18. Nico
CHAPTER 18
NICO
I walk briskly down the cold, marble corridor of the Morelli mansion, my footsteps reverberating through the halls like the haunting memories of the deadly night's events. My heart pounding in my chest is a relentless reminder of what transpired in Vlad's apartment.
The fight replays in my head: fists flying, bodies colliding unforgivingly, blade shimmering in the scattered neon light, the sickening sounds of flesh meeting flesh. The worst is the look on Vlad's face, contorted. Wasn't panic. Wasn't even fear, but something was different about it. He was different.
I clench my jaw, willing the images away, but they cling to me like the blood-drenched shirt we burned somewhere in the desert.
I curse in the privacy of my mind. In Italian.
I'm glad the bruises and cuts on my body are hidden beneath the clothes. Don't need to come up with explanations in front of anyone at this house.
When I enter Tony's office after a polite knock, the heavy door groans as if in protest and then swings shut behind me. I can sense the tense atmosphere in the room even before Uncle and I lock gazes. Tony, usually sharp and assessing, sits behind his grand desk, still imposing but his eyes are dull and weary. I have to remind myself that he is in his seventies and not getting any younger. He tries to lead a healthy lifestyle but that doesn't negate the fact that his doctor is in and out of the mansion at odd hours and under a veil of secrecy. The old ticker must be giving Tony trouble again.
"Nicola," he says. "Sit."
I settle into the chair across, my eyes never leaving his aged face. The cruel hand of time has left its mark on Tony's once-untouchable visage, carving deep lines around his mouth and eyes, pointing out the bold dagger of a deep-set stare.
"What's this about?" I ask carefully.
There is a bit of quiet in the office as Uncle studies my face. Finally, his gravelly voice breaks the silence. "How are you doing, nephew?"
The stolen shipment and attack on Roberto weigh on me like an anchor, threatening to drag me under. But I can't let it show. Not here. Not now. "I'm fine, Uncle. Thank you for asking." I force a smile. "I heard Roberto's doing much better."
Tony nods. "Thank God. He'll be as good as new in a couple of months."
"That's great to hear."
Tony leans forward slightly, his expression darkening. "But tell me, Nicola, what's this I hear about your recent dealings with the Russians?"
My heart drops to my stomach. Questions swirl in my mind, one after another. How did he find out? What exactly he knows? Is he here to tell me I'm not a Morelli?
I struggle to keep my face neutral as panic scratches at my insides.
"I heard you asked them for help," Tony continues, his tone a dangerous mix of concern and authority. "I told you to stay away. Remember? You know the Russians, Nico. They'll want a piece of our pie."
I swallow hard, my mind racing. I better tread carefully since he hasn't mentioned Vlad specifically. "Uncle, I—"
"Don't try to deny it," he cuts me off, waving a hand dismissively.
"I'm not denying it."
"Then why do I find out from some street rat?"
"This favor was asked in private. If you found out, then they have a leak."
"People will talk. Say the Morelli are weak."
The room suddenly feels too small, too hot. "It was a necessary move, Uncle. Given the circumstances—"
"Necessary?" Tony's eyes narrow. "You think involving outsiders in our family business is necessary?"
I bite back a retort, knowing it would only make things worse. Instead, I nod solemnly. "I understand your concerns, Uncle. But I assure you, the Russians won't be demanding anything in return. They're not looking to encroach on our territory."
Even as the words leave my mouth, I question their truth. What have I done? And how much does Uncle really know?
Tony leans back in his chair, the leather creaking ominously. His face is an impenetrable mask, giving nothing away. The silence stretches between us like a void of unuttered accusations.
"Is that so?" he finally says. "And you're certain of this, Nicola?"
I tip my chin, trying to project confidence I don't feel. "Absolutely, Uncle. I wouldn't risk our family's interests for anything. But do you really want to see another member of our family beaten into a bloody pulp while we are working on fixing the situation?"
Tony's fingers drum a slow, menacing rhythm on his desk. The sound echoes in the room like a funeral march. "You know, Nico," he says, his eyes never leaving mine, "trust is a fragile thing in our world. Once broken, it's not easily repaired."
The weight of his words pressing down on me is suffocating. The power dynamic in the room shifts palpably, and I'm acutely aware of how small I feel under his scrutiny.
"I understand, Uncle," I manage to say, my throat dry. "I would never betray your trust."
Tony's silence speaks volumes. It's clear he's not convinced, and the realization cuts deeper than any knife. I've disappointed him, and in our family, disappointment can be a death sentence.
"That'll be all, Nico," Tony says abruptly.
I rise from the chair, my legs oddly unsteady as I cross the office. As I reach for the door handle, Tony speaks again and his words feel like a final twist of the knife.
"Don't make me regret putting my faith in you, nephew."
* * *
I'm not certain why I'm drowning in the need to prove myself to the old man, to show I'm worthy of the Morelli name. For years I wanted to distance myself from them, moving to LA, accepting Uncle's help in getting one degree after another. I hoped he'd forget about me altogether.
But being here, being in Vegas, and seeing both cousins ruining everything Tony worked for side by side with my father—who died for this legacy and for this peace—has me shaking with anger. Has me wanting to get what's rightfully mine, what my father sacrificed his life for.
Those are my thoughts as I stand outside Tony's office. Before me, the hallway stretches.
Not much I can do presently except working with Vlad to figure out what happened to the stolen shipment and what agenda Toro and La Alianza have.
Each step feels heavier than the last. Relief wars with dread in my chest, a dizzying cocktail that leaves me nauseated. I survived the encounter, but if Tony heard about the favor I asked from the Russians, what else might he discover? Is he tailing me?
Vlad's face flashes in my mind, his steely eyes softening in the way only I get to see. God, how I'd wanted to argue, to fight against the inevitable. But now, with the threat of exposure hanging over me like a blade, I know he was right. We need to end it soon. All of it.
My heart aches, a physical pain that threatens to bring me to my knees. How did I let myself get in so deep? How could I risk everything—my family, my future, my very life—for fleeting moments with a man I can never truly have?
There has to be a way to salvage this mess, to prove myself to Tony and keep Vlad safe and out of the Morelli family drama.
I reach the end of the hallway and instead of turning in the direction of my room, I walk the other way.
On the expansive terrace, I stare at the manicured garden sprawl before me like a green oasis in the desert of my thoughts. My hands find their way into my pockets as I gaze at the sky, searching for answers among the wispy clouds.
"Well, well. If it isn't the golden boy, looking a little tarnished," Salvatore's voice comes from behind me.
I don't turn, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"What do you want, Sal?" I keep my tone flat, disinterested.
He saunters up. From the corner of my eyes, I can see that snarky smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, nothing. Just enjoying the view of Uncle Tony's favorite nephew finally slipping up."
I force myself to remain still. Salvatore leans in, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, "Don't worry, cugino . Tony still doesn't know about your... extracurricular activities with the Russian."
White-hot anger flashes through me. I want to wrap my fingers around my cousin's throat and choke all the life out of him. Blood be cursed. Instead, I slowly turn to face him and say, "Listen carefully, you piece of shit. You keep your mouth shut about this, or I swear to God—"
I falter here, just for a fraction of a second but it's more than enough for him to interrupt me.
"Or what?"
My voice drops to a deadly whisper. "Or I'll kill you and no one will ever find your body."
For a moment, something a lot like fear flickers across Sal's face, but it's quickly replaced by his usual arrogance. The air between us crackles, years of rivalry and resentment boiling to the surface.
"You wouldn't dare," he says.
"Try me, cousin."
I should let go. I should walk away. But the rage inside me is a living and breathing thing.
There's a crack in Salvatore's usually impenetrable mask. But like a snake shedding its skin, he swiftly regains his composure, eyes hardening with renewed grudge.
"Oh, Nico." He chuckles, the sound grating against my ears. "Always so quick to bare your teeth. But you forget–you're not Tony's son."
"Say what you mean, Sal," I growl. "Don't beat around the bush."
"It means you're reaching for something that isn't yours to take. The family, the business. You can fool Father but you can't fool me." Pause. "Back off, and your little secret will remain just that–a secret."
My mind is a storm of fury and disgust. How much does this little weasel really know? How long has he been watching, waiting for me to make a mistake?
"You're bluffing," I say, but the words taste hollow on my tongue.
Salvatore just laughs, the sound floating across the terrace like a death knell. "Am I? Are you willing to bet everything on that, cugino ? I'm not the one whoring out his ass, am I?"
I stand there, frozen at the insult, as he walks toward the door and back inside the house. Just before he leaves, he glances back, his eyes glinting with triumph.
"I hope it was worth it, Nico. Because you know what happens to your kind."