44. Nico
CHAPTER 44
NICO
The aroma of fresh ciabatta and sharp espresso blend with the lingering scent of Vlad's cologne while we're seated on the terrace of his home the following morning. Sunlight–first in days–dances over the polished table set before us. Its surface is a canvas of indulgence prepared by some chef he hired—far superior than any hotel could offer, he claimed.
Frankly speaking, I didn't want to eat at the hotel either for security reasons. With the Morelli family in a bind, all the vermin will start to crawl out of their hiding places, trying to grab a piece. And who's to say I can't be that piece?
"I've always wanted to expand Uncle's business into Atlantic City," I muse, spreading a thick layer of fig jam on my toast and smiling under my nose like a lovesick idiot. "The market's ripe. And I have a buddy there." I let the idea dangle in the air, waiting to hear what Vlad says.
We haven't really discussed what happens next. All that's clear at the moment is that I'm a free agent and I'm his man and he's mine.
When no answer follows, I lift my gaze from my food and look at him, wondering if I allowed my imagination to run wild. Vlad's a picture of composure, seated in his chair, sipping on his espresso, his eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond my shoulder.
"Vlad?"
He nods absentmindedly. "Mm."
I pause, thrown off by his lack of enthusiasm. "Are you listening?"
"Yes. Legitimate ventures. Diversification of portfolio," he repeats some of my earlier sentiments.
"Any interest in going to Atlantic City with me?"
Another nod, another noncommittal grunt. Just then his phone buzzes and he grabs it immediately, checking the message with a tight frown.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies without looking at me.
No, he's not okay.
"Hey, caro ," I say softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. "How about taking a trip together? Just the two of us, somewhere far away from all this? Even for a few days."
Vlad's gaze finally meets mine as he rests the phone–screen down–next to his plate. There's a distance there that makes my chest ache. "That's not practical right now, Nico."
"Why not?" I press, desperate to break through his icy facade I can't explain. Last night he was the very opposite. But something changed between then and now. "We've earned a break, haven't we? Besides, now that I'm no longer part of the family, I need to make my own way. I'll be very busy. I want to spend some time with you before things get crazy."
Vlad sighs, pushing his barely-touched plate away. "There's too much work to be done."
I study his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the tight set of his jaw. Realization dawns, bitter on my tongue.
"What's wrong?" I ask, though I already know the answer. "What's wrong, really?"
He shakes his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Just thinking. Everything's fine."
Liar, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. Of course, he's not fine. Shtyk is still out there, the bastard haunting Vlad's every waking moment. The man who killed his mother. He's still breathing, still free. And I haven't heard an update from Costa, which worries me too.
Just wait a little longer, my love , I think, watching as Vlad rises abruptly to his feet. I'll get him for you. I'll do whatever it takes to bring you peace.
"We should leave," Vlad says, his voice cold, authoritative. "Let's get this over with."
What he means is we need to return the Brazilian shipment to Tony before Armenians kill us all one by one for delaying their cut so much and making a mess of this matter.
* * *
The truck rumbles beneath us, a steady vibration that only heightens the worry in my gut. Vlad's hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, gaze fixed on the endless stretch of road ahead. The silence between us is oddly oppressive, not the kind of silence I'd expect from him after last night.
There's a moment there that I almost believe that he didn't want it. Didn't want what he let me to do to him because he felt guilty for the clusterfuck that happened at my uncle's place. But then I remember who he is. He is a Solovey. He's not that man who'll submit just to stroke my ego.
It's something else.
Shtyk .
I glance at him for the hundredth time, trying to decipher his thoughts.
"You're awfully quiet today," I venture, attempting to break the suffocating silence.
Vlad grunts, another evasive sound that tells me nothing.
I try again. "I thought Ivan would come along for this."
"I gave him another assignment," Vlad replies curtly, not bothering to look at me.
The desert stretches out around us, a bleak wasteland that mirrors the emptiness growing in my chest. The land is still wet in spots but the wind has already dried most of it. Behind us, I know the Hellhounds follow in another vehicle. Seven's in the back of the truck with the goods. The only reason Vlad's driving himself is because this should be a routine transfer. Still, the air feels charged, like the calm before another storm.
"Vlad… " I start, then hesitate. What can I say? That I'm worried? That I feel like I'm losing him with every mile we drive?
He finally glances at me, his gray eyes filled with emotions I can't understand. I just know that it's intense, this look he gives me before he shifts his focus back to the road.
His hand, however, warm and large and so familiar, reaches out and grabs mine. His grasp is tight, almost painful as if he is terrified of losing me and I return the gesture. Squeeze my fingers around his hard.
I open my mouth, then close it again, wanting to tell him the things I never told him last night. The stupid forbidden L word. But it dies on my tongue the moment the structure I'm anticipating to see appears on the horizon.
I'll tell him after we get rid of the coke, once and for all. After we make the drugs Tony's problem, not mine.
I'll tell him what he already knows, what he already feels.
I'll tell him when we're finally free.
The structure grows bigger as tires keep eating the road beneath us. It snakes past the untamed desert vegetation until it reaches the lot where a large building stands. It's not supposed to be here. I'm more than familiar with all the Morelli real estate. Legit and otherwise, including the shell companies. This here, this bit, is just a chunk of land on paper that belongs to Outer Ventures Inc. The warehouse, of course, is a hive of illicit activities our family has been engaging in for decades. They get erected, then knocked down, then erected again on another lot.
But like I said, anything that has to do with Tony Morelli will no longer be of concern to me after I return what belongs to him.
Vlad gives me one last squeeze before grabbing the wheel with both hands. He hits the brakes and pulls up short of the entrance, the truck's engine idling. The Hellhounds' vehicle stops behind us, and I hear car doors slamming, boots crunching on gravel.
I stare at the weathered building and its open gate as it yawns before us like a huge, hungry mouth. Several male silhouettes swim into focus as they appear from the inside of the building.
Vlad doesn't say anything. He finally kills the engine and steps out of the truck. Unease growing, I follow him out. The desert heat hits me like a physical force. The air, so heavy after that downpour, shimmers, distorting the landscape into something alien and threatening.
Isn't it safer to drive in?
The question burns on my lips, but Vlad's rigid posture warns me against asking. Instead, I watch as his Hellhounds fan out, their movements precise and practiced. They are a well-oiled machine.
As we get closer to the warehouse entrance, Tony's men also move in. Despite the sweltering temperature, most of them are dressed formally in suits or at least slacks and dress shirts. Uncle has always emphasized the importance of maintaining a professional appearance.
I recognize one of my uncle's lieutenants, Rinaldo, his shriveled face as hard and unforgiving as the desert rock. I have no idea how old he is. He's been around ever since I could remember myself.
" Buongiorno, Rinaldo ," I call out, my voice carrying a confidence I don't entirely feel. " Tutto bene? "
Rinaldo's eyes narrow, flicking between Vlad and me. "Let's get this over with, Nicola." He makes a point to spit on the ground while glaring at me. I know what that old-school bastardo thinks of me. I don't give a fuck.
I gesture at the truck. "Would you like to inspect the goods?"
Rinaldo jerks his chin, and one of his men moves toward the vehicle. Vlad bangs his fist on the doors and Seven swings them open from the inside. Rinaldo's man climbs in and scrutinizes the boxes, then pulls out a pocket knife and cuts the top on the box nearest to the edge.
Vlad is standing off to the side, his arms crossed on his chest, his face harsh, every line wound so tight. He only breaks the pose to glance at his wristwatch once.
I observe as Rinaldo's man pulls out a bag and lifts it to the sun sneaking inside the truck. He studies the white powder while I keep my expression neutral. This is just business as usual. Rinaldo's guy will make sure the coke is indeed Brazilian and hasn't been tempered with and we're off. Tony will deal with the Armenians and his suppliers after that.
The knife's blade catches the light as the man slices the bag open. He dips the tip into the powder, bringing it to his tongue. I wait as he tastes it.
His face contorts. He spits, hurling the bag to the ground. " Che cazzo è questo? " he snarls, rounding on me. "You think we're idiots, you little shit?"
My blood runs cold despite the heat. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's sugar, you stronzo !" he roars in Italian. "Are you trying to play us for fools?"
Sugar?
That's impossible!
My hands and knees shake as I jump into the back of the truck and snatch another bag, tearing it open. White spills onto my fingers. I bring them to my mouth, tasting—
Sweet. Sickeningly sweet.
My stomach lurches. I spin to where Vlad was standing just a minute ago.
But he is no longer rooted to the spot. His frame lingers in the background now.
Seven is no longer inside the truck either. He's gone and I didn't even notice.
The Hellhounds have their guns trained on the Italians.
My mind reels. What the fuck is going on? The thoughts strobe like emergency lights but no answer follows.
Rinaldo's eyes bulge, his hand inching towards his waistband.
"I wouldn't," Vlad's voice cuts through the air, ice-cold.
"We agreed to return the shipment to my uncle," I croak like an irrelevant dumbass who is the only one not getting what's happening here. I jump off the truck and the moment my feet collide with the ground, Hector and Marco are at my sides, restraining me.
Vlad's gaze meets mine, eyes devoid of warmth or any familiarity. "Sorry, I changed my mind, Morelli."
The casual use of my last name slices so deep I don't think I can breathe. It's like I'm talking to a stranger.
"Are you fucking serious?" I lunge forward, but strong hands hold my arms.
Vlad glances at his watch while I'm trying to put together the sudden puzzle. My vision blurs, the desert landscape warping into a surreal nightmare and the world pinpoints to him and him only.
"Stop!" I shout at him. "Fucking stop and explain yourself, asshole!" There's still hope in me, hope that this is some kind of trick, and to make it look realistic, Vlad and his men chose not to tell me now. He'll tell me later. Just like I'll tell him the things I've been wanting to tell him since yesterday.
"I don't need to explain myself to you," Vlad replies loudly over the distance noise of what sounds like a car engine. "I'm keeping the drugs."
"After last night?" I cry out. I know I sound desperate, but I don't think I have it in me to be strong now. "You did all that, pretended to fucking care for me, so you could get your hands on the Morelli merch? After everything you let me do to you?"
Vlad's expression doesn't waver. "Business is business, Nicola. You should know that by now."
My chest constricts, each breath a battle. "Why?" I manage to choke out.
"Because I can," Vlad replies.
The world tilts on its axis. His words twist my gut, and puncture my lungs.
A cloud of dust billows in the distance, growing larger by the second. The roar of an engine fills the space all around me. A sports car skids to a stop in front of the warehouse, and I catch a glimpse of Ivan's grim face. He's behind the wheel.
"Let's get out of here," Vlad says, already moving toward the vehicle. The passenger door swings open and closes, the car swallowing him up.
Marco and Hector release me right when the crack of gunfire splits the air. One of Tony's men has drawn his weapon, desperation overriding common sense. The Hellhounds respond in kind, transforming the quiet desert into a war zone.
Vlad's eyes meet mine one last time through the windshield, and for a split second, I think I see a splash of... something. Regret? Pain? But then it's gone, replaced by that impenetrable mask. The mask he had on when I met him and the mask he's put back up now that he's leaving me.
"Down!" one of Tony's men orders, emerging from out of nowhere to shove me to the ground. I don't have it in me to fight. I simply drop on my belly, face in dirt. For a second it feels like I'm surrounded by a rain of lead. I hear the dull thud of bullets striking the truck filled with worthless sugar. A mockery of the sweetness I'd tasted on Vlad's lips just hours ago.
"Damn you, Vlad!" I scream his name, my voice lost in the noise and Rinaldo's orders to stop shooting. "Damn you!" My fist hits the ground and when I lift my gaze, the car Ivan's driving is already peeling away, kicking up a cloud of dirt and gravel and broken promises. The Hellhounds retreat to their own vehicle.
And me, I'm stranded in no-man's-land between two warring factions, numb and completely destroyed.
What registers through the dust is the setting sun painting the sky in shades of blood and fire right before the world plunges into the darkness. It feels fitting. Whatever light Vlad had brought into my life has been extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, bitter emptiness in its wake.