Chapter 1
Chapter One
Nico
Weeks Before
Marriage and true love are concepts I'd prefer to avoid contemplating, but my mother is in a persistent mood. Gianna Moretti resembles a wolf unwilling to relinquish her prey. "I'd be delighted to see you find a companion."
The Cattle and Vine exudes sophistication without ostentation. Secluded booths, leather upholstery redolent of Fort Worth craftsmanship, floors gleaming like freshly spilled oil. Their steaks are perfection here. Dry-aged, sourced locally.
Towering windows line one wall, capturing just enough of the downtown skyline to establish where you are. Reunion Tower twinkles in the distance. Palpable tension permeates the atmosphere, unfortunately, with Viktor Barinov and his entourage occupying the restaurant's opposite side. He's already raised his glass repeatedly, he and his Bratva cohorts growing increasingly boisterous, like untamed bulls asserting dominance.
I sip my whiskey deliberately, still nursing my first glass, though I claim no virtue in this restraint.
"Did you hear what I said?”
"I heard," I respond. "But we should focus our attention on Adrian."
"Your new consigliere," Mother remarks with heavy sarcasm. "Fortuitously, Viktor and his thugs' presence this evening serves a purpose. We'll be able to observe Adrian's conduct around them."
Mother's elegant attire and plentiful jewelry project her status as the Moretti Family matriarch, widow to the fallen patriarch. In reality, she functions as my partner, possessing intellect as formidable as her rhetoric.
"He'll assume authority. Power invariably reveals one's basest nature."
She knows what I’m referring to. My father governed this Family and city like a failed regime, emulating Cartel-controlled territories. Luka, my elder brother and designated successor, while he perished in a car crash, followed the same methods. My leadership differs fundamentally.
"Don't deflect." Mother nudges me playfully. “I'll have to resort to enrolling you in speed dating."
"My schedule doesn’t allow for such indulgences."
"For a single evening? For a potential connection?"
For once, my cousin's arrival brings relief. Adrian is my uncle's offspring. Since my uncle's demise, Adrian has overseen several districts. Rumor has it he’s been dealing, maybe even nastier shit. Hence Mother's strategy to offer him the position as my second-in-command.
Let’s see who he really is. I harbor no desire to eliminate family, but if it prevents innocent overdoses or atrocities against women, merely attempting to exist peacefully...
He swaggers in, sporting a lustrous blue suit, slicked-back hair, and a gleaming silver watch. In his late twenties, younger than me, he emanates restless energy. Not that my energy appears diminished at thirty-nine.
"You're late," Mother says.
"Apologies, Aunty G." Adrian collapses into his seat and signals the waitstaff. He chuckles, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Apparently, someone else shares my punctuality issues."
A young woman walks in, hastily securing her apron. Momentary desire consumes me as she enters. I clench my fist beneath the table and regain my composure.
Something about her captivates me. Quirky. Voluptuous. Her light brown hair, though gathered in a bun, has a few rebellious strands refusing to cooperate. A notebook sticks out of her fitted black trousers' rear pocket—garments that accentuate her enticing curves. Most compelling is her gaze. She scans the place, her eyes vibrant, perceptive, absorbing every detail.
Or perhaps I'm projecting. I know nothing about her.
"Hello?" Adrian snaps his fingers. "Is service available here?—"
"My apologies, sir." The young male server attending to us approaches. "May I bring you something?"
"How perceptive," Adrian snorts, glancing at me expectantly, then frowning when his desire fails to materialize. "Whiskey. The bottle."
"A single glass will suffice," I interject with a dismissive gesture. "We don't require the bottle."
Adrian leans forward once the server leaves. "Are you ordering for me now?"
"My new consigliere should remain lucid and capable of productive conversation. You expressed enthusiasm for this position."
"You resembled a puppy discovering he can lick his own chops for the first time," my mother remarks.
"God, Aunty G, must you talk like that? I am excited. I simply fail to see what drinking has to do with it."
Across the restaurant, the Bratva erupts in raucous cheers, glasses clinking loudly.
"Perhaps you'd prefer their company."
Adrian narrows his eyes. "The Russians? I hope that’s a joke."
“It is," I confirm, though uncertainty lingers. His defensiveness seems excessive. "I shouldn't need to explain that our Family operates differently. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves. I recognize my uncle governed his territories with greater leniency, but he maintained principles. Preserved community welfare. Kept the streets clean.”
Adrian nods. "Precisely why I accepted. Together, we'll uphold those standards. You and I, cousin." He grins, clasping my shoulder. "Lighten up."
"He's right, darling," Mother interjects. "Occasional relaxation would benefit you."
Mother's statement strategically suggests she’s on his side. We can't alienate him prematurely during our surveillance. Yet sometimes I struggle to suppress my darkness. Father, Luka, the bloodshed, their mockery as they demanded more cruelty, increased evil. To emulate them.
The waitress glides across the restaurant. She taps her pen against her notepad as she goes. The professional pad for orders, distinct from the artistic one partially visible from her back pocket, shifting subtly with each movement of her exquisite fine round ass.
I avert my gaze promptly. Adrian's whiskey has arrived.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" Adrian asks, consuming nearly his entire drink in one large sip.
"We need to ensure all districts remain clean. Certain operations are acceptable." By 'certain operations,' Adrian and Mother understand I mean financial crimes, extortion, and laundering. "But surely you agree we oppose the Bratva’s practices spilling onto our territory."
Adrian nods with excessive enthusiasm. "Absolutely, without question. It goes without saying."
Mother leans forward. Her scrutiny reducing Adrian to a shrinking child. I nearly sympathize. I know the feeling.
"Any revelations you feel compelled to disclose?"
"Regarding what specifically?"
"Anything potentially endangering your life. You have one opportunity, Adrian, for complete disclosure. We extend this chance to all new consigliere's."
“Nico's never had one."
He’s wrong. Mother has consistently provided counsel. For her protection, we have maintained public discretion.
"Previously—under his father, during his brother's tenure—this opportunity was standard procedure."
"I have nothing to confess," Adrian says, followed by a forced laugh. "Aunty G, do you think I’ve got the stones to go against Nico? Please. I’m going to get another drink."
"Table service is available," Mother reminds him.
Adrian stands. "I'll hit the bar. Service seems inadequate here." His demeanor suggests how desperate he is to escape.
As he hastily walks away, the artistic, quirky waitress strides toward the kitchen. Adrian nearly collides with her. She deftly evades him. He continues, oblivious.
"Nico?" Mother's voice registers behind me.
Suddenly, I’m standing before the waitress, glaring angrily at my cousin's retreating figure. My mother's call finally makes sense. What am I doing? I can’t hit my cousin for nearly bumping into a stranger.
The waitress smiles awkwardly yet defiantly. "Friend of yours?"
"My cousin. His manners occasionally desert him."
"And you were preparing to..." She arches an eyebrow, her lip twitching. Is she teasing me? Nervous? Perhaps both?
"I was going to catch the damsel when she inevitably stumbled."
She surveys the area. "I don’t see any damsels here..."
"I'm sure I saw one named Sienna. I even overheard someone marveling over the beauty of that name."
She taps her name tag. "Clever observation. I don’t suppose you know this mysterious commentator?"
I nearly confess I think her name is beautiful, but that would ruin the game. “I'm afraid not."
"You're actually smirking at me," she notes, then apparently recalls her professional obligations. "Um, anyway. Can I get you anything?"
"No—I merely wanted..." To make sure you were okay . "Thank you.” I stride away before I can make an even bigger fool of myself.
"What was that about?" Mother asks upon my return.
"Nothing."
“Do you know her?"
"Why would you say that?"
She traces her fingertip around her wine glass rim, a habit she does when she’s thinking. "It seemed like you might’ve met her before. The conversation seemed… intimate.”
"You couldn't hear us."
"But your body language."
"I had my back to you."
She huffs. "Stop being so pedantic. I thought you were going to kill poor Adrian when he nearly collided with the girl."
"Sienna."
"Pardon?"
"Her name is Sienna."
"Sienna—reminiscent of Vienna. Did you notice the book she carries around? She seems quite..."
"Artistic," I supply. "Quirky. Somewhat... unique?"
I drain my whiskey, regretting my characterization.
"Precisely," Mother confirms. "Someone else appears to have noticed."
"What?"
"Our courteous acquaintance, Mr. Barinov."
I look up. Sure enough, Viktor is glaring across the restaurant. Despite the intervening distance, with families and staff separating us, his anger remains clear. His desire for me to wed his daughter, Anya, is no secret.
"If I didn't abhor groveling to those bastards, I'd explain I don't even know her."
"Anya is charming," Mother says. "But throughout all your interactions, nothing has ever resembled that . You seemed genuinely interested."
"You don’t have to say that like it’s a miracle."
"Forgive me, my dear, but it is."
Viktor knocks his drink back, intensifying his glare.
"Let me know if you want me to wipe that look off his face," Adrian says upon returning, whiskey bottle in hand.