Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nicolò
Andreas shoves a hard hat at me. “You’ll need this to tour the building.”
“I thought it was finished.” I put the hat on with a grimace.
He laughs. “Don’t worry, you still look hot. Even in a hard hat.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, but I follow him anyway.
“Most of the building is finished but a couple of the rooms still need a bit of work. I think you’ll be impressed.”
“Impress away,” I say, flatly.
Andreas stops and turns around. “You know, you’ve been in a real shit mood since you arrived. What’s up?”
I jerk backward. I didn’t realize it was so obvious.
“I’m just pissed at Alessio Bellucci.” It’s a close second in terms of what’s caused my mood to spiral.
“He’s sticking to his guns, right? He won’t fight unless he gets Manhattan?”
“Yeah. And the worst part is, Cristiano is actually considering it.”
Andreas arches a brow. “Wouldn’t you?”
I grind my teeth while considering his question. “No, I wouldn’t. To ask for something so big, so significant… who’s to say he’ll stop there. He could withdraw his men at any time and ask for more.”
“Like what?”
“Like Brooklyn? Queens? Newark? Boston?”
“I’d rather be hung, drawn and quartered than give up Boston now.”
I stare back at him. “And you’ve only had Boston twelve months. Manhattan has been in our family for sixty years.”
He clicks his tongue. “Fair point.”
“So, when does Cristiano have to decide by?” Andreas asks, leading me down a corridor.
It’s been a week since we went to meet with Alessio. Five days since Bambalina’s birthday. “He has one more week.”
“What do you think he’ll decide?”
A dark dose of exhaustion settles on my shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t think Benny knows either.”
It’s unusual for us to not be privy to what Cristiano is thinking.
Along with Augie, his underboss, we’re his closest men.
He never makes decisions without us. But in this case, it seems he has some soul-searching to do.
I have to trust that he’ll make the right decision.
We can fight the Bratva on our own. A heavy weight presses against my chest. We have a lot to lose.
But desperate men can dig deeper than most.
“Did you tell him about your conversation with Fiero?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“He didn’t say a great deal, just that the information was useful and he’d take it into consideration.”
Andreas presses a fingertip to a scanner on the wall and a door slides open.
“Well, whatever he decides, the future is here, in Massachusetts. We’ve already got a wait list of clients—legit and none legit.
Employees are being trained at a facility upstate and the data farm is being installed next week.
We’ll be up and running shortly after that.
The financial projections are in the millions already, and that’s without factoring in the side projects. ”
I follow him through the door into a large, stark room filled with AC units, fans and brand new server housing. “This is where the magic will happen. It’s where we’ll sort and mine trillions of data sets, package them up for every possible use case, make them sweat.”
“Make them sweat?”
He patiently explains. “We’ll ensure every data set works hard.
Take Mrs. Jenkins who lives at 190 Mayfly Drive.
We’ll know what she spends each week at the grocery store, at the salon, at the dog groomers, the gas station.
We’ll know who she voted for in the last four elections and based on polls she’s completed, comments she’s left online, connections she’s made in forums, we’ll know who she’s likely to vote for next.
That’s powerful stuff. We can then sell everything we know about Mrs. Jenkins to Walmart, to Democrats, to Republicans, to the FBI, to the Chinese if we want—whomever bids the highest. Then, say we have a trillion Mrs. Jenkins, we have a lot of data to sell, you see? ”
“But what makes our data different to everyone else’s data?”
Andreas scratches the newly formed scruff on his chin. “We have the ability to source data that sits behind the fiercest of firewalls. We hack, Nicolò, and we get intel no one else can get. Medical records, criminal ties, evidence of unethical behavior—blackmail material.”
For the first time in days, some of the darkness lifts. I especially love our work when we can jump through hoops designed to confine criminals like us to streets instead of boardrooms. This catapults us above all other data farms, and we get to choose who uses the weapons we create. That’s power.
Normally, I’d get a hard on at this type of revelation, but I haven’t been able to rouse myself since I came clean to Lina five days ago.
Darkness descends again. Well, at least I got some respite for like, a minute.
I follow Andreas through the building and feign interest while fighting the memory of her tear-stricken face and that fucking red dress. By the time we get to Andreas’ place, I just want to head to the guest room and wallow in self-pity, but Sera has prepared dinner and it would be rude to decline.
I manage to make small-talk and offer compliments in what I hope are the right places.
And I pretend to be interested in everything Sera says, though in all honesty, I’m looking for Bambalina in her eyes, in her mannerisms, in her laugh.
But, as I learn with a blow of disappointment, the two sisters couldn’t be more different.
Eventually, I make my excuses and head up to my room.
I don’t have the energy to undress, so I just kick off my shoes, lay back on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
This is how the last few nights have gone.
I spend every non-waking hour staring into space, a gnawing emptiness filling my chest and stomach.
I’ve tried to pull myself out of this depressive state but it’s so much harder than I thought.
I’m normally adept at absorbing myself in nonchalance, not caring about anyone else, because I don’t do feelings.
It’s how I’ve come so far, so young. I decided the day Sofia died, I wouldn’t care about another person again—except my mom.
Why would I put myself through the hurt that comes from losing someone I love?
I barely survived it the first time—there’s no way in Hell I’m going to open myself up to something that painful again.
I lose myself in my nightly torture chamber—replaying the evening of her birthday, when I said those words, and gave myself away.
I force myself to relive the shock, the guilt, the despair.
There’s grief too, that I won’t ever read her words again.
That she won’t ever write them again. I hate that I took that outlet from her.
I’m so lost in my wallowing I jump when my phone buzzes.
Lifting it reluctantly, I glance at the screen, then do a double take. Lina has sent me a message.
Hey
It’s just one word, but to me it’s an olive branch, and one I didn’t know I was starving for. I type back immediately.
Hey. How are you?
I watch the dots appear as she types out a reply.
Not much better than you by the sound of things
My fingers are poised ready to type, so I draft my response fast.
What do you mean?
Sera told me you look miserable
My chest aches as I acknowledge the truth.
I’ve been better
There’s a long pause and no more dots appear. I want to keep the conversation going. I need to remind her I can be a friend. She doesn’t have to hate me forever. I type out another message.
Did you just message me to say I look miserable?
Dots reappear and I feel a huge sense of relief.
No. I wanted to ask you something
Go ahead
Was it you who spread all the stuff about Taylor?
I wasn’t expecting that. My fingers hover over the screen as I consider my reply.
Another text appears.
Nicolò? Did you?
I release a long exhale and type.
Yes
Why?
I begin to type “Because he was a dick,” but then delete it. I can’t be that blasé anymore—she’ll see right through it. I can’t pretend some shit doesn’t mean anything. After what I’ve done to her, I owe her only honesty.
I re-type my reply.
I wanted to stop him from hurting you
There’s a long pause before more dots appear and I stare at her response for hours after I receive it.
I’m glad it was you
I feel a little lighter as I head back to New York. I arrive at the Di Santo residence where I’ve arranged to stay until my apartment is ready, early in the evening.
Cristiano already gave me the heads up that he and Trilby would be at an event, so I’m relieved to see a whole stack of pre-prepared meals in the freezer. I heat one up and eat in the kitchen alone.
I check my phone for the millionth time today, with a small hint of hope. It was around this time last night that Lina messaged me. I want to chat to her again but I don’t feel l can reach out to her just yet. I can’t take liberties after what I did. I have to wait for her to reach out to me.
An hour passes and I check my deleted items in case I accidentally swiped a message away, but it’s empty. I head upstairs and take a shower. The temperature is turned right up, burning my skin until it’s painful. I force myself to stand underneath the punishing jets. It’s the least I deserve.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom, I glance out of habit at my phone lying on the bed. The screen is lit up and I swipe it open.
There’s one message and no greeting.
Why did you cut the vines around my mama’s rose bush?
Is this a trick question?
What do you mean?
I already told you why
You said it was because you got sick of looking at the vines
That’s true
Is that the only reason?
She’s giving me an out and I would be a fool not to take it. Every question is an opportunity to win back her trust, but with each truth, another layer of armor is peeled away, and that scares me.
No. That’s not the only reason
I pause while I think about how to confess the real reason I tore down the vines.
Well?
I wanted to do something nice for you
Several minutes pass and I drop the phone and put my head in my hands.
I’m thankful she’s speaking to me, but I wish we were face to face.
Communicating through phone messages means she holds all the cards—she can stop the conversation whenever she wants and leave me hanging, just like this. I suppose it’s what I deserve.
I don’t own her. I’m not entitled to her time. But, God, I want it.
My phone buzzes and I grab it fast.
I watched you cut them down
My eyes widen. It was five a.m. and I could have sworn there was no one else around.
Dots give way to another message.
The sound of the shears woke me up and I watched from my bedroom window. You seemed angry
I remember it well. I was pissed that Mom had assigned me as Lina’s chaperone for her visit to the gynecologist.
I was
Why?
I don’t know how to answer this and I take far too long to figure out a response.
It wasn’t Mom’s request that got me pissed. It wasn’t the fact Lina was being put on birth control. It was something else, and I’m only now understanding what it was.
Nicolò?
A breath passes my lips and I decide to tell her the truth.
I hated that I couldn’t protect you
When no more dots appear, I drop my phone, lay down on the bed, and close my eyes. My body feels lighter for having unloaded some truths. For the first time in a week, I feel close to drifting off, then another buzz makes me seize my phone.
My heart warms when I read the message.
Good night Nicolò
The taut skin across my forehead relaxes and I sink into the bed. It doesn’t take long before I fall asleep to one single thought: She said ‘good night,’ not ‘goodbye.’