7. Nico
CHAPTER 7
NICO
The sound of my phone ringing jolts me awake, shattering the pre-dawn stillness. I fumble for it, squinting at the too-bright screen. Costa's name flashes back at me.
"What?" I growl, voice rough with sleep and from that deepthroat session I offered Vlad Solovey the other day.
" Padrino , we have a problem," Costa's measured tone carries an undercurrent of tension. "The shipment from Brazil. It's been seized at the border."
My blood runs cold. I sit bolt upright, silk sheets pooling around my waist. "Come again?"
"It's gone."
"How the hell did that happen? Don't we have border patrol handled?"
"Not border patrol," Costa corrects. "Been highjacked right after crossing."
For a moment, I'm stunned, unsure if it's a dream or reality. The Morelli have pretty much half of the ATF agents and border patrol officers on their payroll. Even though we use safe routes, money buys us peace of mind.
" Padrino ?" Costa calls. "Are you hearing me?"
My mind screams at me to stay focused, to snap out of my daze and return to the present. And although the present is grim, I have to deal with it. "Do you have any details?"
"I'm still gathering information," Costa replies, his calm demeanor grating on my frayed nerves. How can he be this collected when shit has literally just hit the fan?
"Gathering information?" I spit the words out like venom, knowing it's not his fault. "I need answers, Costa. Now. Who took our fucking cocaine?"
"I don't know yet, Nico. I'm working on it."
I run a hand through my disheveled hair, mind racing. This shipment was everything. The backbone in our deal with the Armenians. Without it...
" Merda ," I mutter. "If the Armenians find out… This fucks everything. We don't have what we owe them in cash."
"I know." Costa's voice softens slightly. "We'll figure it out."
"We better," I snap. "Because if we don't, Uncle Tony will have our heads on a platter."
A heavy silence falls between us. I can almost see Costa's stoic nod through the phone.
He doesn't answer immediately. When he does, his voice is low, almost gentle. "We'll find a way, Padrino . We always do."
I want to believe him. But as the first rays of sunlight creep through my window, all I can see is darkness closing in.
I end the call with Costa, my fingers already tapping across the screen to dial another number. Wilson, my uncle's FBI contact, picks up on the third ring.
"Morelli," he answers gruffly. "I was waiting for you to call."
"Good. Then you're probably aware our new product from Brazil's gone missing." I get right down to business, bypassing all the unnecessary pleasantries. "What do you know?"
There's a rustling on the other end, then the sound of a door closing. "Not much," Wilson admits. "We're still piecing together the details. The shipment crossed the border with no problem."
My free hand clenches into a fist. "I don't have time for 'piecing together,' Wilson. I need answers. Peace depends on this product."
"Look, kid, I'm doing what I can," he hisses. "But this isn't exactly above board, you get me? I'm sticking my neck out here already asking questions I shouldn't be asking."
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to unclench my jaw. "I know. And I appreciate it. But this is urgent. If we don't recover the product or find out who's behind this..."
Wilson sighs. "I understand. But right now, the official version is that we've got nothing concrete."
Cold silence stretches between us, taut as a tripwire. Then, Wilson's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Off the record? My money's on Toro."
The name catches me off guard. "Toro? The cartel's man? What the fuck would he be doing hijacking our shipment?"
"Word on the street is he's doing some extra-curricular activities outside his La Alianza responsibilities," Wilson explains. "This heist? It's got his signature all over it. Brutal, efficient, no loose ends. But we don't know if the cartel authorized it."
My mind races, connecting dots I hadn't even known existed. "But why? What's his angle?"
"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" Wilson replies. "All I know is, if Toro's involved, you're in deeper shit than you realize."
As the call ends, I stare at my reflection in the darkened by the tree window. The man looking back at me isn't the polished Stanford grad anymore. He's a cornered animal, eyes wild with the realization that he's wandered into a game where he doesn't know all the players.
And in this game, ignorance isn't just costly.
It's fatal.
* * *
I never noticed it before—the Morelli family office reeking of blood money. But today, all my senses are heightened and all I can smell is death.
Claudio's frame hunches over the oak desk. A short, stout man with a receding hairline in his fifties, he's nothing special. Except maybe his tailored suit and expensive watch and shoes. Otherwise, he embodies the role of a consigliere—always composed, difficult to read, impeccably dressed. No one would guess if they passed him on the street that he makes important decisions for the oldest crime family in Las Vegas.
I never liked him, but he's been with Uncle for twenty years now. Rose through the ranks from a regular accountant. I hardly remember the time before him.
I'm in the chair across from him, my own suit feeling like a straitjacket.
"The Armenians are getting antsy, Nicola," Claudio says, his gaze shifting to Costa standing by the door. "This seized shipment isn't just a hiccup. It's an earthquake. Your deal with Arman will fall apart if we don't come up with a solution and fast."
I run a hand through my hair, frustration spiraling in my gut. "I'm aware, Claudio. But what do you want me to do? Pull cocaine out of my ass?"
Claudio's eyes narrow. "Watch it, kid. This isn't a joke. Our reputation's on the line here. One screw-up like this, and we might as well paint a target on our backs."
I lean forward, voice low. "You think I don't know that?" To myself, I think I should've stayed in LA. At least there, I wasn't juggling grenades with the pin pulled.
Costa shifts in the corner, a silent shadow. His presence is both comforting and suffocating. We have no secrets from each other but he's not happy about this either. He hates Vegas just as much as I do.
Claudio sighs, rubbing his temples. "Look, did you get anything useful from Wilson? Any leads we can work with?"
I hesitate, weighing my words. "Not much. He thinks... he thinks Toro might be involved."
"Toro?" Claudio's eyebrows shoot up. "The cartel's attack dog? Why the hell would he get involved?"
I shake my head, confusion and dread warring inside me. "I don't know. It doesn't make sense. But if Wilson's right, we're in deeper shit than we thought. Toro is unpredictable. If he snatched out a shipment on the order of La Alianza, it means they are ready for war."
The silence that follows is heavy, pregnant with unvoiced fears. I stare at my reflection in the polished wall mirror across the room, seeing not the confident member of the Morelli empire, but a man drowning in waters far deeper than he ever imagined.
"Tony will not be happy about this," Claudio comments.
The tension in the office is palpable, a living being. I glance at Claudio, really seeing him for the first time since I've been back. The years have etched deep lines around his eyes.
"You've come a long way from balancing the books, Claudio," I say because I have nothing else to say and I don't like the silence.
Claudio's lips twitch, almost a smile. "And you've come a long way from that punk who used to sneak cigarettes behind the kitchen."
The memory hits me like a sucker punch. Claudio, catching me red-handed, but instead of ratting me out, he'd simply say, "Your uncle would be disappointed." It had stung worse than any beating.
"Thanks to you I don't smoke."
Claudio nods, a trace of satisfaction coloring his features. "Good."
"Speaking of Uncle Tony," I start, my throat suddenly dry. "How much does he know about this clusterfuck?"
"He knows the basics."
My stomach drops. "How pissed is he?"
"He's..." Claudio pauses, choosing his words carefully. "He's concerned. But he believes in you, Nicola. He thinks you can fix this."
I laugh, a bitter sound. "No pressure, right?"
Claudio leans forward, his eyes locking om mine. "Listen, kid. You've got the brains, the connections. If anyone can salvage this shitshow, it's you."
I want to believe him. God, I want to. But as the meeting winds down, my mind turns into a hurricane of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. How the fuck am I supposed to fix this? And more importantly, why did I ever think coming back to Vegas was a good idea?
As I stand to leave, Claudio's voice stops me. "Remember, Nicola. Family first. Always."
I nod, the weight of his words, of everything, crushing down on me. Family first. Even if it kills me.