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3
Nico
Dark, menacing glare. Fists clenched at his sides. Body stiff as a cock in the Playboy fucking mansion. The tall, hulking guy in the newspaper clippings shows no signs of grief, only ones of rage and anger.
Things I’ve seen firsthand.
I know he remembers.
And damn, how I wish I could forget.
I stare at the pieces of newsprint scattered across my desk and rake a hand through my hair. A knot at the base of my skull screams at me when I dip my head lower to read one of the articles about Cappodamo’s memorial service. I don’t think I slept more than an hour at a stretch last night.
These days, I wonder if it’s worse for me to be awake or asleep, to be honest.
My index finger pokes at Luca Cappodamo’s face in the picture. He got back from his overseas tour about three months ago, well after I’d plugged his dad. It wasn’t surprising since he’d never been close with his father. They were always battling about Luca’s choice to become an MMA fighter instead of the obligatory take over the family business that was expected of him. His dad wanted to groom him as his protégé so he could eventually hand over the reins to him, but Luca wanted nothing more than to bludgeon and maim on his own terms without anyone looking over his shoulder and critiquing his methods. So, he threw his hat into the MMA ring, beating anyone to a pulp who got in his way; he also spent years all over the world fucking anything with legs and a short skirt in his downtime.
There was no love lost between those two, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t mean Luca won’t do the honorable thing and avenge his father’s murder, if not for himself, than for his gin-soaked drunk of a mother who fled to Sicily after all the shit went down.
And if you would have known his parents like I did when Luca was growing up, it wasn’t such a stretch to figure out how Luca got so fucked up in the first place. Years ago, before he left the country, we ran in the same circles, when the New York families respected the boundaries of the New Jersey families, and vice versa. Yeah, back in the day, I’d seen plenty, been witness to the casualties of Luca’s wrath. Shit that’s burned into my memory forever. Things that keep me up at night because I know that the bastard is a certifiable lunatic with a get out of jail free card in his back pocket.
A groan tumbles from my lips. I remember when things used to be civil between the families. We traded favors, struck deals, and got rich. Sure, there were always shitheads on both sides who thought they knew best and tried to muscle their way into places they didn’t belong—but they were always taken care of…with a silencer and a single bullet. Maintaining the status quo meant keeping your mattresses stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. But it never lasted. There was always some jerkoff who got too greedy. Case in point—Tony Oriani, Shaye and Max’s dad. Shit between the families didn’t get tense until that asshole dipped his wick into the wrong pool.
I rub the back of my neck. Months have passed, and I haven’t seen or heard a goddamn thing from the Cappodamo side of the bridge. That only means they’re getting closer to making a move. Every night when I go to bed, the fear of the unknown consumes me. And every morning when I wake up—if you even want to call what I’m doing sleeping—I wonder if it will be the day they launch their retaliation.
Shaye needs to stay as far away from me as possible, but without her, I don’t know how I’d make it from one day to the next. So, I fool myself into thinking if she sleeps at her parents’ house a few nights a week, I’m protecting her.
Knowing what I do about Luca, she’d be safer juggling a dozen flaming batons than being within one-hundred yards of me.
A knock at the door jolts me back to reality, and I swallow a groan when my head pops up from the newspaper . The sharp pain zaps the base of my skull and shoots down my spine. Christ, I need a fucking adjustment so badly. Just one more thing that keeps me awake at night. I open the top drawer and sweep the clippings into it before slamming it shut. “Yeah?”
Viktor Ivanov, one of my business associates and a top Russian crime boss, pushes open the door and drops into the chair in front of my desk with a smirk on his stubbled face. “Nico, this had better be good. You dragged me away from a very tight pussy.”
I drum my fingertips on the top of my desk. “How do you feel about horses?”
Viktor shrugs. “I don’t ride them, and I don’t bet on them.”
“You don’t have to do either.”
“So why should I care? And make it fast. That pussy is calling to me.”
I grin and ease myself back into the chair. “I’m in the process of buying a stable up in northern Jersey.”
“And you want me to be horse racing buddy?”
“Not quite. Salesi Associates just bought properties in Manhattan that we’ll be developing as part of our ‘entertainment’ business portfolio. We want you to be our main drug supplier, but there will be too much money passing through hands to keep it off the radar of the feds.”
“So you want to pass it through stable?”
“Exactly. That’s how we’ll keep it clean.”
“With all of the horse shit?” Viktor pulls out a skinny black cigarette and lights it, inhaling sharply. A minute later, he nods. “I like that. Clean, but dirty. Just like that pussy you made me leave.”
“So you’re in?”
“I was in, until you pulled me out. Fucking Americans. So impatient. Couldn’t even let me come before you drag my ass down here.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be balls-deep soon enough.” I push back my chair and struggle to my feet, trying to ignore the searing pain zapping every nerve ending in my back and legs. “We’re done.”
Viktor blows a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Just remember, I’m not your bitch, Nico. Next time, I fuck first, you hear me?”
I snicker. Bad ass Russian drug lord. Head of the bratva. Paralyzed by pussy. We’ve worked together long enough for me to know his real addiction. “Stop by later this week. I’ll take care of you.”
Viktor grunts his reply and reaches for the door handle. Just as he’s about to pull it open, he turns around, an evil smirk on his face. “By the way, I hear our friend Luca Cappodamo is back in town. We should go out for a drink, welcome him home, don’t you think?”
My lips stretch into a thin line. “Yeah, we’re gonna give him the time of his fucking life.”
