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We exit the vehicle, purpose in our movements. I sling my bag over my shoulder and whistle as we walk inside. Yanni’s apartment is on the third floor, and the elevator is broken so we take the stairs.
“I’m surprised he’s living in a place like this,” Malachi comments.
I think back to all the seedy motels Yanni took me to. “It suits him.”
“He’s fallen pretty far since the Family. Father and Uncle would never have allowed their man to live like this.”
“You’d be surprised at what they would allow,” I mutter.
Malachi looks over his shoulder at me as we reach the door for the third floor. “What do you mean?”
Malachi isn’t stupid. He has to be aware that there are things he doesn’t know. But he’ll find out soon enough.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “But remember, when we get in there, he’s mine. I don’t care if you fuck with him, but I get his last breath.”
“I remember.”
We reach Yanni’s apartment, and I knock on the door. Adrenaline is flowing rapidly through my veins. My heart is hammering against my ribs, and my nerve endings buzz with anticipation.
The door swings open and then he’s there. Yanni D’Amico is not the man I remember, the man who haunts me. He doesn’t even resemble the most current pictures Story found of him.
The puzzle pieces start falling into place, clicking and locking to create a full picture.
Yanni isn’t the mastermind we’ve been giving him credit for. No, the only reason he wants Nicholi is because he can’t fucking hack it on his own. He needs the Ricci name to climb to the top.
He’s sure got a lot of people fooled though.
“Yanni, my man,” I say jovially, laughing at his look of horror at Malachi and me being on his proverbial doorstep. “Long time, no see.”
“Nicholi?” There’s hope in his tone… hope with a dash of panic that I am indeed the twin he doesnotwant to see.
“Guess again.”
I flatten my hand on his chest and shove him inside. He stumbles, but quickly rights himself. I drop my bag to the floor next to me, and Malachi locks the door behind us, the click of it engaging causing Yanni to flinch.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” he stutters.
I tilt my head and grin. “Can’t an old friend just stop by for a chat?”
“And here I thought you weren’t in a chatting mood,” Malachi comments.
“I’m not,” I assure him. “But I’m trying to be a polite house guest.”
“Oh, right. Makes sense.” He grins at Yanni. “Wouldn’t want to sully the Ricci name by being rude.”
“Exactly. Unfortunately, Yanni here is being a horrible host. He hasn’t even offered us a drink yet.”
“I don’t know about you, but I could go for a shot of whiskey.”
“That does sound good.”
“I’ve got whiskey if you want it,” Yanni rushes to assure us.
Malachi lands a right hook to his face, and his head snaps to the side. I hold onto Yanni to keep him upright and smirk at the blood gushing from his nose.
“Whiskey isn’t gonna save you,” I snarl.
“But you… you said…” Yanni presses his lips into a thin line.
