30. Nico
CHAPTER 30
NICO
The next day, on the way to Lumina , I find myself lost in the whirlwind of memories of my night with Vlad.
I know I need to focus on fixing the clusterfuck my situation has become, but my ass throbs with the phantom fullness of Vlad's cock as I sit in the back of the car. Flashes of last night's sex keep on assaulting my mind. Vlad's tongue circling my asshole, teasing the rim. Hot, wet, probing. Strong hands gripping my hips, slamming into me again and again. Cock hard and thick and pulsing. Stretching me open as he pushes inside. Filling me up completely. My own needy moans bouncing off the walls and floating through the room. The orgasmic bliss as he made me come.
Shame and desire war within me. I submitted to him entirely, let him claim me in the most intimate way. I still feel the echo of his cock, the void of his absence. My ass aches, empty. Craving him. Wanting to be undone by him again and again.
What is wrong with me?
When have I become so obsessed with him?
The car glides to a stop and I snap back to the present, pushing down the lingering sensations. I smooth my hair and straighten my Brioni suit, determined. After a silent pause that gives the car a following us to catch up, I steel myself and step outside. Vlad's men immediately pour out of the second vehicle, flanking me.
My strides are purposeful as I approach Lumina 's entrance, but my mind still stutters on memories of Vlad's tongue, his cock, his kiss. Nerves flutter in my stomach, uncertainty creeping in. This meeting with Tony has to go as planned. It needs to. But I'm not sure it will.
I'll take care of you now.
Help you get what you deserve.
If I can make you happy, then it'll make me happy.
I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, trying to shake off the doubts. I can do this. I have to do this. For myself, for the family.
And yes, I refuse to think about the possible fallout. I have more than one secret. But I'll deal with the consequences later, whatever they may be. Right now, I have a job to do.
Resolve hardening, I walk through the doors.
The restaurant's noise envelops me right away. It's a painfully familiar clinking of cutlery and hushed conversations. Crystal chandeliers throwing a yellow glow over the room, illuminating the rich burgundy wallpaper and pristine white tablecloths. The air is thick with the aroma of garlic and truffles, a luxurious blend that feels like home. It reminds me of Aunt Chiara's cooking all of a sudden.
But beneath the veneer of comfort, undeniable tension simmers. Patrons' eyes flick toward me, their gazes a mix of curiosity and apprehension. They know who I am, who my family is. The weight of the Morelli name hangs heavy in the room.
I navigate through the tables with practiced ease, my steps deliberate and assured. I'm headed toward the back of the dining room, away from the crowd and unnecessary ears and eyes. As I pass the table reserved for the meeting, Vartan's already there, eating. Our eyes meet. I incline my head, a subtle nod of respect. He returns the gesture, his expression inscrutable. Meanwhile, Vlad's men melt into the shadows, their presence a reassuring pressure at my back.
Approaching my own reserved table, I pause, surveying the scene. The table stands empty, awaiting its occupant. Close enough to intrude when the moment comes, but far enough to maintain a strategic distance to make sure Tony doesn't see me right away. Yes, that will work, I think to myself and slip into a chair and wait.
Despite Vlad's reassurances that his crew will protect me no matter what, my senses are on high alert, and my heartbeat thrums in my ears. Sick anticipation tightens my gut. The impending confrontation with my uncle, the man who gave me everything, looms like a shadow creeping closer with each passing second.
Finally, the front doors open, and a hush falls over the room. From my vantage point, I can see only a fraction of Tony and his entourage as he strides in. But as he starts moving through the dining room, I realize he's flanked by Salvatore and his people. Claudio's absence strikes me like a dagger. Ever the obedient soldier, he is not here today. He would be a better companion option. He's easier to reason with.
As they approach the table where Vartan is seated, Salvatore's gaze darts around the room, but I turn around just in time, hiding behind the obstruction that made Lumina so famous—one of the potted olive trees.
When I glance back at them, Tony looks stoic. His face, although pale with a yellowish color, remains a severe mask. No one is assisting him to move. So, the old man is truly not as sick as the media claims.
I watch as they finally take their seats, the tension ratcheting up with each moment. My mind races, the speech I've rehearsed dancing on the tip of my tongue. The time for pretense is over. The truth will come out, one way or another.
I quickly rise from my chair and with a few wide strides close the distance to Tony's table, ready to shatter the image of his younger son and expose my cousin for who he really is.
"Hello, Uncle," I greet Tony, my voice cool, but respectful.
I turn my gaze to Salvatore, infusing as much hate into my eyes as I can. " Cugino ," I say. "I didn't realize they let you off your leash. Did you beg extra hard today?"
Salvatore's nostrils flare, heat rising in his cheeks. "Watch your mouth, Nico. Blood only gets you so far."
"Blood and brains, Sal. One of us has both. It sure as hell is not you."
He starts to rise, but Tony's hand clamps onto his arm like a steel trap. "Enough, you two," he croaks. The fact that he suppresses a cough doesn't escape me.
This is it. The moment of truth between a barely living legend and his conniving spawn. Between the mentor I love and the worm I loathe. Between the devil I know and the devil I don't.
I take the only empty seat next to Vartan, mentally cataloging all the men surrounding us. Most faces I know. They work for the family. Only one, standing like a statue behind Tony's chair, is the man I haven't seen in a long time. Not since my trip to Sicily when I was a teenager.
Unease tightens my gut.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. The room seems to shrink around us and I feel the weight of everyone's stares on me, waiting, judging. But I don't flinch. I'll see this through to whatever end.
Tony's assessing gaze is the only one I care about. "So, you are not dead after all." His tone betrays nothing. A blank canvas.
"Not for the lack of trying, Uncle. But I had a guardian angel watching over me."
Tony's eyebrow arches slightly. "Is that angel's name, by any chance, Solovey?"
The question hangs between us, heavy. Is it a threat? An accusation? I fight to keep my composure, even as anger simmers in my gut at the disdain in Tony's voice.
"Vlad Solovey saved my life," I say evenly. "Which is more than I can say for some at this table."
Salvatore snorts out a laugh but says nothing.
Tony's lips thin. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from that Russian swine?"
Red tinges edges of my vision. Vlad is anything but that. He's a man of honor, of loyalty. Unlike the snake sitting beside Tony. Vlad's been nothing but good to me.
Is that his cock talking, Nicola?
I push the doubts away and lean forward, elbows on the table. My words are precise and cutting. No time to beat around the bush. "We have bigger problems than who I associate with, Uncle. Salvatore has been dealing with La Alianza behind your back. Undermining the family. Risking everything you've built. Who do you think stole the Brazilian shipment?"
The color drains from Tony's face, a chalk outline of shock. Beside him, Salvatore vibrates with hardly contained rage, a volcano ready to erupt.
"You lying bastard!" he hisses. "You're one to talk about loyalty. Everyone knows you're Solovey's whore. Spreading your legs for the enemy."
The table falls silent, a collective intake of breath. The accusation feels condemning, a sure death warrant. But I don't react. Let them think the worst. I know who I am. What I am. And I won't apologize for it.
Tony's expression hardens, filled with disappointment and disgust. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he has a chance to voice all that's already written all over his face.
"You can think what you want about me, Uncle. But it doesn't change the facts. Salvatore is a traitor. A leech sucking the life out of this family. And if you can't see that, then maybe it's time for new blood to take the reins."
"And that new blood is you?" Salvatore grits out with sarcasm. The words fall like hammer blows, each one driving a wedge between past and future. Between legacy and destiny.
Tony stands abruptly, his chair screeching across the marble floor. He glares at me, hate-fueled fire in his eyes. "You're not my nephew. No faggot will ever inherit my empire."
He tosses the napkin on the table and spits in my direction. The spittle lands on my cheek like a brand, searing my soul.
Vartan tenses, his hand reaching for his gun concealed under his jacket, but I shake my head slightly.
"As far as I'm concerned, you're no longer a Morelli," Tony supplies in a tired, screeching voice.
With that, he turns around, ready to leave. His entourage follows suit. Salvatore too, scrambles to his feet as I wipe the spit away with a trembling hand.
"Nice job, Cinderella," my cousin whispers, leaning in. "I hope the view from the gutter is to your liking."
But I display no emotion. I won't give him the satisfaction.
"Let's go, Dad," he says, eager to follow in his father's wake.
Tony waves him off with a dismissive hand, as if swatting an annoying fly. "You're not coming," he commands. "You and I have nothing to discuss."
Salvatore's shoulders sink. Red colors his face. He's a torrent of impotent fury, about to beg to be taken back. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
As Tony strides toward the exit, his people falling in line behind him like obedient dogs, I remain seated, my posture straight and unyielding. The gravity of the situation hits me like a physical punch to the solar plexus.
I've burned my bridges. Severed my ties. Cut myself adrift from the only family I've ever known. And for what? A chance at being with someone I don't truly know?
But for whatever reason, I can't bring myself to regret it. Not when I think of Vlad. Of the way he makes me feel. The way he sees me, not as a puppet, but as a man. A partner.
He's the only one I can turn to now. The only one who understands. Who accepts me for who I am, flaws and all.
I close my eyes and picture his face. Those gray eyes that seem to strip me bare and lay my soul exposed. That unsmiling, serious mouth. Those words he said to me last night.
I'll take care of you now.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the tension drain from my muscles.
Nicola Morelli is no one's pawn anymore.