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Gosh.
I even hated the word.
Two syllables that ground into my soul. Especially after Bastian had gotten me home safely—without taking advantage of me—even though I’d spilled a little too much to him the other day.
Drinking that much while undercover was dangerous. I had no excuse, but my birthday always hit me hard.
Back when she’d been alive, my aunt had even known not to call and wish me a happy birthday, not that she’d been able to get in touch with me with my covers intact.
I’d woken up to an empty bed and hadn’t had a chance to thank Bastian. Eavesdropping on him and his dad certainly didn’t qualify as a thank you, but I did it anyway… and felt bad about it, I realized.
“Yeah. You know if Nick’s going?” Bastian took the seat across from his dad.
I racked my brain for a Nick in any of the syndicates’ files and came up empty. Niccolaio Andretti, perhaps?
But he was a myth.
Bureau folklore. The mafia equivalent of the Lockness Monster. The former heir to the Andretti throne, who’d disappeared one night, never to be heard from again.
The Andretti and Romano family had been feuding for generations. The last place an Andretti, let alone an Andretti royal, would be found was New York City, deep in the heart of enemy territory.
Gio fiddled with his phone, then peered up at his son.
“If he can swing it, I’m sure he will. You know how he and Asher are. But I sent Ash a text to double check. If he goes, we need to make sure the security is good enough to protect him.”
Bastian drew out a breath and skimmed his eyes across his dad’s face. “I’m handling it, so you know it’s good.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it? I’m not in, so you question everything I do.”
“I meant, Niccolaio’s family can be ruthless.”
Niccolaio Andretti.
The confirmation left more questions than it answered.
It made no sense.
The rivalry between the Andretti and Romano families spanned centuries. So much bloodshed had passed between the two. I couldn’t picture a world where an Andretti and Romano occupied the same room, let alone the same city.
Then again, Niccolaio Andretti hadn’t been seen or heard from in years. The bureau had lost track of him for a while, and Bastian’s warning look to Gio only strengthened my suspicions.
Niccolaio Andretti lived somewhere in New York City.
Holy. Shit.
“So can we.”
Gio pocketed his phone. “You call running a bar ruthless?”
“Belittling it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve done enough for this family to justify my status. Don’t question it again.”
Gio stared at his son. Silent.
“Take every precaution in planning the security detail.”
“Nick and Asher are family.” Bastian nodded. “We don’t take risks. Family. Duty. Honor. Above all else. Protected at all costs, no matter how large. You taught me that.”
