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CHAPTER ELEVEN
NICO
Benny’s off, doing his best spy impression. I told him to channel his inner Ethan Hunt, but apparently suggesting Mission Impossible over Bond was the wrong thing to say. Neither character or actor is ideal, but I’m still traumatised by the Bond film where he walks out of the ocean in blue hot pants. Just no… no.
If she’s gonna be stuck down there for a while, bringing her a tablet is bullshit. This is exactly why women say the bar is so low for men. The least we can do is move the TV for her. Now, I will not sacrifice the living room TV, that’s crazy talk… So currently, I’m stealing Benny’s. He’s never in his room anyway, though I’m sure he’ll whine like a motherfucker about this. He’ll brat, I’ll punish him, but either way he’ll end up sucking my dick… It’s a win-win, really.
I lug it all downstairs and as I’m trying to hoist it all through the door—I kick it open with more force than I intended. The door slams back against the wall and a startled scream hits me like a punch to the gut. The guilt I feel is unexpected and unwelcome.
“Shit. Sorry. I couldn’t balance the TV,” I grunt out, trying to peer over the TV covering my face. I can’t tell if she’s okay or not. “Hang on, let me put this down.”
When my hands are free, I hold them up in apology but I can see that she’s giggling. I quirk a brow, baffled and intrigued by her reaction.
“Don’t apologise. It was an accident. You guys are sweet, and I do really appreciate the kid-glove approach, but I don’t know… Could one of you treat me like I’m not about to shatter into a million pieces?”
“Got it, give you shit like I always have.” Catching myself smiling at her, I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of the spell she’s cast on me. The curve of her smile, the tone of her snark, and the delicate huffs of her breath have me biting the inside of my cheek. She’s intriguing and enticing—just like Benny.
I haul the TV around only to realise… “This won’t work. I need to do some rearranging. Hold tight.” Unlocking the wheels on her hospital bed, I spin it round to face the countertop at the back of the room as she squeals in surprise, gripping the sides of the bed firmly. Hauling the TV and its stand up onto the worktop, I hook up cables, switch it on and start setting up the Wi-Fi.
“Is it like, a male default for guys to make setting up electronics look ten times harder than it actually is?”
“Less sass, you, or I’ll put the parental age restrictions on all the streaming services.”
“You wound me, Nico. That’s just cold.”
Once it’s all set up and the home screen has loaded, I produce the remote from my back pocket, presenting it to her with a gruff nod.
“Thank you, Sir Nico. My gallant hero,” she mocks, and I huff a grunt, tamping down the desire to join in with her banter. I’m not naturally a playful person but I find myself having to stop the smile that’s threatening to creep across my face. It’s almost unnerving how at ease I feel with her.
“I’m off to retrieve supplies. You start the eternal search for something to watch,” I complain.
“Any hard nos?”
“Nah, you get twenty-four hours of your choices, no judgement, no complaints. Then it’s my choice and your terrible taste is fair game for me to ridicule. Now, what’s your snack preference?”
“Chips and dip.”
“I make no promises, but I’ll see what we have.”
I’ve always admired Aurora. Anyone who can run a successful crew deserves respect. But more than that, despite her position, the fact she wanted to run a crew at all was badass. Like so many other Cosa Nostra daughters I know, she could have just ridden on her father’s coattails and spent her days doing nothing except spending other people’s money.
Mafia wives and daughters’ lives are usually dictated by either their father or their husband. But Aurora pushed to be a part of the family business. She was determined she was going to not only work but earn her crew.
And she did. With her father’s blessing she learned the business and to no one’s surprise, excelled. She showed a natural talent for thievery, which served her well once she commanded her own crew.
She’s an impressive woman.
Back with the snacks, I settle into my spot on the couch, having rearranged the rest of the furniture in Sick Bay. The couch, the table, her bed—again. I’m tempted to throw this shitty couch away. It’s like sitting on bricks. I could bring down the living room sofa, but I think Zo would have a fit.
I’m pleasantly surprised by her choice. I came back down to find that she’d queued up Shaun of the Dead. I must admit, my already good opinion of her is now bordering on excellent. Few people outside Zo’s crew ever tip the needle on the meter this high. It’s equal parts refreshing and unsettling.
In the glow of the television screen, her jet-black hair absorbs the light, making it appear almost ethereal. The way the light flickers from the screen, dancing along her tresses is distracting—and beautiful. It’s a rarity that I find women attractive, but it’s not unheard of. For me it’s not about the anatomy, it’s about the personality. I may be a callous bastard with questionable morals, but I’m a sucker for someone loyal and honest, highly skilled, and who can spar with me in every sense of the word. Besides that, I’m a lot to take. Most women can’t handle my… tastes.
I demand a lot. But I also give a lot. When I fall, I fall hard, and I will never give up on someone I have dedicated myself to. Benny is a testament to that. He also makes me a better person, not that I’ll admit it to him.
When I say better person, it’s not like I’m quitting my day job any time soon. I’m fucking good at it. Spectacular even if I say so myself. But before Benny, while I was part of this crew—I respected them—they weren’t part of me.
Since finding Benny, having Zo and Sin accept him into the crew—us giving him a home when his own family rejected him—that changed my perspective on a lot of things. Made me see Enzo and Sinclair for what they were.
