12. Nico
CHAPTER 12
NICO
The purr of the Maserati's engine fills my ears as I speed down the highway, the early morning sun glinting off the sleek black hood. My pulse quickens, anticipation thrumming through my veins as flashes of last night at Eclipse play through my mind unbidden.
My cock hardens with every memory of my Russian gattino 's body against mine. His hands on my hips, his lips devouring mine, the taste of the expensive vodka still on his tongue.
Fuck.
What is happening to me?
I've always been a one-and-done kinda guy.
With him, it's always not enough.
He's the worst kind of distraction during my family crisis with the Armenians. I should be spending my time thinking about how to fix the mess we're in. Instead, I'm obsessed with a man who can potentially be my rival in this city.
I shift gears, pushing the gas pedal closer to the floor, wanting to feel that thrill again, to see him waiting for me at the track. The tires hug the curves of the road as I take the exit, my destination coming into view—the race track.
As I roll my car through the entrance and steer it into the parking spot marked by the orange cones, I wonder if I'm about to make a huge mistake. Meeting during the day, without the benefit the cover of darkness always gives us. But God, the man is worth it.
The early morning sunlight casts a shiny glow over the snaking asphalt, and I can already hear the roar of the engines in my ears, even though the track is empty save for my own vehicle and a cherry-red beauty Vlad snatched from me at the auction.
Empty bleachers rise up behind the Ferrari, the silent track stretching out ahead. Such raw, primal energy contained in this place, humming somewhere beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
As I step out of the Maserati and start walking, Vlad appears out of the Ferrari driver's seat. My heart jumps into my throat at the sight of him—a vision in a racing suit that clings to every sculpted line of his body. The view steals the air from my lungs. I've never seen him like this before–the usual suited armor replaced by a second skin that leaves little to the imagination. My gaze rakes over him hungrily, desire sparking in my veins.
The lingering regret of leaving Costa home is gone. My entire being is zeroing in on Vlad.
His gray eyes, cold as steel, meet mine, and my breath catches in my throat.
I don't like this. At all. The effect he has on me.
Vlad approaches with the confident stride of a man who knows his power. Our gazes are a collision of ice and fire, the unspoken want crackling between us. The ghost of his touch from last night whispers across my skin again, igniting a fresh wave of need.
"Nico," he greets me, his voice a velvet caress. "I see you found your way."
"What's all this?" I gesture to his outfit, the empty track. "Are you trying to impress me?
Vlad's lips twitch into a rare smirk, and I feel a shiver run down my spine, straight to my groin. "I thought I'd let you drive, since you keep begging."
I scoff, crossing my arms. "I'm not begging. It's simply polite of you, considering I let you have the car in the first place."
Vlad chuckles, the sound dark and rich. "Keep telling yourself that, Romeo."
He steps closer, invading my space, his heat seeping into me. I tilt my chin up defiantly, refusing to back down even as my body screams to surrender. Vlad's gaze drops to my lips, his own parting slightly. The air grows thick with tension, the magnetic pull between us almost physical.
"So," I breathe, fighting to keep my composure, "are we going to stand here all day, or are you going to let me show you how it's done, Hot Shot?"
Vlad's eyes flash with amusement and something darker, more primal. "By all means. Show me."
"Am I getting the same suit?" I pinch at the fabric of his sleeve.
He motions at the entrance to the building. "Of course. Waiting for you in the dressing room."
* * *
"Got the size right, Hot Shot," I tell Vlad later when I exit the dressing room.
He looks me up and down first with appreciative eyes, then comments, "It would be a shame if I didn't." He moves into my personal space and adds in a low voice, "I know every goddamned curve of your body, Romeo, like no one else."
"Cocky bastard." My lips kiss the air but we both know it's meant for him. We just don't want to give the wrong impression to the workers. Even though I've only seen a couple of people so far. One at the pit area and another one showing me to the dressing room.
"You take your driving seriously," I remark, gesturing to our matching suits and helmets Vlad's holding.
"I used to race back in Moscow when I was younger. I know a thing or two about cars."
Surprise flickers through me. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed. You always seem so... put together."
He passes me one of the helmets and slips the second one over his head smoothly, as though it's an extension of himself.
I fit mine too, feeling the cool interior mold to my skull with the snugness of security—borderline claustrophobic but necessary. His fingers are deft yet firm as they adjust the straps under my jaw, briefly brushing against skin with urgency and tenderness in equal measures. "All set now, Romeo," he murmurs.
Without further ado, I get into the driver's seat, the buttery leather molding to my form like a lover's embrace. The scent of the car is mixed with the scent of Vlad's cologne and danger as he settles beside me. His presence is both electrifying and unnerving. I can feel the heat of his gaze as it rakes over my profile, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
"You better hold on, caro ," I yell at him, grinning through the helmet.
To that Vlad only grins back.
We buckle up and I push the start button. The engine roars to life. The vibrations course through me, setting every nerve alight. My pulse quickens. Hands tighten on the wheel. Cock grows hard and happy.
I floor it.
The Ferrari leaps forward. Wind howls. The world blurs.
Adrenaline floods my system.
The track unfurls before us, a ribbon of shiny asphalt begging to be conquered.
" Cazzo !" I yell, exhilarated. "Fuck yeah!"
I lose myself in the dance of man and machine. Each turn is a challenge, each straightaway an invitation to push harder. The vehicle responds to my every command, like it's an extension of my will.
" Mio Dio! " I shout over the engine's roar. "This is better than sex!"
"Careful, there. You might hurt my feelings!"
I laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within me. It's been too long since I've felt this unburdened, this alive. The business pressures and the constant shifting of power melts away with each mile. Lap after lap, the world narrows to the track ahead and the man beside me. He's quiet, mostly just watching me.
"You should see your face right now!" Vlad shouts after a particularly nasty turn I manage to defeat.
We are on a straightway again and I risk a glance at him, and suddenly the edges of my vision go dark. His steel-gray eyes lock onto mine, intense and searching. The track, the car, the speed—it all disappears for a fraction of a second.
In this instant, there's only us.
Time seems to stretch and compress simultaneously. I'm hyper-aware of every detail: the slight furrow of Vlad's brow behind the visor, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the curl of his fingers against the leather seat.
The spell breaks as we hurtle into the next turn. Reality crashes back, but something fundamental has shifted. This moment of connection, of open honesty, feels more dangerous than any business deal or family feud.
I tighten my grip on the wheel, fighting to regain control—of the car, of my emotions, of the precarious balance we've struck. But deep down, I know it's futile. We're accelerating toward something neither of us can stop.
* * *
The engine's purr fades to silence as I ease the Ferrari to a halt. The empty track before us is a ribbon of asphalt shimmering in the growing heat with the distinct fresh tire marks. My heart still races, though. Whether from the drive or Vlad's proximity, I'm not sure.
"This place is incredible," I say, running a hand through my hair as soon as I remove the helmet. "You own it?"
Vlad's lips quirk into a rare half-smile as he settles his own helmet into his lap. "Not yet. Rented it for today, but I'm considering a purchase."
"Of course you are." I chuckle, shaking my head.
Vlad's eyes, usually so guarded, now openly smolder with barely contained desire. I find myself removing my seatbelt and leaning toward him, drawn by an invisible force.
"Your driving isn't bad, Romeo," he breathes, his voice husky.
"Is that so, caro ?"
Vlad shifts in his seat, turning to face me. "Say that again."
"Which part?"
"The Italian one," he whispers, bringing his hand to my cheek. His knuckles brush over my skin but don't linger. That's enough to get me rattled. I'm still sore from all the adrenaline, still buzzing. My cock is aching, needing a release.
"Does that turn you on, il mio gattino ?"
"It does."
That's all it takes. Our lips crash together, desperate. The confines of the car and the helmets make it awkward, but I don't care. I'm lost in the taste of him, the feel of his skin against my skin.
My hand finds its way to his thigh, inching higher. Vlad groans into my mouth as I palm him through the fabric of his racing suit.
"Fucking hell," he hisses, breaking the kiss. His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging gently. "You're playing with fire, Romeo."
I grin, continuing my ministrations. "I know how to handle it."
Vlad's eyes darken. "Are you certain?" He pulls me back in for another searing kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth with a possessiveness that makes me shudder. His hands slip down to cup my cock, to return the favor.
For a while, we keep on going, like teenagers who just discovered intimacy. And I think, perhaps for the both of us, this is a first. I think we were denied this pleasure then. That's why it feels so intense, years and years of repression finally becoming something so dangerous, so volatile. And can't bring myself to care about the consequences. At least not until Vlad pauses his hand job and tells me that we should finish it later.
"Are you serious right now?" I tip my chin down to my cock straining against the fabric of the suit.
"Very," he mutters, eyes half-closed.
"Fair enough, then you owe me for this," I supply.
He takes a deep breath. "Okay. You win." Then he pushes the door open and climbs out of the car.
A little later, when the sun has already made a good portion of its path across the sky and the shadows grew longer on the empty racetrack, Vlad and I stand beside the Aperta. He's traded his racing suit for an impeccable charcoal Brioni, while I've put back on my black slacks and my crisp shirt.
Vlad's eyes scan the perimeter before landing on me. "We need to talk about our... arrangement," he says, serious.
I raise an eyebrow and ask in a playful tone, "Is that what we're calling it now? I thought it was a one-night stand gone wrong."
He doesn't rise to the bait. "These meetings, they're too risky. We need a more secure location."
The playfulness drains from my body. "What are you suggesting?"
"I have an empty apartment," Vlad says, his expression unreadable. "It's private, secure. No prying eyes." Without waiting for my response, he reaches into his pocket. "Here." He presses something cold and metallic into my palm.
I look down. A key. Simple, unremarkable, yet it feels impossibly heavy in my hand. "You're trusting me with this?"
Vlad's eyes soften for a moment. "Trust is a rare commodity in our world, Romeo. Use it wisely."
I close my fingers around the key, feeling a mix of elation and dread. This gesture means something, something beyond our heated encounters and witty banter. It's an olive branch, a life jacket in the stormy seas we navigate.
But as I pocket the key, guilt gnaws at my insides. My family, my obligations—they suddenly loom like demons in the growing darkness. I'm keeping secrets from them, playing a reckless game. And for what? A man I barely know, who represents everything I should avoid?
" Grazie ," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll make sure to be discreet."
Vlad nods, his mask of cool detachment firmly back in place. But for a split second, I catch a flicker of something in his eyes–vulnerability, perhaps? Or is it just my imagination, seeing what I want to see?
I shift my weight, the gravel crunching beneath my feet.
"Vlad," I begin, hesitant. "I know we said we wouldn't mix business with pleasure… But I want to ask for a favor."
Suspicion crosses his stoic features. "I thought we agreed to keep that separate."
"Yes, I remember and I swear I didn't have an ulterior motive when I approached you back in LA or even here at the action. But I'm... I'm in over my head here. I'm not sure who else to ask."
The admission costs me, each word feeling like a betrayal of the confidence I've worked so hard to project.
"Go on," he says after a long pause, his voice neutral. But his eyes aren't calm at all. His gaze makes me shiver all over.
I draw a deep breath, choosing my next words carefully. "The Armenians. We had a falling out because of some money my cousin owes them, but the deal I made fell through because someone stole our shipment. They're pushing for faster payments, getting... physical. I'm out of options here."
Vlad's jaw tightens, but he remains silent, waiting.
"There's more," I continue. "I think La Alianza might be involved. They seem to be behind the stolen shipment that's causing issues."
The change is instantaneous. Vlad's face hardens, his eyes turning to chips of ice. It's like watching a steel shutter slam down, blocking out any warmth.
"La Alianza?" he repeats. "Are you sure?"
I nod, a chill running down my spine at his reaction. "Not entirely, but the signs are there. Toro was definitely behind the heist. My FBI contacts confirmed it. I have my people confirming as we speak. I just... I'm not sure how to handle this situation with the Armenians without someone getting killed. And I know you have a great working relationship with David and Vartan. I could use some help."
The silence between us becomes thick and oppressive. I've crossed a line, I realize. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his response.
"I don't typically involve myself in... external matters," Vlad says finally. He runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of uncertainty. "I wouldn't help. But La Alianza... Let's just say we have unfinished business."
I lean in, intrigued by this glimpse into Vlad's past. "What kind of business?"
He shoots me a sharp look. "The kind that's better left buried, Nico. Suffice to say, if they're involved, things are more complicated than you realize." Vlad's gaze drifts to the horizon, his mind clearly elsewhere. When he turns back to me, his jaw is set with determination. "Anything to screw with their plans. What's the favor you were going to ask?"
Relief floods through me. "Could you talk to David? Ask him to give us more time to come up with the money and ensure our next shipment is arriving as scheduled. Vartan won't listen to reason."
Vlad catches my hand, his grip firm. "I can't guarantee the outcome. David is unpredictable and his decision will still depend on Vartan's whispers in the old man's ear."
"Even if you put in a good word for me, I would be grateful. I just need a bit of room to get this sorted."
"Don't thank me yet. This temporary alliance of ours... it's not a business deal. It's a fragile thing. One wrong move and it all comes crashing down. You understand?"
"I understand."
Vlad releases my hand and turns back to the car. "We should part ways here for now. I'll be in touch when I have something."
My eyes follow him leaving, my mind racing with possibilities. Did I make the right decision asking Vlad for help? Or was it a carefully laid-out trap all along, the kind of trap Uncle Tony warned me about? And now I owe favors to half of Vegas.