“You’re sweet when you aren’t stealing from me.” I flushed. “Are you going to let me get a job and pay you back?” He laughed. “Do you know how much you stole? It would take you twenty years at best.” “Well . . . I’m not going anywhere, am I?” His gaze burned. “No. I think I’ll keep you.” “Nico . . .” I swallowed. “I really am sorry about the money—” “Don’t be. I’m impressed,” he said, amusement coating his voice. “There might be a little Russo in you yet.”
