39. Nico
CHAPTER 39
NICO
I adjust the stiff collar of the uniform I'm wearing as part of my cover. The fabric chafes against my neck as I shift uncomfortably in the van's cramped interior. A bead of sweat trickles down my spine despite the chill in the air. The storm outside is raging, rain battering against the vehicle with extra force. My heart pounds an erratic staccato beat, each thud reverberating through my chest and across my ribs. Like a warning.
Careful, Nicola.
Don't bite more than you can chew.
Around me, the Hellhounds sit silent and still, figures carved from obscurity. Hector's scarred knuckles flex. Marco's jaw clenches. Their presence both reassures and unsettles me. This alliance is forged out of necessity. Not loyalty. What if one of these men betrays me?
The doubt is real.
I meet Vlad's gray eyes across the darkened space. He wears an electrician's uniform like a second skin, but I see through the innocuous disguise to the vulture lurking beneath. A current of understanding passes between us, sharp and electric. No words are needed. Just a shared glance that says: We're in this together. Until the bitter end .
"ETA two minutes," Seven calls from the driver's seat in a gravelly voice.
My stomach churns, acid rising in my throat. I swallow it down. Apprehension coils around my neck like a noose, tightening with each second that brings us closer to the point of no return.
"We do it simple," Vlad says, his accented baritone steady and sure. "Get in. Get Tony. Get out. No distractions."
"I'm certain Salvatore will be with him," I supply.
Vlad's lips curve into a humorless smile, a glint of something lethal in his eyes. "Then we improvise."
The van slows as the imposing gates of the Morelli estate emerge ahead. My heart beats even faster. My mind is in overdrive. Adrenaline has taken over. I grew up in this place. Now, I'm shunned, forbidden to enter it. All because of choosing to be myself.
How cruel of you, Uncle.
Still, I can't let this pig Salvatore take your life.
I lean forward, my fingers gripping the edge of the seat, as Seven guides the van toward the gate. The mocking wrought-iron bars is a physical barrier that represents the challenges we're about to face. Beyond them, at the end of the long driveway and hidden within the garden, the sprawling mansion awaits.
My mind races. Potential scenarios of what could happen unfold like a twisted choose-your-own-adventure novel. What if we're too late? What if Salvatore has already made his move? The possibilities are endless, each one more terrifying than the last.
"Nico." Vlad's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Focus on the present. We'll deal with whatever comes as it comes."
I nod, taking a deep breath to center myself. He's right. I can't let my fears and my imagination bother me. We are here to ensure Tony stays alive. And that's what we'll do.
As we approach the gate, I catch a glimpse of Seven's profile from my spot in the back as he turns his head to greet whomever is outside.
I close my eyes for a moment, asking the higher power to wish me luck. No, wish us luck. We're all in this together because of me. In this instant, we are one. United by a common purpose, bound by the knowledge that failure is not an option.
The van rolls to a stop.
"Showtime," Vlad murmurs.
I open my eyes, meeting his stare as he leans forward to hide away from the view of the person at the gate.
The window slides down and the smell and sound of rain rush inside.
"Hey buddy, someone placed a repair call earlier," Seven says, his voice even and assured. "Here to fix the electrical issues."
"About damn time. We've been without power all morning," a man at the gate says.
I can't see him. I'm nearly folded in half trying to lower myself to the floor to ensure my face isn't noticed. I feel Vlad's presence somewhere beside me. He's a reassuring strength that tethers me to reality. I don't know if I would be okay without him.
"We'll get it sorted out," Seven promises, his tone soothing, almost hypnotic. "It's the storm. Half the city is without power right now."
"My bosses don't care about the city, man." The gatekeeper chuckles, loosening up a bit judging by his tone. "If you know what I mean."
"I do, brother. I do. That's why we're here first. Just point us in the right direction. The place looks like a maze."
I hold my breath, my muscles coiled tight. I'm ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.
After what feels like an eternity, the gatekeeper says, "Head straight down the drive. The main house is on the left." He steps from the vehicle.
Seven offers a curt nod of thanks, rolling up the window as the gate creaks open. In the rain, the sound reminds me of the groan of a dying beast.
The van rolls forward, picking up speed as we enter the lion's den. It jostles over the rain-soaked driveway, each bump and dip sending a shot of adrenaline through my veins.
As we draw closer to the house, my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. Images of my father, of the empire he built out of blood and bullets alongside Tony, flash through my mind. Then, I see Salvatore's face, twisted with greed and malice, and a wave of anger crashes over me.
"Ready?" Vlad asks as we approach the service entrance of the main house.
My grip on his hand tightens. "As I'll ever be."
And then the doors slide open and we all, except for Seven, climb out of the van and into the nasty, windy, cloud-covered Nevada day.
* * *
The mansion stands before us, a grandiose silhouette against the storm-ravaged sky. Rain lashes and wind slaps across the dense vegetation surrounding the wall. We slip in through the side entrance, the darkness of the windowless hallway swallowing us whole.
Vlad's hand finds mine, his touch a spark in the gloom. The brush of fingers is brief. A reminder he is here with me, even though I can't see him at first, not until we clear the corridor.
We move as one, silent and deadly, our footsteps muffled by the carpets. Earlier, we gathered in a circle and went over the map of the house I drew from memory, reviewing all the sections of the property to know what rooms to avoid and where we'd be the safest.
We are in the heart of the staff quarters now where the kitchen is located. Noise welcomes us as we navigate further.
Seven signals to his men to fan out and Ocho jumps forward. There's a scream somewhere up ahead, but it's cut off before it travels anywhere.
We file in.
There are only two people there. A cook and Tony's personal maid. She's the one with her hands in the air while Ocho's massive gloved palm is pressed up to her mouth to silence her. His other hand is gripping the back of her neck.
I confidently move toward her and pull down my ski mask, revealing my face. I hope that the dim light of the candle will be sufficient for her to recognize me.
"It's me, Giuliana. Where's Uncle?"
Ocho slowly removes his hand from her face.
"He was in his office all morning," she whispers in a trembling voice, her eyes darting around to take in the men with me. I see the question in her eyes but she's too terrified to speak. The cook—a forty-something small man—is frozen.
"Don't make a sound," I tell Giuliana.
" Oh mio Dio ," she mutters in Italian. " Che sta succedendo, Nicola? "
"We're making sure Uncle is safe," I say, nodding at Ocho.
He releases his grip on her neck and steps away, almost melting into the wall.
Outside, lightning flashes, illuminating the room for a split second. Shadows dance across the surfaces, twisted and grotesque, as if the house itself is mocking our intrusion.
I will my thrashing heart to calm. We're already here. No going back now.
I never would have thought I'd be breaking into my own house one day.
But then again, I never would have thought I'd have feelings for Vlad Solovey.
Life is funny that way.
"Be quiet," I order Giuliana and the cook as we start leaving the kitchen and sneak into another hallway connecting us to the part of the house where the office is located.
We meet two guards but the Hellhounds put them down so fast they don't have time to remember they have walkie-talkies to communicate.
Bodies stashed in the utility room, we continue moving.
When we reach the door to Tony's office, Seven and Marco disable another guard standing there.
Fuck, Salvatore has really turned this place into a military compound. He's got a guy on every corner.
I pause with my fingers hovering over the knob. Behind this door, there are snippets of conversation happening. Tense. Words Clipped. Tones heightened.
Vlad squeezes my hand quickly, his voice a whisper in the dark. "We'll be fine. No matter what we encounter."
Somehow, I wonder if by we he means just the two of us, but psychoanalyzing our relationship isn't the time now. "Yes." I agree, drawing strength from his companionship in all this.
With a resolute breath, I turn the knob and step inside.
The office is lit by several candles. The curtains on the windows are shut and the presence of the storm is only heard and felt but not seen. The glow of the fireplace throws eerie shadows that jerk across the room's walls and furniture. Uncle sits behind his desk, his face gaunt and pale, his once-vibrant eyes dulled by whatever illness he's been hiding from everyone.
Beside him, Salvatore stands, his face seems too smug for someone who's been cast out. He's not supposed to be here. He fucked up. Yet here he is. Again we're dealt a shitty hand.
Claudio sits off the to side, expressions unreadable.
"What is the meaning of this?" Tony demands, his voice weak but stern.
Vlad's men move swiftly, fanning out, surrounding Salvatore.
I tune out his whining and step forward, my heart in my throat, my eyes meeting Tony's hard gaze.
"Uncle," I begin. "You know I'm not the one to beat around the bush. Why did you allow this piece of shit back into your house?" I gesture at my cousin, who hasn't stopped cursing.
"Come again?" Tony grits out, his fist on the desk tightens visibly.
"First he steals our own merchandize to undermine our operations. Now he's planning your murder but you choose to welcome him back."
Salvatore scoffs, his face contorting with disdain. "Lies! Father, you can't possibly believe this nonsense."
Tony's gaze shifts between us, confusion and disbelief warring in his eyes. "Nicola, explain yourself."
I look directly at Salvatore. "We have evidence that you ordered a hit on Uncle." There's no evidence. Just hearsay. But I'm ready to bluff my way through this if it means I can prevent the inevitable. "Fucking traitor."
Salvatore attempts to physically attack me but he's held back by two of Vlad's men. "This is absurd! Dad, you can't possibly believe these baseless accusations. I would never—"
"You're a fucking coward who can't even take responsibility for what he plans on doing."
"Enough!" Tony's voice silences us both. He slams his fist on the desk, then turns to Vlad, who stands silently in the dark corner of the room alongside Ivan. "Is this what you've been telling my nephew, Mr. Solovey? The nonsense about my own son wanting me dead."
Vlad doesn't move from his spot. "It's not nonsense, Mr. Morelli. It's the truth. We have proof of Salvatore's betrayal. You can believe it or not. Your decision. But just know if you choose the lesser evil, your family will flourish. And if you let your pride get the best of you, your family will never be the same. So you better choose wisely."
Tony's eyes narrow. Shock and heartbreak start to appear on his face. And I think it's the first time I witness my uncle showing a wide range of emotions in a precarious situation like the one we're in. He opens his mouth to speak, but a sudden explosion of what is unmistakably gunfire sounds somewhere in the house, drowning out his words.
Vlad reacts instantly, his voice commanding two of his men to investigate.
They swiftly exit the room.
The rest of us remain frozen, our eyes locked on the door, waiting for any sign of the impending threat. Ivan already has his gun out.
Claudio has been keeping to himself since we arrived. He's not known for being talkative in general and he's awfully quiet even now. His beady eyes jump from person to person, watching, like he's waiting for something.
Seconds feel like hours while we wait. The fireplace crackles softly. The candles continue to burn. My pulse is a dull roar in my ears.
I glance at my uncle, hunched at the desk. There's fear embedded into the lines of his face. He's aged even more since I last saw him. As if it's been a decade and not days.
The door bursts open, and one of the Hellhounds rushes in, pale. "There are armed men outside. Too many."
And then everything shatters. The office windows splinter wildly, shards of glass like vicious teeth flying while rain and bodies zoom into the room. Black-clad figures, anonymous, armed.
No time for thought. Pure instinct takes over as chaos detonates around us. We're scrambling, a crush of panic-fueled motion toward the door. Two of Vlad's men seize Tony, dragging him out into the corridor.
Salvatore and Claudio are swept up in this madness too. I wish I could ignore my useless cousin, but abandoning him feels reckless.
We run. Turn the corner. Then turn another.
"Over here," Claudio barks, pointing to a spot on the wall at the end of the hallway. He tilts a painting sideways—a trick I never knew he had up his sleeve—and part of the wall slides open like magic.
We tumble into the hidden chamber in a flurry of limbs and breaths held tight. I lose track of who's who in our group—all that matters is that Vlad's here beside me.
And for a second I think he got left behind, but as I pivot at the sound of the door sliding shut, I see his silhouette, the last to get in.
The air tastes sharp, metallic with the gunpowder that buzzes on the tip of my tongue.
Fabrics brush against skins like cool whispers while bodies shift and shuffle in the dark. A click. Then a candle comes to life, lighting up the room.
It's eight of us. Tony, Vlad, Sal, myself, Claudio, and three Hellhounds. Two are restraining Salvatore, and one is holding my uncle upright.
Ivan is not with us, I realize.
Our breaths are loud, labored—a shared sound of fear. And beneath it all lingers another scent: something acrid and unsettling—the terror of the unknown that's seeped into everything around us.
Outside this secret space, chaos reigns. Gunfire snaps sporadically in the distance. Voices clash.
Suddenly, the wall trembles violently—the impact of bodies colliding against it on the other side of this room.
We freeze, all of us on high alert.
The noise is there one minute and gone the next, moving elsewhere, away from our temporary sanctuary.
Vlad directs his stare at Claudio. "Can they hear us from the outside?" he asks quietly after a few moments of relative silence.
The consigliere shakes his head. "This room is soundproof."
"Good." Vlad gestures at his man, who assists Uncle into one of the two armchairs. Salvatore is still restrained and Claudio, ever the sly fox he is, swiftly places himself behind Tony.
Vlad walks over to the second armchair and drags it into the center of the space. Then drops into it, resting his gun on his thigh, the barrel pointed at Salvatore.
"Nico has something to say," he announces matter-of-factly as if the house isn't under fire and this is just a chitchat between old buddies.
Salvatore seethes in the corner, his eyes darting from his father to me and back. "This is insanity," he spits. "Tell your dogs to let me go, Solovey."
"Do not bark your orders at me." Vlad leans forward a little. A sinister smile appears on his lips. I don't think I've seen that smile before. Vlad Solovey is not the kind of person who smiles a lot in general. And when he does he means it. "I'm just a hired gun tonight."
"Dad!" Sal shifts his attention to Tony. "You're really going to believe this... this bastardo over your own flesh and blood?"
I step forward, my fists clenched at my sides so hard that my bones might burst through my skin. "Enough, cousin. It's time to stop hiding behind your lies."
Tony lifts a weary hand, shadows pooling beneath his tired eyes as he looks at me, really looks. Disgust radiates from him in waves, stirring something sour within me—bile or truth; hard to tell which is more bitter.
"Explain yourself, Nicola. Make this make sense," Uncle rasps out. "What proof do you have? Because you came in here, barged into my home with the men that are loyal to the enemy."
I meet his gaze. "I know you don't want to believe, but your own son is ready to kill you for power and money. Despite that, he has regained your favor while I'm cast out. After everything I've done to fix their fuck ups?"
"You're delusional," Sal cries out. "Father, don't listen to this faggot. He's trying to turn you against me."
The slur hangs in the air like a poisonous cloud. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. My anger is hot and vivid and I can almost picture it.
Tony's voice is dangerous as he speaks to me, "You're a disgrace to the family, Nicola."
Needing something to ground me, I glance at Vlad, his hand still casually resting on that gun on his thigh. He seems so calm, so collected that it makes me so jealous. How does he manage to control his emotions? No wonder Solovey is a name the entire world is scared of. You never know what he's thinking. But I don't have the time to guess. I focus on my uncle. "Is it so important right now whom I choose to be with?" I ask bitterly. "We have more pressing matters at hand. Look where we're at. If you're going to let your prejudice win, then the Morelli family will die with you. Is that what you want for Aunt Chiara? For Viola? They will have no protection."
As if on cue, Vlad's burner buzzes. Everyone's heads are turned to him as he checks the screen.
"Open the door," he tells one of his men.
The Hellhound does as asked but the handle doesn't budge.
Vlad turns to Claudio. "How does it work?"
"It's not safe," the consigliere protects. "I wouldn't."
There's noise on the other side, voices shouting, fists pounding.
"Open the goddamned door!" Vlad repeats louder. "Or I will blow your brains out."
Claudio moves nimbly across the room and paws at the wall, pulling something down. It's hard to see what exactly he's doing since the light is scarce.
The door slides open, creating an entryway in the wall.
Ivan and Hector burst into the room, dragging a bloodied body between them.
The door closes just as fast.
My hand instinctively grips the cold metal of my gun, hidden in the holster close to my body. The weight of it reminds me of the dark path I've chosen to follow. Despite my aversion to firearms, I know I have no choice but to use it if shit hits the fan.
"Caught this pendejo , boss," Hector grits out, addressing Vlad.
Vlad rises from his chair, and stalks toward the guy Ivan and Hector have pinned down. He pulls off the man's mask, grabs his short hair to angle up his face, and studies him. Seemingly satisfied with his inspection, Vlad then glances over at me. A silent question passes between us. Do I know this man?
I offer a slight shake of my head. No, I don't.
Vlad jerks his chin as Ivan yanks at the man's sleeve. The tattoo there is unmistakable—dark ink snaking across tanned skin—a mark of Toro's pack. Yet again, La Alianza's poison oozes into our world.
Rage boils in my veins. My gaze snaps to Salvatore. He's turning shades lighter than paper, sweat dotting his brow. Cowardice coats his aura in rancid fear; he looks ready to collapse under its weight… or piss himself.
I'd gladly watch him succumb to either one.
For once he seems lost for words and I'm low-key enjoying it.
The house is still under attack. I can hear the shots in the distance. And by now, Uncle's own men are part of the game. But we have no time really, and Vlad wastes none of it.
"Talk," he growls. "What do you know about who sent you and why?"
Silence.
"Fine." Vlad cracks his knuckles, and before anyone even has a chance to grasp what would happen next, he sends his fist into the man's jaw. The man's head snaps backward first from the force of the blow, then lolls forward. He coughs, blood spattering the carpet beneath our feet.
"I'll keep hitting until your eyeballs pop," Vlad hisses out, dropping into a crouch for a moment. "So you better tell us who hired you and for what purpose."
"Kill the old man," the assassin rasps out, his hollow eyes swim over to Tony slumped in the chair.
More silence but this one is different in quality. Loaded and menacing.
"Here's the proof you wanted, Uncle," I grit out.
Tony only makes an unintelligible sound that neither denies nor confirms that he understands what is happening.
"Who sent you?" Vlad asks the assassin.
"El Jefe," the man rasps, pointing a finger at Salvatore. "He talked to El Jefe. I saw him." Pause. "But he wasn't the one calling the sho—"
Bam!
The bullet whizzes by, a whisper of death in my ears. My heart jumps into my throat. I don't know why the first thing that comes to mind is protecting Vlad, but he's already pulled out his Glock, and we are all frozen, watching blood pooling from the hole in the assassin's forehead. The body crumples, gravity reclaiming it with a lifeless thump.
I whirl around, still reeling from shock, and see Claudio, Uncle's fucking consigliere, standing in the shadows and holding a gun.
Fucker!
"Why?" I demand. "He was talking."
Tony's shook. He hasn't uttered a single word. I can't tell what's going on in his head. Hell, I can't tell what's going on in mine.
"To make sure he doesn't reveal the identity of the second man, right?" Vlad says, voice cold. He signals to Ivan and Ivan quickly disarms Claudio by twisting the consigliere's arm behind his back. The gun clutters to the floor.
And then it hits me.
The other Italian.
"Tell me it wasn't you, you fucking cunt," I hiss out, marching over to Claudio.
Salvatore starts laughing all of a sudden. "Shakespeare would get a kick out of this family drama," he snorts out, mostly to himself.
I halt in front of the man I've known my entire life, the man I considered my other uncle. "Why?"
For the first time in twenty years, Claudio's eyes are unrecognizable. His lips form a sneer. "You're still too weak and too dumb to guess, Nicola. And if that's the case, then you're not the best fit for the job. You should stop here."
" Smettila! " Tony's command in Italian shuts down all conversations in the room.
Seconds tick by. Even the rest of the house is quiet. No one dares to speak until Claudio finally breaks the silence. "You want to know why, Tony, my friend…Your sons are useless, and Nico... he's too soft. He doesn't have what it takes to take over. I'm sure you understand I'm the best choice for the job but your pride and your attachment to your blood, even if it's rotten, would never allow you to do what's necessary to keep this kingdom going."
The sting of betrayal is painful. The kind of pain that digs into your bones.
"Shut your dirty mouth," Tony's voice is rough and tired but every ounce of hate he meant to include is felt and heard by every single person in this room.
"Take him away," he mutters, barely holding himself upright.
Ivan and one of the Hellhounds manhandle Claudio first. When he's gone, the other two Hellhounds drag Salvatore out of the room too. Unlike Claudio, my cousin tries to put up a fight, yelling that it's not safe yet.
"Good," I shout at him pettily. "Maybe you'll finally catch a bullet."
"Fuck you! You cocksucking homo!"
"Fuck you too!"
Tony's men pour into the room before we close the door. They grab the dead body and carry it out. Everyone including Vlad is hassled out and I'm one foot in the corridor when the old man beckons me with a quick flick of his wrist.
"You stay," he mutters. "And close the door."
I do as he says, pull the lever to seal us off, then turn around and stride away from the entrance and into the center of the room.
We stare at each other for a while. Tony looks older, more fragile than I've ever seen him.
The silence is heavy with unvoiced emotions.
"Let's talk, nephew," he finally grits out.