38. Nico
CHAPTER 38
NICO
No card.
What an asshole.
Proud, insensitive Russian asshole.
I glare at the bouquet of crimson roses, velvet petals laughing at me as I press the phone to my ear. "The expansion into Santa Monica is non-negotiable, Enzo. We need that territory to solidify our—" An insistent knock at the door cleaves my sentence in two.
"Hold on," I mutter into the phone, my patience fraying like a cheap suit. This conversation hasn't been easy as it is. My California business partner Enzo is always careful about his finances. Trying to get him on board with my plan is like trying to move a mountain.
"Nico! Nico! I know you're there!" Vlad's voice shouts from behind the door.
I suck in a sharp breath.
"Nic?" Enzo asks somewhere near my ears.
"Hey, something's come up. Let's talk later." I end the call, shoving the phone into my pocket. Then I rise from my chair and stride across the room.
"Nico! Come on!" the jerk yells. "This is important. Open up!"
I hesitate for a second, wondering if this important thing is him ready to apologize in person since he didn't bother to do that with the flowers that arrived ten minutes ago.
Fuck it.
He's already here.
With that thought, I swing the door open.
Vlad's broad frame stands in the hallway, Ivan lurking like a shadow beside him. The temperature feels like it just jumped ten degrees higher. The palpable force of Vlad's presence presses against my skin.
"We need to talk," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument as he pushes past me into the room. Ivan remains outside, silent and terrifyingly calm.
I grind my teeth angrily. My displeasure is evident on my face. Not that I care.
"We certainly do," I reply, shutting the door. "You think a dozen roses will fix this shit you pulled?"
He walks to the center of the room and spins to face me. Both hands are on his hips, brows furrowed, serious look in his eyes.
"What do you want, Vlad?" I ask, my voice cold as an Alaskan winter. The roses sit on the table, their scent suffocating me all of a sudden. A pretty gesture, but empty. I suppose like everything else between us.
Vlad wastes no time, his voice rough but abnormally collected as he delivers a bombshell. "Hector obtained some intel that I thought would be wise to share with you since it concerns your family. Tony's going to be taken out tomorrow. Looks like Salvatore's behind it."
Shock ripples through me, followed by a wave of skepticism. My arms cross, an eyebrow arching in disbelief, even though a part of me wants to believe. "That's nonsense. My uncle and Salvatore may have their differences, but murder? You've got to be kidding me."
Vlad's gaze remains unwavering. "He tried to kill you, Nico. You don't think he has the guts to try and kill his own father?"
"Cousin who is competing with you and father are two different things."
"No, they are not. Either one is family. And family is everything."
"Look who's talking." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. "Sorr—"
"Every tree produces a rotten apple," Vlad supplies. "There's more. Hector said two men met with El Jefe. There's a mole in your family, Nico. Someone's helping Salvatore. I have no reason to lie about this."
I scoff, a harsh sound in the stillness of the room. "No reason? You've been trying to get under my skin since day one. How do I know this isn't just another one of your tricks?"
"Fine. What's the endgame? What do I gain from it? Your empire? I don't need it. I have enough on my plate as it is."
Suddenly, Vlad's demeanor changes. He steps closer, his hands reaching up to cup my face. His touch is gentle in contrast to the ruthless facade he wears like armor. "Nico, please. Trust me on this." His voice is soft, almost pleading.
I search his eyes. A rare show of vulnerability catches me off guard. Vlad's thumbs brush against my cheekbones, a tender gesture.
The weight of this new information finally sinks in. My arms drop to my sides, my defenses crumbling under the intensity of Vlad's stare.
He's right. If he wanted to use me, he could have done it a hundred times over by now. If he wanted me dead, I'd be six feet under. But here he is, warning me about a threat to my family.
The realization washes over me, cold and sobering. If Uncle's in danger, if there's a traitor in our midst, I need to act fast.
My mind struggles to think.
Who could the mole be?
How deep does this betrayal run?
I take a step back and away from the familiar cradle of his palms, raking a hand through my hair. I try to process everything but the anger still simmers. An insistent slow burn. An itch just beneath my skin.
"Nico," Vlad whispers. "I know I've been a bastard. I've treated you like shit ever since I came back from Mexico, and I'm sorry. But I'm here now, and I want to help. Let me make this right."
His words are a fragile offering of reconciliation and I study his face. Part of me, the one that's still pissed off at him, almost wants to find proof of deceit. But all I find is a man trying, asking to be heard, asking to be considered. At last, he's stripped away the layers of his invisible battle suit.
"Why should I trust you?" I ask, doing my best to hide the tremor in my voice.
"You can choose not to. But for what it's worth, I am sorry. I was out of line. I was in a shit mood. I had to do things I don't like doing while in Mexico. It got to me. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"The hell you should. You made it seem like this is—" my hand bounces back and forth between us "—nothing."
"I want to do better. I promise."
"Don't promise something you can't follow through with, Hot Shot," I say with a sad smile on my lips.
"We can talk about us more, but I need to know if you want to do something about your uncle. Time is running out and if you want my help, I'd need an answer now. So we could plan accordingly.
I square my shoulders. No one else can make this decision for me. "I don't know what to think," I admit firmly. "Tony and I, we've had our differences. He's set in his ways, stuck in the past. But he raised me. Gave me everything. He's the closest thing I have to a father. Hell, I'm not sure my own father would react differently to the truth about who I am. Old man hasn't done anything to deserve a death ordered by his son."
My eyes lock onto Vlad's and for a split second, his face pales into a lifeless shade of gray. He did the exact thing he's trying to prevent right now from happening. He removed his father from the chessboard to win the game.
Is it him wanting to help me or is it him needing salvation in this life, needing to undo what he's done?
"I'm sorry," I whisper at him, not even sure why. Maybe for the fact that life gave him no choice.
Vlad's features harden. "Unlike Tony, Yuri deserved to be sent to hell."
There's a moment of silence.
Then he adds, "Family is complicated. Some bonds run deep, even when they're threadbare. And some bonds are broken to begin with."
I nod, grateful for his understanding. "I can't let Salvatore win, can't let him tear our family apart."
"And tear the entire city apart," Vlad supplies. "Consider this alliance between me and you for the good of all."
"Works for me."
Vlad's brow warps in concentration as he walks past me and toward the window overlooking the Strip. I sense a thought takes shape in his mind. "What about that Sicilian you mentioned?" he rasps out. "He's been summoned from Italy recently, hasn't he?"
I pause, considering the possibility. The Sicilian, a figure who's always been just a dark afterthought, is supposed to be loyal to Tony, but now, I'm not so sure. "You think he could be the mole?"
Vlad shrugs, his expression grim. "It's possible. He's been added to the equation recently."
"He's my uncle's man. At least he always has been. I can't imagine the reason he'd side with my cousin. People like him don't care about power or money. They only care about following their orders and the well-being of their master. And Tony is his master."
"We don't know where his allegiances lie or what's happening in your family. You didn't know the Morelli had a rat in their house either. But it looks that way."
I clench my fists, trying to come to terms to the fact of betrayal. "We need to find out for sure," I say, my voice steel-edged and resolute. "We need to stop this."
Vlad tips his chin in agreement and marches over, his hand grasping mine. "We will." It's warm, his touch, warm and familiar and very human. And I realize I miss it. I miss it so much it hurts to breathe.
I squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence.
"We can discuss my being an asshole later," Vlad says. "Let's go meet the boys and discuss the plan of action instead."
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Vlad and I are in the warehouse behind Purgatory. Despite the late hour, the place is a hive of activity, the Hellhounds already gathered and waiting. Summoned by a single phone call from Ivan to Ricky while we were on our way from the Royal Arms.
I sweep my gaze over the assembled crew, taking in their stiff, suspicious faces. Ricky leans against a stack of crates off to the side while Marco paces restlessly in front of the row of bikes. Seven is sitting on a small step stool, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on his thigh. Hector stands apart, his expression inscrutable. There are a few others. I met them during the shipment retrieval.
Roughly a dozen men.
All loyal to Vlad.
And none loyal to me.
Exhaustion tugs at my bones. The sleepless night spent strategizing is taking its toll. But there's no time for rest, no room for weakness. Not when my uncle's life is just another number for his own son.
Without any kind of preamble, Vlad begins talking. "Hector received intel that Tony Morelli will be taken out tomorrow."
Whispers echo through the warehouse.
Several heads turn to Hector.
He nods slowly to confirm the news.
"Shit, boss," Seven mutters, shaking his head and glancing at Vlad. "Those are some shady dealings."
"The old-timer is on foot in the grave anyway," another voice says from the back.
"Yeah," Seven goes on. "Do we know who wants him this dead?"
"His younger son," I supply.
Another wave of whispers rolls through the crowd.
"And why are you here?" Marco asks, coming to stand next to Ricky. As soon as the question leaves his mouth, Ricky elbows him in the ribs.
"Shut up, you dumbass," Ocho laughs into his fist.
"Hey Marco, you're the only one who still doesn't know the boss is dating," someone from the back cackles.
I feel blood rushing to my face. Fuck. Blushing in front of all these men would be equal to saying goodbye to my own dignity.
"That's enough," Vlad demands.
The warehouse goes silent.
"We are going to find a way to get inside the Morelli mansion tomorrow morning," Vlad continues speaking, "and make sure Tony remains alive and well. As well as he can be." He pauses for a second to let the information sink in. "Any ideas on how we're going to do that?"
"I say we pose as a gardening crew," Ricky suggests.
"Yeah. We still have the uniforms from the last job," Seven pipes up.
Hector shakes his head. "Too short notice," he counters. "We won't be able to get a crew inside tomorrow without a good cover story. And a good cover story takes some time."
"Plus who gardens in this weather," Ocho says, jerking his chin up to the ceiling to point out the rhythmic drone of rain against metal.
Marco's eyes light up, a spark of excitement animating his features. "What about a power outage?" he proposes. "I've got a contact at the power company that handles the entire Seven Hills. I can call him up right now. Makes sense with the rain and all."
The group exchanges glances, a mix of skepticism and intrigue rippling through their ranks. The risks are high, the stakes even higher. But desperation breeds innovation, and in this game of life and death, we simply can't afford to play it safe.
"Not the worst idea you had, man," Ricky muses.
One of the Hellhounds thumps Marco on the back with his meaty hand. "Guess, you know how to work that head of yours, Marco."
Marco socks him in the ribs with an equally solid punch. "Fuck off, eh?"
It's a strange language only they understand—a gritty camaraderie made up of bruises and crude jokes.
"Can this contact of yours be trusted, Marco?" Vlad asks.
"Yes. This guy is good. He owes me one too many favors and he knows I'm coming to collect one of these days."
Hector nods, a grudging respect in his eyes. "Solid plan," he admits, looking at Vlad. "But we'll need to move fast. Time is not on our side, boss man."
I step forward. "I know the layout of the house," I offer. "I can show the weak points."
"We'd need that layout before we get there. Not going in blind," Seven says.
Vlad shifts his gaze to me. "Can you draw it up?"
"Yes."
His hand settles on my shoulder, a silent gesture of support. "Alright, everyone. With Nico's knowledge and help from Marco's guy, we have a real shot at pulling this off."
The crew nods, their features are a blend of determination and excitement. They know the dangers. They also know the price of failure.
Backing out is not an option. It leads to a life of regret. It's better to try.
Or die trying.
* * *
With the plan laid out and the stage set through Marco's contact, we retreat to Vlad's office in Purgatory. It feels weird being here, surrounded by all the sleek sophistication, polished surfaces, and muted colors after the utilitarian space of the warehouse.
But I can't appreciate the irony right now. Not when dread turns my gut into a pretzel, its claws sinking deeper and deeper with every second that ticks by.
Yes, I deserve Tony's empire but not this way. Not when he's already dying. Killing him isn't something I'm capable of. Family is sacred. That's what Father always said.
"Hey," I turn to face Vlad as he closes the door behind us, "Stay here."
He scoffs dismissively.
"I'm serious."
"I know. So am I." He moves to stand closer to me, close enough for his hands to wrap around my neck.
Shivers rush through me. I'm starting to lose control with him being in my personal space. His touch is both poison and antidote. And I want to freeze this moment, freeze the time itself. So I could smell him, feel him, savor the warms of his palm around my throat and the tickle of his thumb caressing my Adam's apple.
"I can't keep on asking you to do my dirty work, Vlad," I whisper. "It's too dangerous."
"You want to use my men but you don't want me to go?" he hisses, his mouth near my ear. "Sounds counterproductive."
"It's not your fight."
"It is if it concerns you, Romeo."
"You're so fucking stubborn. Must be the Russian thing."
"That's exactly what it is. And you like it."
"I never said I didn't."
I push the tempting thoughts aside and let my frustration fill me. It's hot and fierce and I use it. "I can't watch you put your life at risk because of me and my family."
Finally, Vlad's mask of a leader falls away. He's just a man. "I know, Nico, I do. But you're too close to this. Your uncle—"
"I get it. Emotions are bad in our line of work," I interrupt, running a shaky hand over my jaw, feeling the day's worth of stubble on my skin. "But Tony's like a second father to me."
"That's exactly why I'm coming with. I have no attachments to your family. I'll make better judgment calls if it comes to hard decisions."
We stare at each other, neither one of us willing to back down. The silence stretches like a taut wire, vibrating with words and desires unuttered.
Later, I think to myself. We'll talk about us later. Now, we've got a city to save.