and slammed back in, no mercy, no holding back, it felt like my soul left my body, and all that was left behind was him.

And when we finally shattered together, tangled in sweat and gasping breaths, I knew—he had destroyed me.

And I never wanted to be whole again.