42. Vlad
CHAPTER 42
VLAD
The drumming of raindrops against the roof and window panes fills my home office with monotonous noise that otherwise would help me concentrate. But not tonight. The numbers on my laptop's screen blur into one as I scan the spreadsheet once more. Somewhere in the background, Ivan is droning over the phone in Russian.
Tired of trying to distract myself from what happened earlier at the Morelli's, I shut the laptop closed and lean back in my chair. I pick up the tumbler from the desk and absently swirl the whiskey. Ivan ends the call.
"We've located the compound in Guanajuato," he reports in Russian, his tone professional and unbothered.
"Good," I mutter under my nose while my mind keeps coming back to Nico. Is he okay? Will he survive this?
"Entry will be a challenge, but not impossible," Ivan adds. "My team is strategizing the best approach as we speak."
I nod, my gaze drifting to the rivulets of water cascading down the window, like tears shed by an evening sky. The carnage at the Morelli mansion seems to have unleashed a real storm, both outside and within.
"Keep me updated on the progress," I tell Ivan, my voice distant even to my own ears. "We need to mo—"
The buzzing of my phone interrupts my train of thought. I glance at the screen. It's my head of perimeter security.
" Da ?" I answer.
"Mr. Solovey, Nicola Morelli has just arrived at the gate. Shall we let him through?"
Anticipation sparks in my chest, momentarily pushing aside the weight of the day's events. "Yes, send him in. Thank you." I'm about to end the call, but then I say, "And Grigori."
"Mr. Solovey?"
"Don't stop Nicola Morelli if he comes. Just let him pass. He already has the entry codes."
"Understood, Mr. Solovey."
I hang up, meeting Ivan's questioning gaze with one of my own furious counter-stares.
"The Italian?" he asks, a hint of disapproval lacing his words.
"You can go, Ivan," I say. "We'll continue tomorrow."
Ivan hesitates, as if wanting to voice his concerns, but ultimately thinks better of it. He nods curtly. "As you wish. And regarding the matter we were discussing… I'll have an updated report from my guys ready by morning."
As he turns to leave, I can't miss the tension in his shoulders, an indication of his unspoken reservations about my involvement with Nico. But there are some things even Ivan cannot understand—the inexplicable pull that draws me to Nicola Morelli. The sense of connection I feel to him defies all logic and reason.
The rain continues to fall as Ivan pauses at the doorway, his hand resting on the polished wood frame. "I don't like it, Vladimir," he affirms in his gruff voice. "Allowing a Morelli into your private home... it's a risk we can't afford."
I meet his gaze once more, my expression impassive. "Your concerns are noted, Ivan. But my personal life is not up for discussion."
A muscle twitches in Ivan's jaw, but he knows better than to push the issue further. With a polite tip of his chin, he exits the office.
I sit at my desk, waiting. My heart pounding a relentless beat.
I hadn't expected Nico to show up tonight. He's got more important matters to handle at the Morelli place. Still, he's here. And I don't know how I feel about this.
There's a knock. The heavy office door opens, and Nico steps inside.
"Hey, Ivan said you'd be here," he begins.
I take in his appearance, allowing myself this small indulgence of simply studying him. He's dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, a light brown jacket is thrown over his shoulders. Raindrops cling to his dark hair, only making them wave more across his forehead. There's something seductive in the way he looks—normal. The raindrops are a nice touch.
I rise from my chair, unable to control myself. I'm not sure how much time I have left with him. These things in our world never last no matter how badly people want to be together. And that's my only desire right now. To be with him. It beats all other logical needs and ambitions.
"Nico," I breathe, closing the distance between us in a few strides. "What are you doing here?"
He turns away from me, raking a hand through his hair, and glancing outside through the window.
"What's wrong?" I ask, taking another step forward to remove all space between us altogether.
He tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine, Vlad. Just... exhausted."
I reach out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The raindrops on his skin are cool beneath my fingertips, so contrasting to the strange broken heat of his gaze. "You're not fine," I murmur, my voice softening. "Talk to me. What happened with Tony?"
Nico's jaw clenches, and for a second, I think he might pull away. But then he exhales, his shoulders slumping. "It's complicated," he says, his voice a rough whisper. "Uncle, he... he wants things from me that I'm not sure I can give."
A sense of unease settles in the pit of my stomach. "What things?"
Nico shakes his head, his gaze drifting to the rain-streaked windows. "It doesn't matter." His hands come to rest on my chest. "Can we just... forget about everything else for a while?"
"Something happened, didn't it?" I murmur.
"I don't want to think about it right now." The tremor in his voice betrays him. He wrenches himself out of my grasp. "I knew coming here was a mistake." He heads for the door, yanking at the handle.
I'm after him. It's an impulse. It's like I feel him slipping through my fingers already, but I'm desperately trying to hold on to the last bit. Even if the inevitable is right around the corner.
"Come on, Nico!" I cry out, stalking down the hallway.
He enters the main room and this is where I catch up to him, grabbing his arm.
He jerks away. A hurtful motion.
"You know that everything that concerns your uncle concerns me too, right?" I say, steeling my voice. "So stop being a fucking child and tell me what happened?"
Nico halts to a stop in the middle of the living room. "I don't need you patronizing me," he hisses out, shoving his index finger into my chest.
"You're forgetting my men are still working overtime to make sure the Brazilian shipment is safe. The Armenians are impatient. They've been sending their muscle here almost every night. Body parts will fly soon if we don't make a decision."
His anger seems to dissipate slightly at this reminder. In a blink, he's at the bar, pouring himself a tumbler of whatever is open with shaking hands. He throws it back in one desperate gulp. The glass hits the bar with a harsh clink.
I step closer and ask carefully, "Should we return it to your uncle?"
Nico's knuckles go white around the glass. "I… I don't know."
Gently, I take his face in my hands, turning him to look at me. Anguish swims in those eyes I know so well. "Nico, talk to me. Please."
He takes a shuddering breath. "Tony gave me a choice. Leave you… and I gain control of everything once he's retired. The whole Morelli empire."
My pulse roars in my ears as the pieces click into place with sickening clarity. This is what Tony wanted. This is the wedge he would drive between us.
Deep down I knew it. But I refused to believe it.
I search Nico's tormented expression. The silence stretches, heavy with questions held back. With emotions that threaten to swallow me.
In this breathless, aching moment, I realize I am more terrified of his answer than anything I have ever faced. Because losing him… losing him would be a wound I could never survive.
Instead, I suck in the air through my teeth and try to breathe, try to control the narrative before it controls me.
"Do you want to accept his offer?" I brush my thumb over Nico's chin as I speak. "I won't stop you if that's what you choose."
Something flashes across his face and I see tears welling in those blue eyes. "I can't, Vlad. I… I can't leave you."
His voice breaks on the words, and it takes every ounce of my self-discipline not to pull him into my arms and tell him to screw Tony and his offer. We'd be okay ruling my empire. Instead, I ask softly, "Why, Romeo?"
Nico's gaze locks with mine, raw. "You know why, Hot Shot." He smiles bitterly. "You feel it too, don't you? This thing between us… it's real. It's always been real."
My heart clenches at his confession. He's got more guts than I do. He said it out loud. And for that, he has my respect. Slowly, I trail my fingers along his jawline, savoring the rasp of stubble against my skin. "Then perhaps it's time we stop pretending otherwise."
His eyes darken. "Perhaps you're right."
I lean in, our mouths a whisper apart, and I inhale this moment—right before the kiss—the electrical currents running between our bodies. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. You hear me, Father? There's nothing wrong with feeling so good. "Let me worship you," I purr in his ear. "If you want to forget, I can make that happen."
Nico surges forward, capturing my lips in an unexpected, bruising kiss. I pull him to me, trying to fill every bit of space around me with him, as much of him as I can.
His fingers find the buttons of my shirt, undoing them with practiced ease like we've done this before a hundred times. I shrug out of the garment, not breaking the kiss for a moment. Nico's hands roam over my chest, setting my skin ablaze.
I walk him backward until his legs hit the couch. We tumble down onto the cushions. Nico looks up at me, hair mussed and lips swollen, desire burning in his gaze. "You were always so good at distracting me from reality."
"I didn't hear you complaining then. You better not start complaining now," I husk against his neck.
"Who said I'm complaining." He laughs gently, arching beneath me and grinding his hips against mine in a wordless plea.
I make quick work of his jeans, tugging them down his lean legs and tossing them aside. Nico's hand slips into my pants, finding my cock and stroking it with purpose.
Pleasure sparks through my veins like lightning, and I groan. "Keep that up and this will be over far too soon, detka ."
"Then we can do it all over again."
And for these next few hours, as the rain lashes against the windows, all that exists is Nico. And I worship every inch of his body, show him just how deeply he has branded himself onto my very soul.
I let myself believe that we can have this. That somehow, someway, this connection we share will be enough.
Even if I know, deep down, that it's the most dangerous lie of all.
* * *
The morning sun filters through the rain-streaked windows of my car as Ivan navigates the hectic city streets. My mind is still clouded with memories of the previous night—Nico's heated skin against mine, the taste of his lips, the way he shuddered and gasped my name as I brought him to the brink of ecstasy again and again.
But reality has a way of intruding, and today's errands demand my attention. Meetings with suppliers, builders, and real estate agents fill my schedule, each one a carefully orchestrated move in the ever-shifting chess game of power and control in this city.
As we pull into the parking lot of the real estate office for my next appointment, a black limo suddenly blocks our path. Ivan's posture stiffens. I catch his eyes in the mirror as they narrow at the vehicle, assessing the potential threat.
Neither car moves after a few moments tick by.
"What is this, Ivan?" I ask.
He honks, then grunts out without turning to me, "Stay here. I'll check it out."
I nod, watching as Ivan climbs out of the car and approaches the limo with cautious steps. His hand hovers near the concealed holster at his waist, ready to draw his weapon at a moment's notice.
The back door of the limo swings open, and a man in a crisp black suit emerges. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with a face that betrays nothing. Ivan seemingly exchanges a few terse words with him.
Then Ivan gestures for the man to follow him back to my vehicle. Unease prickles along my spine as they approach, and I roll down my window, fixing the stranger with an analyzing stare. I don't know him.
"Mr. Solovey," the man greets me, inclining his head slightly. "I have a message from someone who wishes to speak with you. They assure me that they mean you no harm, but they do insist on privacy for this conversation."
I raise an eyebrow, glancing at Ivan. He gives me a barely perceptible tip of his square chin, indicating that he senses no immediate danger. Still, the request is unusual, and my instincts are screaming at me to proceed with caution.
"And who, exactly, is this person who wants to chat?" I ask.
The man's expression remains impassive. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, sir. But I give you my word that you will come to no harm. My employer simply wishes to discuss a matter of great importance with you."
I hesitate, weighing my options. Every fiber of my being rebels against walking into an unknown situation, but something tells me that this isn't a request I can refuse. Not if I want to maintain the upper hand in the deadly game I'm playing.
"Fine," I say at last. "But if this is some kind of trap, I promise you'll regret it."
The man seems unperturbed by my threat. "Like I've mentioned my employer simply wants privacy. Nothing else, Mr. Solovey. Please, follow me."
With a final glance at Ivan, I step out of the car and allow the man to lead me toward the waiting limo. I feel my pulse climbing. Adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream as I prepare myself for whatever lies ahead.
The man gestures for me to get inside. I slide into the limo. The door shuts.
The tint on the windows is thick and it's dark here. I take a second to adjust to the lack of proper light. And when I do, I realize it's an elegant older woman that sits across from me, her hair perfectly coiffed, her brown eyes peeking from under a lace scarf thrown over her head. She wears a tailored black dress, a simple strand of pearls at her throat, and her hands are clasped primly in her lap.
My danger senses spike up immediately. Women are the ones you should fear in this business if you anger them. I don't recollect angering anyone recently except for my Armenian friends and Salvatore Morelli and his goons.
"Do you know who I am, Mr. Solovey?" the woman starts. Her voice is soft, with a faint Italian lilt.
I study her face, searching my memory, but come up empty. I'm not sure I've met her before. "I'm afraid I don't have the pleasure, ma'am."
"I'll forgive you this oversight. I don't get out much these days. Plus we wouldn't be in the same circles. So the fault is mine." A faint smile touches her lips. "You do know my nephew. Quite well, from what I understand."
Realization slams into me. Chiara Morelli. Nico's aunt. The Morelli family matriarch. What the hell is she doing here?
I incline my head, masking my surprise with a veneer of cool politeness. "Mrs. Morelli. I must say this is quite odd. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Chiara's gaze is intent. "Mr. Solovey, I'll come straight to the point. Nico will never leave you. He simply can't. And that's why I'm here to beg you... to leave him instead."
It was as if a sledgehammer had collided with my stomach. Leave Nico? The mere thought is like a knife twisting in my heart even though I know it needs to end someday. I keep my expression carefully neutral, waiting for her to continue.
"Please, Mr. Solovey. Break things off with Nico. Make him believe you no longer want him. Otherwise, what's left of my family will perish." Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "I know you understand what it's like to have a broken family. Isn't that what your father did to you? Don't do the same to us. I'm begging you."
I fight back the surge of old pain and anger at the mention of my father. How dare she bring him into this? She knows nothing about me, about the scars I carry.
But even as I bristle at her presumption, a small part of me understands where she's coming from. The desperation of a woman trying to hold her family together, no matter the cost. Isn't that what I've been doing all these years? Trying to protect the people I love, even if it means sacrificing my own happiness?
But I'm not ready to let go of him just yet.
I need more.
I need reassurance he won't be harmed.
I need better reasons.
"Why should I care about your family when they clearly don't care about Nico?" I ask coldly. "I don't mean any disrespect, Mrs. Morelli but I can take care of him from now on. He doesn't need to be judged and shunned by any of you."
Chiara's face crumples, but she quickly composes herself. "You don't understand," she whispers, her words trembling against each other like branches of the an old, brittle tree in the wind. "Tony has ordered Nico's death if he doesn't leave you."
I stare at her, my mind reeling. Tony would go that far? To kill his own nephew?
"There's another secret I'll tell you," Chiara continues, her eyes haunted. "Tony is battling cancer. No one knows except me and the doctor. He doesn't have much time left. That's why he wants to make sure someone qualified continues to run the family business and in his opinion that's Nico."
I lean back in my seat, stunned. Cancer. The great Tony Morelli, the man who always seemed invincible, is slowly dying. But even that knowledge doesn't soften the blow of her next words.
"But even after Tony is gone, the order still stands." Chiara's slim fingers in her lap are wound so tight now, I'm not sure how she hasn't broken at least one. "If Nico goes back to you, he will be killed."
The world seems to tilt on its axis. I feel like the walls of the limo are closing in on me. Nico's life, forever in danger because of me. How has it even come to this?
I close my eyes, trying to process the gravity of Chiara's revelation. My heart screams at me to fight, to find a way to protect Nico no matter what. But my head knows that as long as I'm in his life, he'll never be safe.
"I understand," I say finally, my voice sounding empty even to my own ears.
"Please, Mr. Solovey. Don't let my nephew perish. I've already lost one son. I don't know where they've taken my youngest and I don't know if I ever see him again. Please."
I can't be inside the limo a second longer. It's suffocating me, sharing that tiny space with this woman, who's an unwilling harbinger of death.
I open the door and step out. The rain immediately soaks through my clothes. But I barely feel it. All I can feel is the agonizing pain in my chest. The Universe is conspiring to tear Nico and me apart no matter what.
As I watch Chiara's limo drive away, I tilt my face up to the cloudy sky, letting the raindrops mask the goddamned tears I refuse to show to Ivan.
And how the hell can I let Nico go, when he's the only thing that makes sense in this crazy, fucked-up world?
But at least now I know what I have to do to keep him safe.