Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Nico
My office doesn't flaunt power. It implies it.
No ostentatious gold. No garish embellishments. Just pristine angles, supple leather, and understated, exquisite pieces. The environment silently communicates that I needn't prove anything. I inherently command the space.
The desk is walnut, grain resembling flowing river currents, meticulously organized, featuring only a pen worth more than most monthly mortgage payments. Floor-to-ceiling glass, fifty stories high, ensures visitors feel diminutive before even taking a seat. The panoramic view of the Dallas skyline showcases the city’s dynamic energy, with modern skyscrapers gleaming in the sun, a bustling atmosphere hinting at its diverse economy, and the feeling of ambition in the air.
I don't necessarily relish this persona, but it fulfills expectations. My intercom buzzes on my desk. My assistant announces Adrian's arrival. He walks through the door, attempting to conceal his admiration.
"You look thoroughly hungover," I observe.
He chuckles, his voice raspy. "I ended up drinking with the Russians."
"Should I be concerned about your Bratva sympathies?"
Another laugh, excessively forceful, almost confrontational. "No, absolutely not, but Father always promoted cultivating Russian relationships. Preferable to conflict, right?"
"Preferable to conflict," I concur. "That's my paramount objective to avoid. In warfare, innocents die, civilians. We aspire to higher standards."
Father didn't. Luka didn't. But I will.
"I get you, cousin," Adrian says. "But Viktor was pissed last night."
"What grievances could he possibly have?" I dismiss.
"He sees last night as a display of dominance, as though you were diminishing his stature, his significance. You know how prickly he can get. He also mentioned another matter."
Adrian suddenly resembles a Bratva emissary. "Elaborate."
"He'd 'overlook the incident' – his phrasing – if you facilitated permits for warehouse construction in some minor district. Can't recall the location. He merely wants five or six warehouses. He wants you to leverage your connections."
"Absolutely not."
Adrian narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Just like that? Don't you want to consider it? Surely, accommodating six warehouses outweighs tension with the Russians."
"This isn't the first time he’s mentioned these warehouses, but he’s not getting them."
"I stand with you should this call for blood," Adrian declares. "But antagonizing Viktor unnecessarily seems unwise."
"Those warehouses are off-limits. That’s the end of it. If he wants a discussion, he can arrange a formal meeting. We'll address it as equals."
"But why?—"
"Viktor is a monster," I assert, stepping forward so the cityscape stretches beneath me, Adrian behind. That's what matters: the city, its people, security, sanity. "Shortly after the war, I discovered he was trafficking victims within his warehouses in the city. Consequently, I orchestrated their demolition. I made it impossible for him to build here afterwards. His activities elsewhere remain beyond my reach, but not this city. Not Dallas. Not while I draw breath."
I refuse to follow in my father’s or brother’s footsteps.
"I have to maintain cordiality with Viktor. Pretend he’s a human being. But I will never disregard his true nature."
Adrian exhales heavily. "Damn."
I turn toward him. "What would you have done if you’d discovered a warehouse full of captive women?"
"I would've freed them... of course?" His response suggests uncertainty. "They deserved freedom."
His performance lacks conviction, though perhaps he's merely uncomfortable. That doesn't necessarily mean moral corruption.
"Inform Viktor, I'll meet with him."
"Should I mention the warehouses?"
"No. If he intends to beat his chest, at least let it be at the right person."
My intercom buzzes. My wealth management team awaits our conference call.
"See yourself out," I instruct Adrian, walking to my desk.
* * *
My mother contacts me that afternoon. "I've arranged for a certain artist to visit my humble abode this evening, if you'd kindly make an appearance."
"Why your home?" I inquire.
"She mentioned she would be more comfortable with another woman present."
“Well, that portrays me favorably," I remark sardonically.
"You can't fault the poor girl. Last night undoubtedly proved stressful. I admire her self-assertion. That exemplifies daughter-in-law potential."
"I'll participate in this portrait session, but just this once. You can give me a belated birthday gift or keep it for yourself. But whatever scheme you're orchestrating, I'm checking out early."
"But... why?" She suddenly sounds wounded. "Would a mutual attraction be so catastrophic?"
"We're compensating her beyond months of her typical earnings, Mother. The power dynamic is entirely imbalanced. Moreover, you surely must’ve seen the look on her face last night. She wants nothing to do with... the Family."
"You're overanalyzing everything. Simply enjoy the portrait session. Let the future take care of itself."
"As if either of us has that luxury."
"Well, it sounded inspirational."
“Indeed, quite motivational. Anything further, my beloved mother?"
"Just that I love you," she says.
"I love you, too."
The rest of my day blurs into legitimate financial endeavors. I was studying finance when Luka's accident occurred. I completed my degree, then assumed leadership to prevent the Family from falling apart. Into civil war. Into carnage.
Soon, I'm navigating through Highland Park. Mother's residence stands behind fencing and towering hedges. I enter the security code, then drive along the narrow lane toward the limestone mansion. Sienna and Mother await in the entrance, Sienna in paint-spattered clothing with rolled sleeves, her pale brown wavy hair cascading to her shoulders.
She regards me with that same perplexing, conflicted expression.
"What fortuitous timing," Mother says. "Sienna just arrived as well. I was just mentioning that I used to run an art gallery. Do you remember Nico?
"Yes, I do. But where is Sienna’s car? I didn’t see one when I pulled in."
"I got the bus," she explains. "Don't worry yourself. People do it all the time."
"I wasn’t worried," I reply with a smirk.
She rolls her eyes dismissively. I can't decipher our interaction, but it's charged with tension, attraction, and peculiar ease. That's the most dangerous allure.
"I'll let you two get started," Gianna announces. "Sienna, you can set yourself up in the living room, just through there. Don't hesitate to direct Nico as needed."