48. Dominic
48
DOMINIC
I know it’s fucking early, but who cares. In our world, shit doesn’t wait for you to get ready before it hits the fan.
I’m courteous enough to knock, but by now, Matteo’s security team should have alerted him that I’m about to walk into his apartment. Perks of installing all your brother’s high-tech security? You know how to breach all of it.
I give him a minute, then walk through the front door and the foyer. As I enter the big double-volume open space, my brother is coming down the stairs in sleep shorts, rubbing at his face.
“What the fuck, Nicky? Jesus. It’s like five in the morning.”
“Yeah, well. The party’s started, and I’d hate for you to miss the good parts.” I’m on my way to the kitchen, aiming to make him a coffee strong enough to kick him right in the balls.
“Don’t fuck with me,” he grunts as he slouches on a stool by the kitchen island.
“Busy night, hmm?”
That makes two of us. I sweep him down with a quick inspection. Hickeys on his chest. Is that a nail scratch on his side? Uh-huh. I called it. Tasha is a little kitten with claws. Serves my brother right. I bet he fucked her just as she likes it last night, and from the dark circles under his eyes and satisfied smirk smeared over his face, I bet he’s now waking up to the memories of it.
“Not exactly getting enough sleep,” he says.
“And it isn’t just Gabriella and Petrov giving you sleepless nights.”
“Now you’re fucking with me, Nicky,” he says, but there’s a small smile.
The thought of the nights he gets to spend with Tasha only makes my own frustrations pop to the surface, and with a suppressed groan, I give him my back to work on the coffee.
Behind me, he stretches and yawns, then drags in a deep breath. “Fill me in?”
I give him a detailed run down of everything that’s happened since we spoke last.
“Fuck me,” he says as I slide a double espresso in his direction. “He had Arturo in a chokehold what with Portia and Rosalia in his house all these years. Right underneath our noses.”
I’ve been selective with the details I share. I left out the part about Randazzo’s sons being among us, as I’m still digesting that fucking tidbit. Deep inside me, I know it’s because I want to protect the memory of Alex. Once he’s no longer one of us…no longer our blood brother, but that fucking maniac’s son?—
But there’s another conspiracy theory battling for space in my head—one that helps me make sense of everything happening lately. What if that night Alex died, things had gone wrong? Matteo was the real target, the Don’s evil plan to get rid of this son that was never his, but Alex got killed instead. That would explain why the Don could never let go of that one vendetta involving Peter Armstrong and demanded Matteo put Tasha up for auction.
Fuck. This is going to torment me for the rest of my days and the only person knowing the real answers is dead.
“Yep,” I say, just to say something, then forcing myself to take a sip of my third espresso for the day, swallowing my rogue thoughts in the process. At this rate, I’m going to rattle all the way to Italy.
“What’s the plan?”
“First, I’m going to end the fucker in the room next door.”
“Good. Vincenzo Trapani has outstayed his welcome,” Matteo says with an approving nod. “And then? You’re off to Italy?”
“As soon as the jet is ready, we’re leaving.”
“You know Steph is taking Gigi and Carla tomorrow.”
“I’m not waiting. The jet can fly back for them. Let’s put some miles on that money drain.”
Matteo chuckles, but it’s dry. “I don’t like you going alone. Take Luca with you.”
I knew he’d say something like this. But here’s the thing: I don’t want any of my brothers with me on this mission. I want to be alone with Ariana because who knows what’s going to happen in Italy, and I need time to let go, not a fucking audience.
The thought twists my gut, but I keep my poker face in check. “Not a good idea. Let’s not have our identical twins prance around the Cosa Nostra’s hideouts in Italy.”
“Benedict, then,” he counters.
“He’s working on the back end.” In fact, I know it’s still early, but he hasn’t come back to me with results on Ariana’s fingerprints yet.
“Holy fuck.” Matteo leans back in his seat, and from the glint in his eyes, it’s clear the espresso has kicked in. “You want to be alone with her.”
Jesus. Am I so fucking easy to read? I bite down on my jaw as his expression turns from realization to something I can’t place. Is that smugness ?
“You’re fucking smitten,” he murmurs, and raises his cup in a mock toast.
Am I? Smitten ?
“Who wants to be alone with whom?”
We both look up at where Tasha, in a silky white robe, pads closer. She’s barefoot and sneaked up on us. Bet she learned a thing or two from Matteo when it comes to that.
“Sorry,” she says, sleep still thick in her voice. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“It’s okay, kitten.” Matteo hugs his wife to him. “Nicky just came over to let me know he’s taking Ariana back to Italy today.”
“What?” She eases back from his embrace to look him in the eye, and then back at me. “So soon? How’s her bullet wound doing? I haven’t had time to check in on her. We haven’t even had time to talk…to get to know each other.”
And that’s probably for the better.
“We’re trying to figure out where Gabriella is,” Matteo says. “She knows someone who might know, and we don’t want to waste time.”
“Yes, I get that, but really, I’d hoped—with Gigi and Carla?—”
Matteo’s hand slides down from her side to just below her hip, where he gives her a forgive-me squeeze on the butt. “She’ll be back.”
He doesn’t look anybody in the eye when he says that, and prickles of premonition spread underneath my skin. He still has plans for Ariana with this Petrov fuck-up. Over my dead body will I hand her over to the fucking Bratva.
When Matteo stands, Tasha shifts to make space for him, and when he tilts her head up to kiss her, I have to look away, jealousy biting around in my insides. A burden? Neither Tasha nor Gigi are burdens. The change in Matteo and Steph attest to that. Fuck, talk about a mind shift that snuck up on me. I’d do anything to be the exact opposite of what the Don was. In fact, I’ll welcome the burden of keeping these women safe with open arms just to give him one final fuck you .
“Go back to bed, kitten, I’ll bring you a coffee. We have some business to wrap up.”
Tasha shoots me a reprimanding glance, then rolls her eyes at Matteo. I almost choke on my last sip of espresso at the audacity she has to do just that and how he’s taking it so meekly. Hook, line, and sinker. Matteo is a fucking goner for this woman.
It’s quiet between us as we wait for their bedroom door to close on the second floor, and in this time, Matteo studies me.
“You have security lined up on that side?”
“Yep. I already set everything in motion this morning. I’m using the same team we used for your trip.” And I know some of the men personally, so I’m not worried at all.
“Good.” There’s a beat of silence. “You know we can’t let that woman loose into the world, Nicky.”
That woman. It isn’t only his word choice that riles me up, but also his tone. I know he’s right, but fuck ?—
“She isn’t just that woman .” He’s talking about her as if she’s a massive problem the cat dragged in and we need to eliminate. “And she isn’t going to become your pawn to play with, Matteo. To use as you see fit.”
He just stares at me from across the counter in a silent battle of wills. Of strength. Brother against brother. Matteo is a mean fucker, but I’m meaner. For that, I’ve the Don to thank.
“We’ll see. You go figure out in Italy what she knows about Gabriella. Go find our sister alone, without another Scalera by your side, as you’re clearly on a mission here. But understand this, Dominic: you bring Ariana Morelli back here. She knows and has seen too much.”
With that, he stalks off, giving me that tattooed back of his, the dragon’s body rippling as he walks away, rolling his shoulders.
Here be a line in the sand…sand that could soak up some blood if things between us go wrong, if I cross my brother. For a second, the possibility that Matteo is only my half-brother floods my mind. He could be Randazzo’s offspring.
The idea doesn’t get a foothold, because even if Matteo was Randazzo’s son, that won’t change anything between us. We’ve been through too much to be anything but blood brothers for life, but I won’t let him cross me on this. And we have the most important bond, anyway—Mom.
“Fuck,” I grunt softly, knowing we’re heading for an impasse.
I make my way out of the apartment, this whole fuckup roaring in my mind. I want to protect Ariana, but I want to protect my brothers, too. My duty and loyalty lie with my family first. That’s the only way to survive in our world.
I go through the layers of security to enter the chamber where Vincenzo has been rotting away. He’s the last man left in here and sways in his seat as he becomes aware of me.
I pull the gun from my holster, and for a fleeting second, other men’s faces flash in my mind’s eye as I stare into his glazed gaze. The Don. Emilio Randazzo.
Matteo.
I pull the trigger.