9. Nerio
9
NERIO
T he warehouse air reeks of gunpowder and blood. I press my back against a shipping container, pistol ready as footsteps echo through the darkness. The Mantiones walked right into our trap — predictable scum. They never could resist taking the bait when we dangled a shipment in front of them.
"Boss, they're coming around the east side." Marco's voice crackles through my earpiece.
"Hold position." I scan the shadows between containers, my finger resting on the trigger. "Nobody moves until I give the signal." The metal walls amplify every sound - dripping water, shuffling feet, ragged breathing.
A flash of movement catches my eye. Three figures dart between the metal boxes, their shoes scraping concrete. Amateur hour. These new Mantione recruits move like drunk bulls in a china shop.
"You're in Bueti territory," I call out, my voice bouncing off steel walls. "Last chance to walk away." Not that I expect them to take the offer, but it's always fun to watch them squirm.
Gunfire erupts, bullets pinging off the container beside my head. I drop and roll, coming up behind a wooden crate. Two of my men return fire from elevated positions, the muzzle flashes illuminating their grim faces.
"Fuck you, Bueti!" A voice I recognize - Sal Mantione, always running his mouth. The idiot couldn't keep quiet if his life depended on it. Which, tonight, it does.
I signal Marco and he tosses a flash bang. The explosion lights up the warehouse like daylight. Bodies scramble in confusion, cursing and stumbling over each other.
I emerge from cover, taking down two hostiles with precise shots. Blood sprays across cardboard boxes, painting abstract patterns in crimson. To my left, Ray grapples with a Mantione soldier, knives flashing in the dim light. The blade opens Ray's arm but he drives his knee into the guy's stomach, following with an elbow to the temple. The crack of bone is satisfying.
"Behind you!" Marco shouts, his voice sharp with urgency.
I spin as Sal charges, rage twisting his features into something feral. His punch grazes my jaw - sloppy technique. I grab his wrist, using his momentum to slam him face-first into the container. His nose crunches like broken glass. Before he can recover, I drive my knee into his kidney and press my gun to his head, grinding the metal against his temple.
"Tell your boss to stay out of our territory." I dig the barrel harder against his skull, feeling him flinch. "Next time we won't be so gentle."
"You're dead, Nerio." Blood bubbles from his broken nose, spittle flying as he snarls. "You hear me? Dead!"
I crack the pistol across his temple and he crumples like a marionette with cut strings. Around us, the fighting dies down. Three Mantione soldiers lie motionless in growing pools of red. The rest fled like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Just another night defending what's ours.
"Status?" I ask, surveying my crew.
"Ray needs stitches. Otherwise just cuts and bruises," Marco reports, pressing a cloth to Ray's arm.
I nod, holstering my weapon. "Clean this up. Make it look like they were never here."
Leaving Marco to handle his job, I slide behind the wheel of my BMW, the leather seat creaking under my weight. Blood stains my shirt cuff - not mine. The engine purrs to life as I shift into first gear, muscle memory taking over while my mind drifts.
Jazz. Her name echoes in my head like a bullet ricocheting off steel. Tonight could've gone differently. If the Mantiones had gotten wind of her connection to me... My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.
"Fuck." I downshift harder than necessary, the gears grinding in protest.
My phone buzzes. Marco's text confirms the cleanup is underway. Good. But it's not enough. These turf wars are escalating, and Jazz is too close to the action managing The Vault. Every night she's there is another night someone could use her to get to me.
I accelerate through a yellow light, the empty streets of Chicago stretching before me. It's late, and I hope that she is at least getting some rest. I had her tucked away just in case.
And now, it's time to talk. I love a good game of chase, but she's not pushing me away anymore. I want her to understand my intentions — but that doesn't necessarily mean she gets options.
She wants me. That much is evident. So I'm not letting her go again. I'm done giving her space that she doesn't need. Always with the excuses, always keeping that professional distance. Playing it safe.
"Not anymore, little dove," I murmur.
The city lights blur past as I weave through traffic. Jazz thinks she can keep running, keep pretending there's nothing between us. I'm sure given the opportunity, she'd ask me to forget the kiss even happened.
I reach up, touching the spot where Sal's punch grazed my jaw. It'll bruise, but I've had worse. What I can't handle is another night wondering if Jazz is safe, another day watching her walls go up the moment I enter her space.
"Enough games." The words taste like iron and gunpowder in my mouth. Tonight changed things. The Mantiones are getting bolder, and I won't risk Jazz becoming collateral damage because I wanted to keep playing.
Once I park, I slip through the back entrance of The Vault, my footsteps echoing off steel stairs as I take them two at a time. The thrum of bass from the club below vibrates through the walls, but up here it's muffled, distant.
My private quarters sit two above the main floor — a necessity in this business. Every property I own has a space like this, somewhere I can conduct real business away from prying eyes.
Keith and Tony flank the unmarked door, both straightening as I approach. Tony takes in my face, looking a little relieved, but the worry still there tells me something else is wrong.
"Boss." Tony shifts his weight. "Just wanted to give you a heads up. I don't think something is right."
My hand freezes on the door handle. "What happened?"
He shakes his head. "We heard cussing and pacing and something drop. She said she was fine but…" He shrugs. "Just so you know."
I nod as I push through the door, scanning the room. Jazz paces near my desk, her heels clicking against hardwood. Her usual confident stance is gone, replaced by tightly crossed arms and quick, nervous movements. When she turns, her eyes are wide with barely contained panic.
"Someone's watching me." The words tumble out before I can speak. She grabs her phone, fingers trembling. "The messages, they-" She stops, staring at the screen. "Fuck, I forgot they're gone."
"Slow down." I cross to her, but she backs away. "What messages?"
"Ones that asked if you were worth dying for, that I was running out of time and needed to choose." Her voice cracks. "But that's not-" She runs a hand through her curls, messing up the careful styling. "They had photos, Nerio. Me leaving work last week when my car died. The night you drove me home."
Ice slides down my spine. That night was private, just between us.
"There was a video too. Me getting coffee. Shopping. At my fucking garden on the roof." She hugs herself tighter. "The messages deleted themselves. All of it, just vanished. But I swear-"
"I believe you." The words come out harder than intended, anger coiling in my gut. Someone's made this personal. Made it about her.
I close the distance between us, my hands finding her shoulders. She tenses but doesn't pull away. "Look at me." When she hesitates, I cup her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. "I will figure out who is doing this and stop it. Nobody touches what's mine."
"I'm not yours." The words lack conviction, her pulse racing beneath my fingers. Now that my hands are on her, she starts to melt into me like she wants my comfort.
"The fuck you're not." I trace my thumb along her jawline, watching her eyes dilate. "You think I let just anyone run my club? That I drive random employees home?" My voice drops lower. "That I think about anyone else every goddamn minute of every day?"
She swallows hard. "Nerio-"
"I'll paint this city red before I let anyone hurt you." The promise burns in my chest like whiskey. "I'll string up every piece of shit who dares to threaten you. Make examples of them."
"You can't just-"
"I can and I will." I back her against the desk, caging her with my arms. "You mean more to me than this whole fucking operation. More than territory or profit margins or keeping the peace."
Her breath catches. "Why?"
"Because you're the only thing that matters." The confession tears from my throat like broken glass. "The only one who drives me fucking crazy and still makes me want more."
"I didn't ask for any of this." But her hands grip my shirt, contradicting her words.
"Too bad, little dove." I lean closer, breathing in her jasmine perfume. "You've got me now. Every ruthless, possessive inch. And I protect what's mine."
A shiver runs through her. "Even if it starts a war?"
"Especially then." I brush my lips against her ear. "Let them come. I'll enjoy ripping them apart and using their bodies as decor. Nobody threatens you. Nobody even looks at you wrong."
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. "You're insane."
"About you? Absolutely." I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. "Get used to it. You're under my protection now. No more running, no more professional distance bullshit." I tilt forward until my lips brush hers as I say, "I will keep you safe. I promise."