11. Niko
CHAPTER 11
I go to Gianna’s room the next morning, but the door is locked. I knock, and when she doesn’t let me in, I choose to respect her need for space instead of using the key. The leash is in one hand, my phone in the other as I walk the other way down the hallway. The irony isn’t lost on me that I bought this collar and leash as a joke for my brother, and now it’s a rather serious issue between Gianna and me.
The night before may have been the hottest blowjob I’ve ever gotten, but I’m not sure the disappointment was worth it. For a brief second I thought she cared and then she took it back like the cruelest taste of what I’ll never get. I thought I was fine with simply taking what I wanted from her, her hating me, but it’s clear to me just how badly I want that.
My phone dings.
Coroner: Still no bodies, but pops will need to go sooner than we talked about. People are asking questions.
Goddammit. This is exactly what I don’t need right now.
Me: I paid you to answer those questions and buy me time.
Coroner: Got you as much as I could, times up. Make the funeral announcement, and I can hold him as long as you want.
Me: Two days instead of four.
Coroner: Deal.
Over the next two days, things start to come together, at least on my side of the line. Pax and I work on our story until it sticks straight, pay off a slew of hired guns with no allegiances to any family, former private ops, if the rumor is to be believed. Then we arrange to meet with the higher-ups in our organization.
I’ve picked my father’s corpse up and brought him to the undertaker. The coroner signed off that my father died this morning, and while it’s a blatant lie, no one will question it once he’s in the ground.
My father’s men are all gathered around his dining room table. Some of them have worked for him for most of their lives. Very few of them think anything positive of me. Suspicions fly already. No one has heard from Alexandre since he died. I stopped sending the texts and emails that made it seem like he was still alive at exactly the time the coroner wrote in.
I take the seat at the head of the table once they’re all settled.
“Gentleman, I’ve gathered you here today to announce my father’s death and the inevitable shift in power that comes with it. I am the boss now, and I expect you all to fall in line.”
There’s about three seconds of silence before questions fly and disrespect abounds.
“How did he die?”
“Who says you get his position?”
“Your father never formally named you as his successor.”
“Where’s his body?”
“We both say so.” Pax interrupts. “My older brother made the order, and I obliged as his humble servant. I promise you I’d be all too happy to oblige again, now.”
Everyone here is informed enough to have heard about Pax’s issues, and while there’s an uncomfortable tension in the air, it’s not enough to quell them, just like we assumed. More arguments break out, and rather than allowing things to escalate, I whistle. The door opens, and a line of my new men march in, wielding high-powered rifles.
Everyone watches in silence as they take their designated positions around the room.
“Anyone who disagrees dies right now.”
“You don’t have the balls, boy.” The man speaking is one of my father’s best friends. He’s known me since I was a sensitive boy Alexandre said would never be enough for him. Maybe he believes that, but it won’t matter what he thinks much longer.
I don’t ask my soldiers to kill him. I smile as I pull out my gun and put a bullet through his skull myself. The spray grazes the shoulders of the men directly next to him, but they wouldn’t dare look weak by flinching. They remain steady, even as his head smacks the table.
“My apologies, gentlemen. Anyone else who takes issue with my balls is free to voice their concern now.”
No one argues, and I wave for my men to put their guns at ease. No need to have a sight trained on you while trying to make plans. Hardly a dignified way to do business. Since I’m sitting at my father’s table, the least I can do is make this a dignified affair. Alexandre would insist on it.
Everyone sits and listens while I talk about how I plan for things to operate, but things get considerably more heated when I talk about the redivision of territory. They learn how much they stand to lose, how little I trust any of them or my father, and how little our interests align.
“You want me to hand over my prime earning blocks? I won’t do it,” Vincent Sainte argues from his seat.
“Obey or die.”
Total brute force is never the safest play. There are always grudges left behind. I’ve learned well enough from trying to kill out two family lines how hard it is to fully stomp out an enemy and how easily grudges are traded. But Alexandre Bouchard was an animal, and they all chose to follow him.
There’s no way any of them will fall in line with me without a show of force equaling the man they followed before. My father was ruthless, and they won’t bend for less. This is what I’ve been trained my entire life to fake.
Henry James, who came here with my father from France, pulls his gun, and before he can even aim, he’s triple tapped. Two bullets in his chest, one in his head. The soldier to my immediate left holds a smoking gun. Henry’s body falls hard and heavy into the chair, shaking the floor we’re all sitting on.
And then the cooperation really begins.
“Anyone else? Seriously, speak now. We don’t have all day to fuck around with you morons,” Pax comments, making my life so much easier. Ego-driven men love to be insulted when you demand their fealty.
After it’s all done, there’s only one more casualty. The rest have gone back to their newly divided territory as Pax and I help the special ops guys load the bodies into the back of our dad’s work truck. The same one his men used to bring bodies for my pigs to dispose of. Ironic that several of them are now pig food themselves.
Pax and I toss the bodies into the pen—this area isn’t open to guests of the vineyard. The animals immediately converge on them, tearing out chunks of flesh like they’re starving with teeth that are just a little too human. They happen to be well fed, spoiled, and a little evil, just like their owner. I have my favorites that I would never slaughter for anything—they’re good mamas—and then the rest serve as fresh pork for the vineyards restaurant and in-house body disposal.
“So if someone wanted to use your disposal pigs?”
“Business pigs only.”
“Oh, Niko, come on!”
“Business pigs only. You’re not feeding them murdered girls,” I insist as I wipe my hands off on a rag and pat my favorite pig Lucy on the top of the head. She gives me a look I interpret as a smile while a piece of flesh dangles from her mouth. “Pretty girl.”
Pax laughs outright.
“What’s your problem? She’s a good girl.”
“And you have a problem with who I kill.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It takes a lot to creep me out, Brother, but you cooing to your pigs while they eat flesh is something.”
I give her one more scratch before I leave without saying another word to him.
“So how serious are you about business pigs? Why can’t they be pleasure pigs? Fuck, that sounds wrong. Okay, party pigs? Come on, Niko, please. You’re so stuck up!”
I flip him off as I head back to the house.
I want nothing more than to tell Gianna what happened, confide in the only person I trust, but again, she doesn’t open the door, and I don’t use the key. I sit outside the door for a few minutes, wondering if I’m making the right choice, but since I don’t have an answer, I just walk away.
It’s the morning of my father’s funeral, and I’m supposed to be there already, but my hands shake, and I can’t figure out how to tie my tie. The man in the mirror looks too much like his mother—soft, too reactive, able to be affected. A sheen of sweat coats my skin, and I look every bit as hungover as I feel.
I drank the scotch Pax tried to open after he killed our father and smashed my own things like an overgrown toddler. Who the fuck did I hurt but myself? And still, I don’t feel any closer to ready to live in a world without my father, and it just doesn’t matter how much I hated him.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen Gianna. I know she’s eating since she doesn’t clean up after herself, and I don’t really mind. It’s nice to have some evidence she’s here. I could force myself on her again, but the truth is that’s not what I want anymore. I can’t stand how much she hates me now that I know what it would feel like if she didn’t. That one moment ruined everything.
I wonder if she heard me last night and what she thought as things repeatedly crashed into the wall. Was she afraid? Do I feel guilty if she was or satisfied that when I was suffering, she felt it too? I’m so fucked up. I don’t know how I got this way. Maybe it was all the killing, or perhaps it's something deep in my DNA, but either way, I’m wrong.
The sermon is starting. The old priest DiMarco will go on forever before I’m required to carry the casket, but people will notice my absence. I sit on the floor and put my head between my knees. I can’t breathe. All of this is so much more than I’m capable of. How can I keep the people I love safe?
I can’t breathe. I can’t go to this funeral. How am I supposed to convince everyone that this is a show of power and I’m enjoying it when I’m sick to my stomach?
Without me, Pax doesn’t stand a chance, and he’s alone right now, proud of what he’s done, not realizing how massive the target on his back is painted. He thinks I look down on him and think I’m better than him. Maybe I do, but it’s because he’s so fucking clueless, so dangerous to himself.
“Niko?” a soft, inquisitive voice asks from the hall.
I look up, not realizing I left both doors open, not remembering that I had to worry about other people in the house. She wears a tiny pair of shorts and a long-sleeved sweater. I find the combination so odd it’s endearing. The collar is still secured around her neck, confirmation she’s not going anywhere if I can stop it. Just the sight of her and I can breathe the tiniest bit easier. Just fucking love me.
I don’t have it in me to answer her. My tie hangs around my neck, my shirt not even fully buttoned.
“Are you drunk?”
I shake my head.
She’s next to me a moment later, on her knees, touching my face.
“You sure stink like booze for someone who’s not drunk.”
“Hungover,” I correct her, “but that’s not my problem right now.” My words come out choked, and several emotions play across her face as she realizes it’s not the alcohol.
“What’s wrong, Niko?”
How could she understand or care after everything I’ve done? Everything I’ve taken from her is unforgivable, and I don’t deserve her understanding. I can’t breathe.
She shakes me, warm little hands pressing into my skin. “Tell me what’s wrong right now, or I’m going to slap the shit out of you,” she mocks the threat I issued against her when she was catatonic in the shower.
“Panic attack,” I spit.
“You’re joking.” She stops shaking me. “You’re having a panic attack?”
The shame burns me. I don’t answer because I don’t have the energy to fight. I’m low enough to admit to her that I’m a hyperventilating mess on the floor rather than a man for the first time in years since I was a teen. What kind of joke would that be?
She reaches out and touches my face. The gentle contact snaps my eyes to hers, and I’m hardly able to believe she would offer me anything.
“Why are you having a panic attack?” She puts her hand on my chest, slipping it beneath the shirt. Her hand immediately steadies my heart, taking the worst of the pain. “Talk to me.” And she’s so gentle I don’t have a chance of resisting.
“I’m late for my father’s funeral. They still haven’t found your parents’ bodies. We haven’t spoken in days, and I’m not sure if I can do this job. We might all wind up dead no matter what I do.”
She leans back on her heels, her consideration serious. Deep brown eyes run over me, and I’m desperate for her,
“Who’s going to kill us?” This isn’t new for her. She may be on the other side now, but people, my family included, have been trying to take her out her entire life. There are a lot of possibilities on who might try to kill us, and she’s not asking the question to dismiss my concerns. She wants to know my number one suspects.
“Domalachego was waiting at the house when I went to check out the damage and find out what could have happened to the bodies.”
Her mouth drops open, and anger sparks in her eyes, but I’m not sure if it’s aimed at me.
“You spoke to him.”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?” She’s waiting for something, and I can’t imagine what it is.
“Not a single thing. I told him I was looking to readjust the lines of my father’s territory, but he was definitely suspicious. He had me tailed when I left, but I led them back to my father’s where Pax can deal with them rather than here.
“What did he want?” Slow and measured, the even tempo of her voice calms me even further.
“You,” I tell her. Her brow furrows in distress, and anger plays with her features.
“He can’t have me,” she insists, and it warms my heart despite the fact she’s not choosing me over him, simply stating she won’t be with him. “He’s not going to kill us.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I shake my head, not believing her placating for a minute, but her nearness makes the distance of the last three days better. She grabs my hand, the warmth intense, the connection electrifying. It’s enough that I feel almost okay again.
“Because, Niko, you need me, and I’ve finally met someone who will let me help them. My father wouldn’t, and my brother wouldn’t, but they’re gone now.” The wild light in her eyes makes me more nervous than the funeral.
“What are you talking about?” She’s right that I need her, but how can she see that so acutely? I do believe in her and her ability to do anything. She could level me with a glance. Nothing much would prove a challenge to her when she’s at full capacity.
“You look at me this time, Nikolai.” And I do. Her eyes are so pretty I could stare forever. “Get up so I can tie your tie.”
I stand, and her fingers work around my throat, the intimacy of the act slaying me to my core and building my inner strength.
“Take a deep breath.”
I do.
“Now, remember who the fuck you are.”
She lays her hands against my chest, smoothing my suit.
“Who am I, Gianna? Remind me.”
My lips skate hers for just a moment.
“Nikolai Bouchard and you are not alone.”
This is too good to be true. What is going on?
“How am I not alone, Gi? Who do I have?”
“If you listen to me. If you let me help you. If you give me my freedom to come and go as I please once it’s safe. You have me.”
I stop dead, my heart threatening to leave my chest this time.
“What are you offering me exactly?”
“Domalachego can’t marry me if I’m already your wife, and if I’m your wife, what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.”
The offer sits between us, and I find I’ve never wanted anything more. What would she want in exchange for willingly binding herself to me?
“Are you serious? Why would you want that?”
“Deadly serious, Niko. You can have my reasons once I have your secrets.”