Chapter 11
BANE
“Well, this explains why you bit my fucking head off a few weeks ago.”
Across the table from me, Laz cocks a brow.
“You could’ve just said she was your girl,” he grins. “Here I’ve been, crying to my therapist about my best friend being short with me for no reason.”
We’re sitting in the VIP lounge of Smolder, a new cigar bar in Tribeca that Nero’s recently invested in.
I’ve decided not to point out that Nero doesn’t smoke cigars himself.
I gave up trying to understand the way my psychotic friend’s mind works years ago…
and I say this as someone with a fairly fucked-up brain himself.
Tonight, Nico is with Naomi out on Long Island, visiting his and Carmine’s dad, Vito, so the crew is me, Carmine, Nero, Roman, and Laz.
“A, she’s not my girl,” I growl. “And B, I didn’t bite your head off.”
Laz pouts.
Roman chuckles. “I mean, I was there, and you sort of did.”
“C,” Carmine smirks from next to me, eying Laz, “there is a zero percent chance you’ve ever seen a therapist. And D, your best friend is your dick.”
Laz grins over the rim of his glass. “Fuck you.”
“I’m right, though,” Carmine smirks.
Our friend sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. “Fine, yes to both. I mean, none of you has had the pleasure of being introduced to my dick, so I understand that you don’t get the depth of our relationship.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “That's why I’m also positive you’ve never once seen a shrink.”
I’d know. I’ve seen easily a dozen of them since I was nine.
“Nope,” Laz beams, tapping his head. “I’m not crazy like some of you fuckers.”
“I'm not crazy, I’m a creative thinker,” Nero scowls. “Don’t try and force me into your neurotypical box, dickhead.”
Roman rolls his eyes and turns to shoot me a “which of us is going to tell him” look. I shrug and turn to our Italian friend, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“Nero, I love you like a brother, but you’re fucking nuts.”
Nero grins. “I know. I’m just fucking with you. So…Dove. What’s the story?”
I shrug, bringing my vodka to my lips. “Just business.”
He frowns. “Business?”
“Yup,” I lie.
Nero taps the table in front of him, regarding me doubtfully. “Okay, but out of all the fucking Italians to get into bed with, you pick the Marchetti family?”
“I didn’t realize your sister was an option,” I reply dryly.
He glares at me. “You even think about Gabriella like that, and I’ll sodomize you with a hot poker.” He scowls. “On an unrelated note, the fuck aren’t any of you smoking?” He jabs a finger at the box of Cubans in the middle of the table.
Carmine smirks. “I was just waiting for you to go first. I mean, it’s your place.”
“But I don’t smoke cigars,” Nero shrugs.
I raise my brow. “So you invested in a cigar bar because…”
He frowns. “It’s a good investment. It’s just bus—” He sees the smug grin on my face and rolls his eyes, realizing he just walked right into that. “Oh, fuck you.”
Laz laughs as he selects a cigar from the box. Carmine does the same, and I watch them both deftly clip off the ends, bring them to their lips, and light them.
“No one else?” Laz asks.
I shake my head. “Not my thing.”
“Roman?” he grunts, turning to offer the box. Roman shakes his head, twisting the glass of Coke on the table in front of him. “Nah. I made Val quit cigarettes. It’d be a dickhead move to come home smelling like smoke.”
Laz cocks a brow. “How’s that going, by the way?”
Roman frowns. “How’s what going?”
“The being into dudes thing.”
Roman smiles. “I’m not into dudes. I’m into one particular dude.”
Roman and I are pretty close. Actually, out of the crew, he’s arguably the one I’m tightest with. But even I didn’t realize one of the reasons he was always so angry, and violent, and wasted, was that he was fighting a war within himself between what was expected of him and his true nature.
I.e., gay.
Yes, choosing sobriety and quitting booze has been a huge part of the change in him over the past few months. So has stepping up to the Nikitin throne after his father was banished to Russia.
But I know the biggest reason my friend has changed is Val. In him, Roman has found true love and happiness.
My jaw sets.
I had that, once.
Nero frowns. “So you don’t find any other guy on the planet attractive?”
“Don't be so needy, De Luca,” Carmine sighs. “It screams desperation.” The rest of us, Roman included, crack up as Nero flips us all off.
“I’m just curious. Jesus,” he mutters.
Roman folds his arms over his broad chest. “Do you find any other women other than Milena attractive?”
Nero scowls. “Nope,” he says instantly.
“None at all?”
He sighs. “I mean, I recognize beauty when I see it, but I’m not attracted to…oh fuck off, I walked right into that one, too, didn't I.”
Roman chuckles. “Yes, you did.”
Laz clears his throat. “Can I ask a personal question?”
“I’d be shocked if it was anything less,” Roman says, shaking his head.
Laz takes another puff of his cigar. “Before Val…did you…you know…”
Roman cocks a brow. “Know I was gay?”
“Actually I was going to ask if you’d hooked up with any dudes before that.”
“Jesus, Kislev,” Nero growls, glaring at Laz. “Chill.”
“What?” Laz mutters. “I’m just asking a question!”
“Yeah, a personal fucking one,” Carmine mutters, “that Roman doesn’t have to—”
“Nah, it’s cool,” Roman chuckles, shaking his head. “The answer is no. There was never a guy before Val.”
“Lots of girls, though.”
Roman shrugs at Laz’s equally invasive follow-up. “Well, yeah. I was doing a whole lot of running from who I am, and pretending I was someone else.”
Laz’s brows knit. “So…I’m curious…why do you say you’re gay, then, and not bi? Cause, you know, you’ve fucked both now…”
I roll my eyes. “Laz, I think you’ve officially wandered off the trail with this one. Why does it matter?”
He shrugs, frowning as he glances down. “I dunno. I’ve been…” He clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking about, you know, maybe being a switch hitter.”
Roman roars with laughter. Nero chokes on his drink.
“I’m sorry, what?” Carmine asks.
Laz scowls at us. “Thanks for being so accepting, motherfuckers.”
Roman shakes his head and turns to him. “Sorry, you just caught me off-guard.” His brow furrows and his expression turns serious. “You really think you might be bi, Laz?”
Laz shrugs. “I mean, girls are great, don’t get me wrong. I love pussy—”
“Yes, I think aliens are aware of that,” Carmine sighs.
“Well, it got me thinking,” Laz continues. “There’s a whole half of the population I’m potentially missing out on, you know?”
The rest of us groan as Roman rolls his eyes.
“I’m just saying!” Laz keeps going. “There are some nights when, you know, a hole’s a hole, right? And her I am limiting myself to only one specific kind of hole.”
“Such a noble exploration of your self-identity,” I sigh.
“Oh, whatever. Fuck you guys,” Laz mutters, puffing on his cigar. “Anyway, let’s get back to the subject at hand. Dove.” He jabs his cigar across the table at me. “And you, another of my fellow soldiers, down for the count.” He makes a face. “God fucking dammit, that’s all of you now!”
“Guess you’ll need to settle down if you want to keep chilling with us,” I smirk.
“I think I’d rather find new friends.”
Nero takes a sip of his drink and glances at me. “All kidding aside, getting into bed with Cesare is…a choice.”
“It’s good for the family,” I shrug. “It gets us access to the waterfront.”
“It gets Cesare access to you, too,” Nero says pointedly. “I mean it. Don’t let your guard down with that fucker. His whole perpetually half-drunk, jovial asshole bit is a mask, believe me.”
“Appreciate the warning,” I nod. “But I know what I’m doing. I’ll be careful.”
After that, we all lapse into regular friend conversation—work, the lamentable state of the Mets, Laz being a complete whore, how my friends are doing in their relationships.
That last one always throws me. On the one hand, I’m happy for them, of course.
If you’d asked me even a few years ago if our group of fairly fucked up, borderline and in some cases legit psychotic friends would ever be in deep, meaningful relationships with people they call soulmates, I’d have laughed.
But here we are. Carmine with Lyra. Nico and Naomi. Nero utterly besotted with Milena. Roman head over heels with Val.
And now me and her.
But my situation isn’t like theirs. Not just because of the obvious.
I’m not sure I’m capable of what they all have. I doubted it after what happened when I was nine. But then I met Lark, and my broken, jagged perspective changed.
…And then Dove Marchetti convinced her to go out one night and use their fake IDs to go to that bar, where they met that fucking monster.
And everything changed.
I changed.
Outside later, Laz takes off with Nero, and Roman and I wave goodbye as Carmine roars off in his Lamborghini. Then it’s just the two of us.
Like I said, Roman is arguably the buddy that I’m closest with. A lot of that has to do with his father Pavel and mine being such close allies for so long.
I mean, until Pavel tried to have my dad killed a few months ago, and all the bullshit that ensued.
But yes, Roman and I grew up together and we’re close—close enough that he’s the only one of my friends who ever knew about Lark.
Not many people did.
First, Lark had asked me to keep “us” a secret.
Maybe she was weirded out to be dating a guy who was going to take over a bratva empire someday, but I like to think it was down to her being a private person.
So nobody knew we were dating. All my friends went to other schools, so it was easy to keep it quiet.
But I ended up telling Roman because I had to tell someone.
In the bratva world, marriage isn’t necessarily a matter of love. It’s about power. For cementing alliances, for burying bad blood.
Lark wasn’t from a mafia family. Her grandmother was just the housekeeper for one. There were no alliances to be made with her. No power to be consolidated. No feuds to end.
I just…loved her.
We were young—probably too young. And we weren’t perfect. I know she had her own issues and demons. But I asked her to marry me anyway, because when you’re young and the world hasn’t quite fucked you up enough yet, you think you can overcome any obvious pitfalls.
When I asked her to marry me, my father had his concerns, of course. But those concerns came from a place of love—a place of being my father before my pakhan, the head of a Bratva family.
He didn’t give a fuck that Lark had no mafia power or money or connections to bring to the table. He just wanted me to be happy.
Roman was the other one I told. So, I’m waiting for it when he sighs and turns to me as Carmine’s supercar roars away into the New York night.
“So…Dove Marchetti?” he growls.
“Story hasn’t changed, man,” I mutter. “It’s just business.”
“Uh-huh,” he says dryly. “Look, we both know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that anything between you and Dove can be just business.”
“Why?”
He levels a look at me. “C’mon, Bane…”
“Roman, I don’t—”
“I’m going to ask you something shitty,” he growls. “And I’m banking on you understanding it comes from a place of love, brother.”
I lift a brow. “Go for it.”
“Tell me this isn’t a weird revenge thing.”
My jaw grinds. “It isn’t a weird revenge thing,” I grunt.
It’s far more complicated than simply a weird revenge thing.
Roman nods. “Another shitty question, if I may…”
I sigh. “Go ahead.”
“She, uh…” He clears his throat. “She really does look like Lark. Dove, I mean.”
I ignore the sudden throb under the scar on my chest.
“I didn't hear a question there,” I grunt.
Roman lifts his brows. “I mean…”
“No, Roman,” I growl. “I’m not marrying Dove Marchetti because she looks similar to an older version of my dead fiancée.”
His face crumples, his lips pulling tight. He sets a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, man. I wasn’t trying to—”
“All good.” I smile as I bring him in for a hug, clapping him twice on the back before we pull apart.
“Had to ask,” he shrugs.
I grin. “I know. I was kinda waiting for it.”
“So, we’re good?”
“Always,” I nod, fist bumping him as he fishes his keys out of his pocket. “Hi to Val for me.”
We can leave it there. As much as I love my friend, neither he nor anyone else needs to know the real reason I’ve trapped my bird in a little cage.