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Lazlo is the accepted façade by the family and the world. Nicolo is too nihilist, eccentric, and barbaric for anyone’s liking. Stories of his secret torture chambers are enough to propel fear in anyone’s soul.
“My brother doesn’t control bookkeeping, I do. And I’m telling you that the only means to protect your woman is to pay up for it, rich boy.”
“Might want to visit your ENT and get those ears checked as well, because I told you she’s not my fucking woman.”
The idea itself leaves me with irritation deeply rooted in years of visiting the same memories about a certain femme fatale.
Fucking years of wondering if she was alive or if her last stamp on the world was Gwen.
“Sounds convenient then. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, but do leave it open for when Ms. Leblanc shows up for our meeting in a bit.”
This motherfucker’s head will be hanging on his office door by the time she shows up.
Instead of acting on what I’m thinking and inevitably getting myself killed by his guards, I retrieve my Zippo and flip it open. “I’ll call my broker and invest in one of your legitimate businesses,andI get to choose which.”
“Three. One illegitimate.”
“Two. Legitimate.”
“Done.”
I flip my Zippo shut. “Now, speak.”
He offers me his box of cigars. “You might need one.”
Fuck no. This shit reminds me of my father’s adultery and the surrogate killer role he played in my mother’s death. It’s why I’ve had a queasy feeling in my stomach since Nic started smoking it. Which I’m sure is on purpose because the bastard has more of a penchant for moral torture than physical.
I wave him off with the cool expression of an unperturbed monk. “Speak.”
He traps the cigar between his lips, blowing out polluted air. “She’s one of us.”
“One of who?”
He points a thumb at himself. “Us. Bloodbaths, laundering, and battery included.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Did you know Leblanc was her mother’s last name?”
No, I didn’t fucking know, because everything Aspen was so witch-like in nature, I avoided it while wearing fake charms.
“And that detail is important why?”
“She was born Aspen Locatelli.”
“Locatelli…” I rack my brain for the familiar last name, then stop. “You don’t mean the man who killed for your father like it was an Olympic sport?”
“That’s the one. Bruno Locatelli, an extravagant killer with a taste for fine torture devices. He’s the family’s favorite Grim Reaper and Lazlo’s best dog, but he’s old, so there’s no harm in expanding my options with his daughter.” He checks his phone. “After all, she ended a strike even my boys had trouble taking care of.”
I stare at him as if the load of information will materialize into a being beside him. “Aspen is Locatelli’s daughter?”
“Yes. But here’s the most interesting part.” He slides his elbows on the table. “She was the bird who sang to the FBI about one of his murders and landed him in prison. And in our world, snitches not only get stitches, but they also get thrown in ditches.”
* * *
Half an hour later,I’ve contemplated whether or not my earlier plan of putting Nicolo’s head on display would still work, then promptly decided I need to live for my angel’s sake.
There are a lot of things I gave up for Gwen. Including almost getting myself killed in a variety of dangerous activities or fully embedding myself into Nicolo’s blood-flavored world.
