11. Nerio
11
NERIO
I drum my fingers against the mahogany desk, studying the scattered photos before me. Each image shows Mantione soldiers moving product through our territory, getting bolder by the day.
"They're testing us." I slide one particular photo toward Tony, one of my most trusted soldiers. "Moving closer to the club each time."
Tony leans forward, his weathered face tight with concern. "What's the play, boss?"
"We need to start picking them off. Anyone sees a Mantione near the club, I want to know." I rise from my chair, pacing the length of my office. "Get eyes on their new shipment routes. I want to know where they're storing their product."
"Already got Ray and Carmine watching their warehouses by the pier."
"Good." I pause at the window overlooking the club's entrance below. Two of my men flank the doors, checking IDs with practiced efficiency. "What about our friend at the docks?"
"Says they're bringing in twice their usual shipments. Something big's coming."
The door opens and Marco steps in, phone in hand. "Got word from our guy inside their organization. Luca's planning to take over three more blocks in our territory."
"Like hell he is." I turn back to my men. "Tell our suppliers to cut them off. I want their cocaine supply chain disrupted by morning."
"They'll retaliate," Tony warns.
"Let them try." I pick up one of the photos, crumpling it in my fist. "I've got something better. Remember that cop on their payroll? Just found out his kid's got a gambling problem. Time to make a new friend."
Marco grins. "Want me to arrange a meeting?"
"Set it up. And get word to the Costas. Much as I hate dealing with them, we might need their muscle if this gets ugly. If they're willing."
"What about the club?" Ray asks.
"Install those new security cameras I ordered. And tell the bartenders to keep their eyes open. If they spot any unfamiliar faces asking questions, I want to know immediately."
I pull out my phone, scrolling through messages from my street-level informants. "One more thing. That warehouse Luca thinks is empty? Fill it with our guys. When they try to move in, we'll be waiting."
The tension in the room shifts to something darker, more focused. This is what we do best - strategic warfare played out in shadows and whispers, where every move could mean life or death.
“Another thing,” Marco interjects. “It seems the Mantiones have pissed off the Cappallettis. Heard the don’s niece got taken.”
I raise a brow. “Pity. Get me some info on her, yeah?”
He nods. “I’ll look into it.”
After wrapping up business, I head to the penthouse. The private elevator opens directly into her space, where I find her watering plants on the terrace. She's wearing tight black leggings and a cropped tank that rides up when she reaches for the higher planters.
"Working late again?" She doesn't turn around.
"Someone has to keep things running." I shrug off my jacket, rolling up my sleeves. It's been a fight, but I've got her managing the club in the afternoons and leaving before midnight. The club manager doesn't need to be there so late when we have bartenders and bouncers for a reason. "Need help with those?"
"I've got it."
I move behind her anyway, reaching past to adjust the spray nozzle. My chest brushes her back. She stiffens but doesn't pull away.
"The leaves are getting brown. You're overwatering."
"Since when are you a plant expert?" Jazz steps sideways, maintaining distance.
"I pay attention." I grab the water pitcher from her hands, our fingers brushing. "Here, let me show you."
She crosses her arms. "I don't need plant lessons at midnight."
I'm not great at leaving work before midnight. But for her, I'm trying.
"No?" I set the pitcher down, closing the space between us. "What do you need?"
Her breath catches. "Nothing from you."
"Liar." I trace a finger down her arm. "Your pulse says otherwise."
Jazz snatches her arm back. "I should get some sleep."
"Or you could have a drink with me." I move to the bar cart, selecting a bottle of red. As I pour, I deliberately let some splash onto my white shirt. "Damn."
"There are towels in the kitchen."
I unbutton my shirt slowly, watching her eyes follow my movements. "Don't worry about it."
The night air hits my bare chest as I drape the shirt over a chair. Jazz's gaze lingers before she forces herself to look away.
"You did that on purpose."
"Prove it." I hand her a glass, letting my fingers linger against hers. "Stay. Have a drink. Tell me about your day."
She takes the wine but maintains her distance, leaning against the terrace railing. The city lights cast shadows across her face, highlighting the war between desire and distrust in her eyes. It only makes me want her more.
Soon. I need to let her adjust but soon.
I'm not sure why I'm even here except that I need to see her. I need to know that she is okay, that no one has come for her.
I drag myself up to the penthouse at three in the morning, blood seeping through my torn shirt. The metallic taste in my mouth won't go away no matter how many times I spit. Fucking Mantiones and their ambush. Should've seen it coming.
The elevator doors open and instead of knocking, I use my key. Once I get the door unlocked, I stumble into the darkened living room. My ribs scream in protest as I try to straighten up.
"Jesus Christ." Jazz's voice cuts through the darkness. A lamp clicks on, illuminating her standing by the couch in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Her eyes go wide at the sight of me. "What happened?"
"Business meeting went south." I press a hand to my side, fresh blood coating my fingers.
"That's not an answer." She rushes forward but stops short of touching me. "You need a hospital."
"No hospitals." I shrug off my ruined jacket, wincing. "First aid kit under the sink will do."
"Are you insane? You're bleeding everywhere."
"Jazz." My tone carries a warning. "The kit."
She disappears into the bathroom, muttering under her breath. I ease onto one of the bar stools, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through my body. Three of Luca's men jumped me outside the warehouse. I handled it, but not before taking a few hits and a knife to the ribs.
Jazz returns with the medical supplies. "Take off your shirt."
I try to smirk but it comes out as more of a grimace. "Usually you fight harder against seeing me shirtless."
"Shut up and strip before you bleed out on my floor."
I manage to get the shirt off, revealing the full extent of the damage. Purple bruises bloom across my torso. The knife wound isn't deep but it's messy, still oozing blood.
"Christ." Jazz's fingers ghost over my ribcage. "These might be broken." I go to reach for the kit, used to patching myself up, but she snatches it back. I just hold my hands up — the best I can — in surrender.
"Probably." I hiss as she starts cleaning the cut. "Careful with the merchandise."
"Maybe next time don't get into knife fights."
"Wasn't exactly my choice." I grip the counter as she applies antiseptic. "They were waiting for me."
Her hands pause. "The Mantiones?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, little dove."
Instead, she presses her lips together. "How do you know if something needs stitches?"
Not wanting to deal with it, I find the glue in the kit and manage to twist enough to apply it to the wound. Pushing the skin together, I have her apply a butterfly bandage.
"There," I grunt. "Good as new."
Her fingers tremble against my skin as she wraps the bandage around my ribs. The gentle brush of her hands sends electricity through my veins despite the pain. I catch her wrist, stilling her movements.
"You're shaking."
"I don't like blood." Jazz tries to pull away but I hold firm.
"Look at me."
She meets my gaze, those dark eyes burning with something beyond concern. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, betraying her racing pulse.
"I'm fine." I slide my hand up her arm, drawing her between my legs. "It's just a scratch."
"A scratch that needs stitches." Her palm presses against my chest, but she doesn't push away. "You should rest."
"I've got better ideas." I cup the back of her neck, threading my fingers through her curls.
"Nerio..." Her protest dies as I crush my mouth to hers.
She tastes like mint toothpaste, like mint and something sweet. Her lips part on a gasp and I take full advantage, deepening the kiss until she melts against me. My other hand finds her hip, pulling her flush against my body.
"We shouldn't," she whispers against my mouth.
"Give me one good reason why not." I trail kisses down her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips.
"You're injured."
"Not that injured." I bite gently at her collarbone. "Try again."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders. "This is a bad idea."
"Maybe." I capture her mouth again, swallowing her soft moan. "But I'm done fighting it." I've wanted her so bad, and I'm sick of fighting everything in my life.
I just want a fucking taste before I'm dead, and this woman is so close to killing me.
"Me too." Jazz threads her fingers through my hair, tugging me closer as she kisses me back with equal hunger.
I stand, ignoring the protest from my ribs as I lift her onto the counter. Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me in until there's no space left between us. Months of tension explode as I devour her mouth, claiming every inch she'll give me.
And this time, there's not a damn thing in the world that will stop me.