8. Nicolo
Chapter eigh t
Nicolo
“ H ey, I need a favor, and it has to stay between us, fratello ,“ I stare into my brother’s unamused stoic face. His blue eyes, an Amato trait, look clouded and filled with worry. He’s rocking more dark, unkempt facial hair than I have ever seen him wear, as if he hasn’t even had the time to shave in days. His clothes, which are usually designer, immaculate, and pristine, are a wrinkled mess, like he’s slept in them. He looks exhausted, and like complete dog shit. One glance at his normally clean, tidy, and organized, desk behind him shows the numerous discarded cups of espresso on the surface, and the overflowing takeout containers in the trashcan don’t bode well either. Damn, how long has he been in here? Milano has OCD tendencies and is a neat freak, so looking around at his unkempt space makes me feel dread, and I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. My big brother has always been my protector, but now it looks like he needs help. I just don’t know if I have anything to offer him but more grief.
I k now my demanding father is riding him hard, forcing him to take on so much more of the family business, both the legal and illegal sides, to prepare him for the inevitable transition of power. Guilt rises within me, knowing I am about to put more worry on his weighed-down shoulders, and I’ll have to blatantly lie to him about what is going on. I want to avoid having to choose between my relationship with the older brother I adore, and respect, and the woman who is destined to be mine. There is no way I can tell him this is about Phoebe Murphy. He’ll go straight to my dad, or murder her himself. Can you blame him after what she did? After all, you never confessed your part in any of it.
“I can’t give you any more money to buy whatever, Nicolo. I’m not a fucking bank with unlimited cash,” he gruffs, as he turns away and runs his tattooed hand through his dark, thick, messy hair. It always amuses me when I see it. It’s designed to look like a sinister vampire skull, complete with an opened mouth and long, jagged fangs ready to rip you apart, and when he grips something, it looks like the skull is taking a bite out of it. To say my very traditional Italian father lost his shit, when he came home at eighteen with it, was an understatement. Yet, Milano refused to have it removed to placate my father, and I’ve always been proud of him for standing his ground against Vito Amato. Not many men dare to look my father in the eyes and deny him, and the ones that do, other than my brother, have ended up taking a long dirt nap.
“I don’t need money, well, not at this exact moment.” I smirk, trying to lighten the mood and get him to crack a smile. “I need you to facilitate safe passage into another territory for me and Aiden.” There’s no point in lying to him about this part. He’s the only one on this side who knows Aiden and I are still best friends, regardless of this stupid war between the Irish and Italian mafia families of Illinois. I know he’s sick to death of the killing happening on both sides, and he’s tried actively in the past to rein in my father’s need for bloodshed, but Vito Amato is not easily brought to heel when he’s humiliated and offended. Both of which he was feeling when his youngest son was left standing at the altar, by the Irish mafia’s runaway princess bride. You would think he was the jilted groom, with the way he’s been furious and wrathful ever since, instead of me. Dark blue eyes narrow on me, as Milano turns all of his attention in my direction, and it’s unnerving, as if the fucker has superpowers, and can see inside of my head to the secrets that I’m keeping from him. “What territory, and why are you and Aiden going anywhere together? Do you know what would happen to you if Dad were to suspect you were still best friends with one of the Irish, Nico? Do you both have death wishes?” His large, muscled arms cross over his wide chest, pulling taut the material of his dark pewter button-down shirt, that disguises his skin covered in further artwork, as he leans his ass against the edge of his massive chrome and walnut wood desk.
I want to shrug off his words and concerns, but I can’t. He has a valid reason to be worried, despite my nonchalant attitude. I have no idea what my father would do, if he found out that I never cut off my alliance with Aiden, despite promising him that I would. I straighten my shoulders and hold my head up high, preparing for the argument that is about to commence between us. I channel him, and every Amato that has come before me, and had to hold his ground when things were deadly. I may be the younger brother, but I have no intention of being steamrolled over. I need Milano desperately to do this for us. The Amatos have a seat at the Head Council of all the mafia families here in the States, and oftentimes, he’s the one who attends on behalf of ours.
I can try to enter California, and the Mikhailov territory, under the radar, but if I’m caught, it will start a war with another larger, more powerf ul family. Then my father really would disown and murder me, that’s if Dimitri Mikhailov allowed me to continue breathing, once he learned who I was. Here goes nothing and everything at the same fucking time. “ California. Specifically northern Cali.“ I clench my jaw, awaiting the explosion, and I don’t have to wait long, as my brother’s face goes a disturbing shade of chalk. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You want to enter Russian territory?”
He doesn’t even wait for me to get a word in before he’s yelling. “Absolutely fucking not, Nicolo! Dimitri Mikhailov is a predator, waiting for a reason to strike us, and you, being you , are likely to give it to him! I already have my hands full, dealing with shit here with the Irish, and fighting off the fucking cartels, and Triads, trying to get a piece of our action. Fuck, no!“ He slams his palms down on the top of his sleek desk violently, and everything on it shakes. I just wait for his tantrum to fizzle out, since Milano is not quick to explosive anger. He’s much like our father, a predatory and a long-game thinker, unlike me, who tends to think about the consequences last, and goes in guns blasting. This reaction is not unexpected, especially if other shit I don’t know about is happening. I wouldn’t put it past both my father and him, purposely keeping me out of the loop. Neither one believes I’m capable of ruling, which is fine with me. I don’t desire to be the head of this family ever, and I’m not looking for glory, or any more responsibility than I already have. “Something else bothering you, fratello ? This reaction seems a little overboard for you.“ I completely ignore his slight about me being too weak to deal with the head of the Russian mafia. It’s not like I don’t know that I’m a disappointment to my father, and a worry to Milano. He and Aiden have been cleaning up my messes since I was a little boy.
I watch, fascinated, as he takes a few deep breaths, forcing his iron-willed control to reappear, and just like that, his cold and calcul ating mask is back in place, and you would never know he even lost control for a moment. My father is scary, don’t get me wrong, but Milano Amato is going to be this world’s nightmare, when he finally steps into the helm of the Amato family. The other families should be wary of what’s coming when he does. My brother is about to become a savage king, and none of their territories will be safe from him. “This war with the Irish is a losing battle, Nicolo. You know it, I know it, fuck, the whole family, and our soldiers know it. Dad can’t see it or doesn’t want to. So many have already died needlessly for his bruised pride, and now he’s making under-the-table deals with the Columbian Cabano cartel, and he won’t tell me what’s going on.”
The hairs on my arms stand on end at his words, and a shiver runs down my spine like someone just walked over my grave. Shit, Diego Cabano runs that cartel. That guy’s an unhinged psychopath, with a penchant for murder, mayhem, and destruction. I heard he kidnapped his wife, and locked her in a hole in the ground in a jungle, when she tried to leave him. Like, who the hell does that? That right there is a real-life psychopath. An image of Phoebe prisoner in a jungle, wearing next to nothing, like some ‘Jane of the Jungle’ enters my mind, and all of a sudden, I don’t think it’s such a bad idea. I will my hardening cock to settle down, so my brother doesn’t end up punching me in the face, for the disrespect of getting a chub in his presence. “Hey, doesn’t that Cabano guy have a daughter or something? Didn’t Dad mention her recently, saying she was beautiful and cunning?” At the look he gives me, I want to take back my words and forget I ever brought her up. Whoever this daughter is, Milano obviously can’t stand her. Note to self, stay the fuck away from the Cabanos.
“Give me one good reason why I should set up this safe passage, Nicolo. What’s in California that you need to go there in person and risk your life, Aiden’s, and our family’s for?” His glare centers on me, and I know he’s trying to read me. The worry in his grimace makes me tighten my hands into fists. I have to be strong and hold out, even if it means deceiving my brother, who I love.
“You need to trust me, Milano. I won’t put the family in danger. I am going to end this war between us and the Irish, once and forever.” He stares at me, the wheels in that majestic brain of his turning, and finally gives me a curt nod. “I’ll make the call, and negotiate with Dimitri or Ronan, but brother, if you fuck this up, and they don’t kill you, I will.”
Not exactly where I thought this conversation was going to go, but I don’t give a shit ’cause I’m going to get my girl back, and when I do, she’s going to pay me in tears and blood for fucking leaving me.