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Believe me, I hate him too.
“He’s her adoptive brother or something crazy like that. The bottom line is I can’t hurt him.” I say into the silence.
Dante huffs a sigh of disbelief. “Just as you said, Nico, it’s not about what you want. It’s what the Outfit wants. I don’t suppose the rest of the Capos would agree for you to spare Quinn, too.”
I shoot him a vicious look. “What, are you planning to tell them?”
“Don’t be a fucking dumbass, Nico,” Dante shoots back.
Instantly, Sophie’s face flashes before me. It used to be only Dante who could speak to me like this and get away with it. Now, it seems both Sophie and Dante get to do it.
They’d both get on like a house on fire, actually.
The thought slips in from nowhere, warming me before I catch myself and mentally stamp it out.
“Nico,” Dante sighs again, his voice almost pleading. “We’re heading for a war in the next few weeks. You don’t want this Quinn guy running loose and fucking things up. You’re already on his radar.”
Don’t I know it? I hate this helplessness, this feeling like my hands are tied.
“Quinn wouldn’t dare kick against me, Dante,” I say without real conviction. “It’s the fucking Outfit. A century-old establishment that has survived—thrived despite thousands of men like him.”
“And it’s survived because it consistently eliminated threats like him. Look, I have the drop on the guy—”
“For the last time, Dante,” I growl. “You do not touch that man.”
Dante stares at me for a full minute like I’ve lost my mind, and then his face smoothes into his signature smirk, his own mask, so to speak.
“Si, Don Vitelli,” he inclines his head but not in mockery. Quite the opposite I think. Something like genuine respect. But I may be wrong.
What the fuck do I know these days?
I nod, clapping him on the shoulders. “Keep Salvatore in line, fratellino. He’s easily excited… distracted.”
“I know fratello. Will do.”
I leave Dante staring after me, wondering what the hell that look was about.
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie
“What the hell have I gotten myself into, George?” I ask him as he paddles around the inflatable pool in my office.
After our first night together, Nico kept his distance for a few nights, and then it seemed he just gave up trying. He’s since spent the past five nights in my bed. And I have no words to describe what happens there. All I know is we talk and laugh and fuck—a lot. And that each morning we drag ourselves out of it, my bed feels less and less like mine and more like ours.
Which is insane because he’s Nico Vitelli, a mafia Don. A criminal.
George looks up at me, then goes back to paddling. He doesn’t even quack. I guess he’s fresh out of advice today.
“I’ve got to say, buddy; it feels like I’m carrying all the weight in this friendship.”
This doesn’t seem to concern him.
I sigh and grab my cell phone. Hopefully, Mags will have better advice.
“Hey, Sparrow-girl,” she answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“I really, really liked that black Mustang,” I spin around on my chair, picking up our conversation from last week as if it was a minute ago.
