22. Nico
CHAPTER 22
NICO
The phone's ringing is an unexpected sound during a lunch on the back terrace with my aunt. I fumble for it on the table, nearly knocking over a half-filled glass of wine. Vlad's code name—Hot Shot—flashes on the screen like a beacon in the darkness, and my only hope is Chiara isn't as sharp anymore and doesn't see it.
It's a dead giveaway , I think to myself. Better to change that to Juliette.
Wait, no! That story ends in a tragedy and I'm not ready to die yet. Or part with Vlad.
Make it Divorce Italian Style , perhaps.
To my aunt, I say quickly, "Sorry, Zia . It's work." I swipe the Answer icon as I rise up from my chair to step away from the table. "Yes?"
"Nico," Vlad's gravelly voice crackles through the phone, taut as a garrote wire. "Meet me at Purgatory as soon as you can." He sounds nothing like the man who begged me to stay and hug him to sleep the other night. He sounds like the cold-blooded, calculated Solovey most people know. He sounds like the threat Uncle Tony warned me about.
"What's going on?" I ask, my tongue thick in my mouth all of a sudden.
"Just get here. Back entrance." The line goes dead, an ominous dial tone humming in my ear.
I stare at the phone, unease coiling in my gut and restlessness entering my body. Vlad's not one for cryptic messages. Whatever this is, it's serious. And most likely can't be communicated over the phone.
I turn around and stride over to the table where Aunt Chiara is cutting up her famous lasagna.
"I'm so sorry, Zia , but there's a situation I need to handle now."
Her face falls but she's used to men in her family leaving this house at the oddest hours of day and night. She's aware of her role just like she's aware of what it takes to run an empire her husband has been running for decades.
"You be careful, tesoro ," she says, rising from her chair and kissing me on both cheeks first.
The drive to Purgatory is a blur of traffic lights and buildings bleeding together. My mind races with dread-soaked possibilities. The first thing of course that punches itself into the forefront of my head is the body we buried. I wonder if it's been somehow discovered, if we left some of our DNA on it despite being careful.
When I arrive to the club and pull up to the rear, Vlad is already there, waiting. A stranger in a tailored suit with a mask on his face I can't read. As if we've never even existed. Beside him stands a mountain of a man, all bulging muscles and ink-stained skin. His expression is made from granite, gaze lethal and grim. The second man standing behind Vlad, I know him. He's Vlad's shadow—Ivan.
The tension hangs thick as smog as I approach. Vlad's gray eyes meet mine, cold and sharp as surgical steel. No playful smirk curls his lips, no teasing lilt colors his words. Just a terse nod and "Leave the key in the ignition."
The other men's gazes rake over me, assessing, predatory. A silent exchange passes between them, a flicker of understanding in the clench of jaws and set of shoulders. An unspoken "He's here. Let's do this."
My nerves jangle like live wires. "Vlad, what the hell is going on?" I ask in a hushed voice as we enter the club. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that my car is being taken care of by someone else, someone who's probably tasked to remove it from the valley and park in some hidden spot, away from Salvatore's prying eyes, somewhere where his–or anyone else's–spies won't see it.
Vlad leans in as we continue walking down an empty corridor and to the bowels of the club. His cologne is a heady mix of danger and spice. "We've got a situation, Romeo," he whispers. "And you're not gonna like it."
There is no longer any room for uncertainty or disbelief. The body has been discovered.
Once we reach Vlad's office, both the inked-up muscle guy and Ivan stay outside. Inside, another man—Hispanic of a slight build—is waiting for us.
"Boss?" He looks at Vlad with a bit of confusion as the door behind us shuts.
"He's fine, Hector," Vlad says with a tip of his chin. "I wanted him to hear this from you to make sure there's no misunderstanding."
My heartbeat skyrockets.
Vlad's man, Hector, keeps on looking at Vlad for a hot second, then asks, "You positive the Italian is okay?"
"Yes."
Hector's eyes bounce between us as he takes the lead, his gravelly voice spitting out words like bullets. "Salvatore Morelli has got a side hustle, and it ain't pretty."
In my mind, I see the ceiling fan above Sal's bed, its languid spin a macabre metaphor for the web of lies he's spun to get in Tony's good graces.
"Junior's got a stash hidden in a warehouse outside Vegas," Hector continues. "Cocaine from what I could tell. Couldn't allow to get noticed so had to bail before I confirmed, but I'm pretty sure that's the shipment that was snatched from the Italians from the border."
The words hit me like a semi, my world careening off course. "No, he wouldn't, that motherfucker." The truth is heavy as a stone in my stomach. I always knew Sal hated me, but why undermine an operation Uncle is overseeing? Is it out of spite because of my involvement? I focus my attention on Hector. "Is everyone in Vegas aware of our shipment issues?"
His eyes narrow into icy slits and he hisses in a low tone, "With all due respect, Mr. Morelli, but your family's hiccups aren't that big a secret. The entire city is watching you, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce ever since Roberto started meddling with real estate. Your cousin has no brain to manage property. He should have stayed away from it. Instead, he brought nothing but trouble and de—."
"Hector," Vlad interrupts, probably to spare me humiliation.
Hector turns to him. "Boss, I'm stating the facts. You asked me to get to the bottom of it. You got it. Let me know what you want me to do next."
"That's all for now. We'll take it from here," Vlad says. His controlled voice is the opposite of what's happening in my mind right now.
As the door clicks shut behind Hector, the tension in the room ratchets up. I close the distance between Vlad and me. The disbelief of betrayal is still raw but somehow not unexpected. Salvatore has always been a lying sack of shit.
"I'm sorry," Vlad murmurs, his gaze softening for a moment.
I chuckle bitterly, thinking. My feet begin moving on their own accord, pacing small circles in front of Vlad.
"I can have Hector continue following your cousin," he offers.
"Why? It's clear that he's doing some unauthorized transactions behind Uncle's back. He's not part of the family operations. He's managing legal assets only. Even if the drugs aren't Brazilian, he's not supposed to have a truck of coke, anyway."
"Okay. It's your family, your business. If you don't want my help any further, that's fine."
I halt for a second and draw a deep breath, trying to think what my next step should be. But I've never been in this situation before. This is a dangerous game we're talking about now.
"I need to talk to Sal about this," I finally state, convinced this is the best solution to this fuck-up. "There has to be some explanation." I don't know if I believe it, though.
Vlad's steely eyes bore into me as I look in his direction. "Salvatore doesn't strike me as the type to listen to reason or answer questions, Nico. Especially when you're involved."
Vlad's right. Sal is a snake. He will deny everything. "Then what do you suggest?"
"We need to confirm Hector's intel first. Make sure the shipment they have is a stolen one."
"How?"
"We'll go check it out ourselves."
"Are you serious?" I demand as I resume pacing the small office like a caged animal. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise. I've never done... field work."
A ghost of a smile plays on Vlad's lips as he steps closer, his commanding voice dropping to a secretive whisper. "You've never buried a body in the desert with another man either. Yet here we are."
My stomach lurches. And I don't know if it's the dread or the excitement of his proximity.
Vlad's expression hardens. "I have an idea what we're dealing with based on Hector's report. And I have a plan."
"Of course, you do, Hot Shot," I murmur right back at him, allowing myself to place my palm over his chest. He grabs it and brings it to his mouth to kiss my knuckles. And somehow I don't give a fuck if someone walks in.
* * *
The desert landscape—the dusty watercolor painting—rushes past as I navigate Vlad's Audi down the highway. The gravelly vibrato hums beneath the tires like an unsettling soundtrack. My palms are sweating around the leather of the steering wheel, my mind full of conflicting emotions.
Beside me, Vlad is intensity personified. He speaks rapidly into his phone, his Russian flowing like a dark river. I catch snippets— warehouse, security, extraction —each word driving home the surreal nature of our mission.
Everything's been a blur since our conversation with Hector. We hurried downstairs and outside, then down the alley and into a warehouse hidden strategically behind the club. The place felt alive with urgency. Vehicles stood in line like knights ready for battle. There was no quiet deliberation—just thrumming anticipation and rising adrenaline. In a heartbeat we were in motion, changing clothes in the bathroom with curt efficiency before heading back out.
Vlad flicked keys toward me offhandedly while engaging in another call and said driving was my job now—whatever lay ahead simmered quietly beyond his dark gaze focused elsewhere, intently yet momentarily distant from mine.
It's only now the reality of the situation is finally settling in. My own blood is double-crossing me and the rest of the Morelli family.
Immediately, Salvatore's face enters my mind—someone I grew up with, someone I thought would at least be loyal to our family name. What's his angle?
"We're doing this alone?" I ask as Vlad ends another call.
"Less chance of tipping anyone off. We confirm what we need to confirm, then you can decide the next move."
I swallow hard. "You know I went to Stanford, right?"
"I'm aware."
"They don't really teach us the things we're about to do."
Vlad's voice is gentle, even with a bit of humor this time he speaks. "You mean—breaking a bunch of laws and risking our lives?"
"Yes, that." I pause. "Do they teach it in Russian high schools?"
"Russian high-school education is well-regarded all around the world, but you overestimate it." He is quiet for a moment too. "Being a Solovey has its perks."
"I can see that."
He turns his head to look at me and although I'm concentrating on the road, I can feel his gaze on me, burning right into my cheek. "Honestly, I never thought I'd be sneaking around behind Tony's back," I say, simply because I need to release the sudden tension in the air.
"Welcome to the dark side, Nico," Vlad replies. "It's uglier than the boardrooms and fancy dinners, but just as necessary. At least you can't say anymore you don't know how this kind of business operates."
"Very true."
A little later, I pull off the highway and continue down a two-lane road snaking through the industrial part of the city. Vlad's on the phone again, but his gaze keeps on checking the GPS.
The man can surely multitask.
Minutes tick by as the drive goes on until we approach a set of warehouses lined up by the road. The second row of buildings is right behind. I swerve on the next turn and drive across an empty lot, wondering why I never knew about this property. Does it belong to Morelli or does it belong to La Alianza?
"It's right there," Vlad points at the hulking beast of corrugated metal further down, surrounded by a few dilapidated buildings. "We better park somewhere here."
I follow his suggestion. He seems to have practical knowledge when it comes to covert operations. I'm not going to ask how because I don't want to know.
Instead, I kill the engine and allow silence to descend. And in that silence, I can hear my heart hammer against my ribs.
"Are you okay?" Vlad asks, looking at me.
"I'm fine." No, I'm not fine. I'm far from it. But he is here, with me, which makes me feel just a tiny bit calmer.
"Good." Vlad unbuckles his seatbelt and pushes his door open. "Let's get this done. Don't forget the bolt cutters," he reminds me and there's enough conviction in his voice to move mountains.
I grab the bolt cutters from the back seat and climb out of the Audi. We move toward the nearest structure that serves as the cover. We hide ourselves in the shadows of the building right by the corner and scan the perimeter. I count three armed men patrolling the warehouse in question. There's a main entrance, all lit up like a Christmas tree and there are two side doors according to Hector's reports. Those are harder to spot.
Vlad's breath is warm against my ear as he whispers, "Look at their stances. Sloppy. Unprofessional."
I follow his gaze, noting the guards' slouched postures and the casual way they hold their weapons. One even pauses to light a cigarette, leaving his sector unwatched for precious seconds.
"They're not expecting trouble," Vlad continues. "Amateurs. Likely local muscle, not cartel-trained. Perhaps La Alianza doesn't want to get involved further. Maybe your cousin's deal with them was only to steal the shipment for him, not to ensure it's safe."
His observations should reassure me, but instead, they twist my gut further. If these men work for Salvatore, it's further proof of his inexperience–and his betrayal.
"Ready for some fireworks?" Vlad asks, producing a small bag of sparklers from the pocket of his jacket.
I nod, unable to trust my voice. We crouch low, creeping through the scrub brush toward the building's blind spot. The atmosphere of the night is heavy with unease, every step weighed down with the fear of setting off some undetected alarm.
Vlad's hands are steady as he arranges the sparklers, producing a crude time-delay with some twine and a lighter. The plan is simple: create a distraction, slip inside during the chaos, find the shipment, and verify it's truly the stolen coke.
Once finished with his task, Vlad quietly motions for us to move to the opposite side of the warehouse where he spied another blind spot. He repeats the steps with the same deadly precision while I study the lines of his face. The bolt cutters remain in my hand at all times.
"Now we wait," he murmurs when done, settling back on his haunches.
"Wait for what?" I ask.
"For the right moment," he explains. "Best if one of them is taking a piss. Less manpower. More confusion."
The minutes crawl by, each second an eternity. Finally, one of the men disappears into the bushes. A lighter dances and clicks between Vlad's deft fingers.
"Hide," he whispers urgently. His hand finds mine in the dark and I'm pulled back to the side and away from our diversion.
Seconds pass, faster than expected. Then, with a hiss and a pop, the sparklers ignite. Shouts of alarm erupt from the guards, and I see them converge on the source of the unexpected pyrotechnics.
"Move," Vlad commands, and we're running, bent low, toward the side door left unattended. We have a very narrow window to get inside.
There's sweat beading on my brow as I grab the lock with the jaws of bolt cutters. I try to stop the sweat from getting into my eyes by blowing at it, knowing full well how stupid I must look right now.
Without a word, Vlad reaches over and brushes his thumb over my forehead to remove perspiration.
"Thank you," I murmur, applying pressure to the handles.
The lock snaps like a plastic tie and when I glance at Vlad, I see a smile. A wicked and deadly smile of a predator who's been allowed to leave his cage to go on a hunt. A spark rushes down my back and wraps around the base of my spine.
"Let's go, Romeo." He nudges me to the side and quickly removes the remnants of the lock from the door, then swings it open. Immediately, we're inside, enveloped by darkness and the musty scent of disuse.
My senses feel hyper charged. Every shadow seems to writhe with potential danger. The faint echo of our footsteps sounds deafening to my ears, even though I know the three dummies outside are preoccupied with Vlad's pyro. By the time they figure out what's going on, we'll be done. We should be done .
"This is not going to be as fast as I hoped," Vlad whispers in the darkness. "Looks like they just brought in more merch."
"What do you mean?"
"Hector said he only saw six containers."
"Let's starts from the front and work our way backward," I suggest.
"Good idea. Let's."
To avoid wasting another second of precious time, we start checking the shipping containers one by one, row after row. There are several trucks in the middle, which I scratch off of our proverbial list.
Another row cleared, my eyes lock onto a truck parked in the shadowy recesses of the warehouse, its side emblazoned with a garish logo for Ocean's Bounty Seafood . It's almost comical, this flimsy veneer of legitimacy. I recognize it immediately. This is one of Uncle's businesses he uses as a cover for moving products he can't move legally across the border.
"Vlad?" I whisper in the direction of his footfalls. "I think I found it."
He rushes over and points the flashlight on his phone to the lock on the back of the vehicle to inspect it. "Bolt cutters won't work. Not enough grip," he supplies, then produces a small toolkit from his jacket's pocket. "Do me a favor," he murmurs. "Hold this steady."
I set the bolt cutters down and grab the lock, every nerve on edge. Vlad slips a thin knife-like instrument into the keyhole and I don't even get a chance to blink before the lock yields. He wrenches the door open and climbs into the cargo area, then extends his hand to me. I grab it and allow him to pull me up even though I don't need his help, but the fact that he's this considerate with the danger hanging over our heads has my dick hardening.
Fuck, seeing Vlad Solovey in his element turns me on so bad.
Inside, stacks of nondescript boxes greet us. I shift my focus to the task at hand and I tear one open. Nestled within layers of packing material, I find small, tightly-wrapped bricks. I pull out a pocket knife, slicing into one package.
" Merda ," I mutter, rubbing a small amount between my fingers, my nostrils flaring at the unmistakable scent. "It's pure."
The logo stamped on each brick truly chills my blood–a stylized jaguar head, its cartoonish grin mocking me. The Brazilian shipment. Here. Stolen.
Salvatore is a fucking disloyal rat.
Vlad's voice cuts through my shock. "Your cousin's handiwork?"
I nod, bile rising in my throat. "Yeah. That figlio di puttana ."
"Quite the elaborate scheme," Vlad muses. "Stealing from your own family to provoke the Armenians. Bold move."
"I should have seen this coming."
"The question is, why? What does he gain by pitting your family against the Armenians?"
"I don't know, but if he's willing to betray his own father just to get to me, he can't be trusted with family business. He'll ruin it. He's already cleaned up our cash reserves."
"What do you want to do, Romeo?" Vlad asks in a hushed, serious voice.
I run a hand through my hair, my mind racing. "We need to move these drugs. These are millions of dollars."
"Agreed. I would move it too, but it's easier said than done," Vlad mutters. "This place is a fortress with all these cargo around. We can't just waltz out with kilos of coke under our arms."
"How about hiring someone to do it for us?" I throw out the first dumb idea. I bet there are people who could move this quickly, quietly?"
"Why do we need to hire someone?" Vlad pauses. "The Hellhounds," he says, his expression unreadable in the scant light from his phone pouring upward. "My crew. They can do miracles when it comes to... redistribution of goods."
"Vlad, I can't–"
"They're discreet. Loyal. And they owe me more than a few favors."
I run a hand over my face, torn. Teaming up with Vlad's men? Tony would have my head if he knew. But the alternative...
"This isn't just about the drugs anymore, is it?" Vlad's voice softens, barely audible over the hum of distant chaos that sparklers caused. "It's about protecting your family. From within."
I meet his gaze, finding unexpected understanding there. "I have to confront Tony. Tell him what Salvatore's done. But if I go empty-handed..."
"You need leverage," Vlad finishes. "Proof." He tips his chin to the bag of coke still in my hands. I realize that going to Tony with this would be smart, but if we are pulled over with a kilo by the cops, it will be troublesome. And it may spook Salvatore. So I put the package back into the box.
Vlad steps closer, his presence both comforting and electrifying, his body mere inches away. "Let me help you, Nicola Morelli. No strings attached."
I close my eyes, weighing the risks against the necessity. When I open them, my decision is made.
"Let's do it."