10. Nico
CHAPTER 10
NICO
Later that evening, I find myself pacing the plush carpet of the hotel suite in one of the Morelli buildings on the Strip. Each step I take is a pendulum swinging between anticipation and dread. The room feels small and hot despite the AC blowing and the square footage being far from modest.
I loosen my tie.
Vlad Solovey. His name echoes in my mind, wiping away all the other worries I have. This thing, this… whatever it is, burns with such intensity that it terrifies me. I run a hand through my hair, disheveling the careful styling.
"Fuck," I mutter, pausing to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Las Vegas skyline glitters and beckons. Too bad all this light can't erase the darkness roiling in me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I flinch, half-expecting Vartan's gravelly voice demanding answers regarding his payout. But it's just a text from Costa, asking something about the stocks I needed for him to check. I ignore it.
Roberto's face flashes in my mind—bruised, bloodied. My stomach churns. The hijacked shipment created a problem I didn't anticipate. And the Armenians... Fuck, they're not known for patience or mercy.
Two days. I begged for two days to investigate this mess. But now, my mind is elsewhere. Completely checked out and I don't know if it's a bad thing. I don't know if getting involved in Roberto's shit was a smart move. I could have come up with an excuse not to come. LA was good to me.
I pour myself a whiskey from the mini-bar, the liquid sloshing as my hand trembles slightly. I tell myself to get it together and down the drink in one burning gulp. It doesn't alleviate my panic.
Why am I even here when my own house is literally on fire?
This thing with Vlad—it's just a distraction. A momentary escape. Nothing more. I repeat the words like a mantra, hoping to believe it.
But as the door handle turns, my heart leaps traitorously in my chest. And I know, with a bone-deep certainty that terrifies me, that I'm lying to myself.
Vlad is no mere distraction. He's a force of nature. An entire universe, pulling me into his orbit with gravity I can't resist. And God help me, I don't want to.
First, his form fills the frame, then he steps inside. His presence is electric and all-consuming, and my breath catches in my throat when the door slams shut behind him with a finality that pushes me to the edge.
His steely eyes scan the room before locking onto mine, and suddenly, the world outside ceases to exist. The Armenians, Roberto, the shipment—all of it fades away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief. Relief that he's here.
"You made it, Hot Shot," I say with a smile, drinking in the sight of him.
"I keep my word," he replies, expression unreadable, maybe a little bit conceited too.
"So I see." But as he moves into the light, my relief curdles into concern. Angry purple bruises mar the column of his throat like a sudden reminder of the dangers that stalk us both.
I cross the room, meeting him halfway. "What happened here?" My fingers reach out, hovering just above the discolored skin.
Vlad's jaw tightens for a moment. "It's nothing," he says, voice gruff as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Just business gone wrong."
"Business that leaves marks like that?" I press, gently brushing my fingertips against his neck. He flinches almost imperceptibly, but I catch it. "We have people for that."
"Sometimes it's best to do it yourself not to screw it up."
"You know you can talk to me," I offer. I don't know why I do that. People usually say this in such situations. Normal people.
His eyes flash. "Why? So you can add it to your family's dossier on me?"
The accusation stings, but I don't back down. "That's fair. But that's not the reason I said that."
"Then what is it?" He continues to pop the buttons on his shirt open, revealing his chest, then his abdomen. All while keeping me hostage with his stare.
The sight of him still fully dressed with his body so boldly on display has my cock straining against my slacks.
"Not what you think, gattino ," I murmur, my hand moving from his neck to cup his face and unexpectedly he tilts his head into my touch.
The room fills like a coal chamber all of a sudden, even as a voice in the back of my mind screams about divided loyalties and the precarious balance of power between our families.
None of it matters this instant.
Vlad's eyes darken. "You talk too much, Romeo."
Without warning, he surges forward, capturing my lips with his. His hands, warm and urgent, fumble with my belt buckle.
I gasp against his mouth as desire floods my veins. "And you—"
"Shut up," he growls, nipping at my lower lip. "I need... I can't think right now. Just let me..."
And I do. I let him own me. Because I know how it is, I know what it's like to taste desperation, to be a man drowning in his own demons and clinging to the nearest lifeline, even if that lifeline makes no sense.
Hands and fingers work the rest of the buttons and zippers. Sleeves slip down muscular arms. Then things become muddy—the remaining clothes are hitting the floor in a frenzied rush. Suddenly, I realize we are both naked. Vlad's skin is feverish under my hands, marked by a variety of fresh bruises he clearly doesn't want to discuss. Still, the sight has my blood boiling. It shouldn't. But it does. Whoever did this. I want to snap that person's neck.
I trace the tattoo on his chest just like I've done a few times before. And again, I don't ask what the strange letters mean.
He shoves me roughly onto the bed. "Touch me," he demands, straddling my hips. His cock, hard and leaking, brushes against mine, sending sparks of electricity up my spine and into limbs.
I obey, wrapping my hand around both of us. Vlad's head falls back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. The sight of him—so powerful, dangerous coming undone above me—nearly pushes me over the edge.
"Fuck," I hiss, increasing my pace. "You're so goddamn handsome like this."
Vlad's only response is to thrust harder into my fist, his breathing ragged. It's fast and needy today, without any extras. I can feel the tension coiling in his body, see it in the tightening of the muscles and the shift in his expression. When he comes, it's with a strangled cry that sounds almost like pain.
And then every single line on his face is relaxed, jaw slacked. Almost as if the walls are gone. The warmth of his release spilling over my hand triggers my own climax. My vision whites out as pleasure rushes through me.
For a second, we're suspended in this blissful oblivion, the burden of our respective worlds temporarily lifted. But as our breathing slows, reality creeps back in. And when Vlad finally rolls off me, his face once again is an unreadable mask.
We are quiet and the room feels stuffy and I'm finding it hard to get oxygen into my lungs.
Wordlessly, Vlad nudges me toward the edge of the bed and then slides from it. I do as he says without asking, cum still on my chest and chin. And I'm fucking loving it .
Vlad tosses the dirtied bedcover to the floor with a careless swipe of his hand. "Make sure to tip your personnel well," he mutters in that terribly rough voice of his. But I do catch a hint of a smile on his face.
I chuckle. "Noted."
We lie side by side, staring at the ceiling. The silence stretches between us into something tangible. I turn my head slightly to see him better and my eyes drift to the bruises on his neck. Against his fair skin, they stand out like grotesque battle scars, screaming for attention and demanding answers that I am too afraid to seek.
"Are you going to tell me what happened now?" I start, the first two words are shaky but I manage to sound stern toward at the end of my sentence.
Vlad tenses beside me, jaw clenching and unclenching. For a moment, I think he'll shut me out again. But then he exhales, long and slow.
"It's... a long story," he says finally, his tone carefully neutral. "I'm fairly certain you know who my father was."
"Who doesn't?"
"Yes. He made sure to be remembered for all the shit he has done."
"So, what do these bruises have to do with your dead father?"
"There's a man who worked for him for years. Shtyk. He's the reason my mother is dead… I think she knew what Yuri was when she married him and I think deep down she hoped she'd change him, even just a bit. But men like him don't change. Eventually, after she realized how truly dangerous he was, she tried to leave." He pauses. "With me and my brother. Alexander wouldn't remember any of it. He was too little. But I was older. I remember we packed for a trip once and then… we were told she had a stroke."
I study his profile drawn against the backdrop of the night sky in the window. "Your father ordered her gone?" I guess.
Vlad nods, his expression unchanged. "Yuri always was a selfish, heartless bastard. I heard him asking Shtyk, this man I'm after, to 'take care' of my mother right before this trip she was supposed to take us on, but I couldn't properly put the pieces together until after. I've had people looking for Shtyk even since my father's death. But the motherfucker is hard to find. He has some very powerful and very nasty people protecting him."
"More powerful than you?"
He releases a dark chuckle. "Apparently there are people like this, yes?" Another pause. "Shtyk's got half my gun trade cut off from my father's sources in Russia, so he has leverage and goods to trade. I received a tip he was seen in Mexico, so I took a quick trip, but it didn't work out the way I hoped."
"You two butted heads and he's in the wind again?" I ask.
The bitterness in his voice cuts deep when he speaks. "No, someone tried to kill me and I'm not sure if it's his doing or the people who are supposed to help me find him are also wanting me gone."
I reach out, tracing the outline of the angel tattoo on his chest. "Is this her, your mother?"
"Yes," he breathes.
"What do the letters mean?"
"Marina. That's her name spelled in Russian."
"I'm sorry you're going through this. I really am."
This sudden confession from him has me think of my own losses. The ache of absence never truly fades. Time doesn't erase the pain, maybe only dulls it temporarily, but it tends to come back and hurt like a motherfucker occasionally.
My fingers linger on his skin, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
"She was my entire world," Vlad whispers. "The only good, the only kindness I had, and he took her from me. And I've been holding on to this good she gave me so hard and for so long, but I feel like if I don't catch the asshole, it'll go away."
I swallow hard, unsure if by "he" Vlad means his father or the man who executed the order. And again, I don't ask. For people like us, questions could be deadly. My own grief rises to the surface too.
"I understand," I say, my voice firm but laced with a sadness I rarely allow myself to express. "I lost my father during the war between two Italian syndicates. He was just someone we were willing to sacrifice for the greater good. And my mother... she died right after I was born. She was sick."
Vlad's head turns a little on the pillow to meet my gaze. Softness enters his eyes.
I press on, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam, while his hand finds mine. "I don't even know her. All I have is a photo." I pause, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. "Sometimes, I feel... empty. Like there's this hole where they should be."
The admission hangs in the air, stark and raw, and I feel oddly vulnerable under Vlad's scrutinizing stare.
"I knew about your parents," Vlad supplies quietly, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Had my men look into your background when I found out who you were."
I nod, unsurprised. It's the way of our world—information is power, after all.
"Well… Seems we're both orphans in this fucked-up family business," I muse.
"We forge our own paths now," Vlad declares, looking up to the ceiling.
I drink in the sight of him like this—deep in thought and determined. In the muted glow of the bedside lamp, his profile is etched in shadow and light—beautiful, deadly, and utterly captivating. A thin tendril of fear coils in my gut, not of Vlad himself, but of the intensity of what I feel for him.
We're playing with fire, he and I. And I'm no longer certain if I fear getting burned... or crave the flames.