Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
NICO
I wait in the public park with Destiny. She absentmindedly braids her hair, looking across at a group of other kids around her age as if they were a different species. Destiny doesn’t come to this area of the city much. She rarely leaves the few blocks of her apartment building. I thought it’d be good to give her a change of scenery, though.
“Is this lady legit?” she asks.
“She’s a skilled photographer,” I reply.
“But she’s not going to like try to be my best friend or talk to me like I’m an idiot. I don’t need a mommy.”
“She won’t push it, Destiny. But you’re only thirteen. It’s okay to be a kid sometimes.”
She looks at me with the bleak hopelessness in her eyes I’ve seen too often. “You’re living in a dreamworld if you think that, man. Those kids, over there, with their nine-to-five moms, knowing where their dinner’s coming from, they’re kids. Not me. I haven’t been a kid for a long time.”
“I disagree,” I tell her. “But I know better than to argue with you. I’ll probably wake up with my house covered in art, eh?”
She laughs, then seems pissed at herself for laughing. “You’re all right, Mr. Barberi.”
“You’re not bad yourself, Destiny. Ah—here’s my…” I hesitate for a beat too long. “Niece.” Arriana is wearing a form-hugging winter jacket. I’m not sure if all her outfits caress her curvy shape or if it’s just me hungrily seeing her shape no matter what she’s wearing. The cold has flushed her cheeks; her hands are in her pockets to keep them warm.
From our texting, it’s clear we’re silently agreeing to let whatever passed between us, well, pass. I called her Arriana. She called me uncle. We don’t need to have a conversation about it to know what we both mean. Considering I’m meeting with the Don later, it’s even more important to maintain my marriage lie. Any slipup could mean death—as if I needed more reasons not to fantasize about Arria’s kissable lips.
“Hey,” Arriana says, offering me a small smile, then turning to Destiny. “Hello. I’m Arria.”
“Destiny.” She stands and offers her hand. “Cool to meet you, I guess.”
“My uncle says you’re interested in photography,” Arria says as they shake hands.
Destiny shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know.”
A lot of these kids have the same combination of characteristics. When you get to know them, they’re self-assured, cocky. But when meeting people, they’re withdrawn, almost as if they assume the person is judging them.
“Why don’t we take a walk through the park?” Arria says. “I’ve got my camera.” She pats the strap of her backpack. “You’re free to take as many photos as you want. Then, if you like, I can touch them up and send them to you. Or we can meet, and I can show you a little about the editing process.”
I watch with pride. She’s good at this. There’s a clear, strong, caring instinct in her.
Destiny smiles despite herself. “Uh, sure. That sounds pretty cool.”
“Let’s get to it, then.” Arria looks at me. “Uncle, do you need to come with us?”
She drives me nuts. I just want to grab her and kiss her. Don’t call me uncle again. “No, it’s fine, Arriana. Just stay where I can see you, just for safety. I trust you, obviously?—”
“Obviously,” she cuts in, raising an eyebrow.
“But it’s policy.”
“Sure.”
I sit on the bench, watching them walk around the park together. They go to a tree on the opposite side, Arria taking out her camera and talking animatedly with Destiny. I can’t help but scan the surroundings, looking for any signs of the mob. No one is following me. No one is watching me. After so many years as an enforcer, I’ve developed an awareness of these things.
It's better that things end this way. Last night, I talked to Lucy about what Arria told me. Lucy’s face went pale. “We need to be more careful.” I didn’t bother telling her, ‘I told you so.’ I’ve got no right to rub it in her face after last night.
In bed, I did something bad, something I knew I shouldn’t have before, during, and after I did it. I let my hand stroke down my body, gripped my cock, and rubbed as I remembered the kiss, the feel of her wet haven, the taste of her lips, the sound of my niece’s moans. I almost get lost in the memory, the fantasy. Thankfully, I hear a horn honk that breaks the spell.
I turn to watch Arria as she takes some photos of Destiny next to a tree. Destiny is going for the tough look, fists clenched, staring off into the distance. Then it’s Arria’s turn. I wander over… or maybe that’s a lie. I walk over because I want to see Arria posing. When I invited her here, it might’ve involved canceling another photographer and consciously choosing to spend more time with her instead of taking the safe route and staying away from her as I should.
I’m a deluded idiot.
Arria leans against the tree. Her lips pout, looking past the camera and right at me. My heart thunders in my chest. She changes position, turns around, and looks over her shoulder. She looks devastatingly beautiful. Then she laughs, and her cuteness overwhelms me. “Was that silly?”
“No,” Destiny and I say at the same time. I stop myself from going on. She wasn’t talking to me.
“It felt silly,” Arria replies.
“Nah, that was actually, like, you were a model or something.” Destiny seems far more comfortable with Arria now. “Do you think we can wait until we meet again for the editing and stuff? It’d be sweet to see that.”
Arria looks at me. “That’s up to my uncle.”
“Yes, sure,” I say, almost through gritted teeth. I remind myself to unclench my jaw at the last second. “So what’d you think, Destiny? Did Arriana do a good job?”
“Yeah, it was awesome. All the lighting and stuff. Where to put the subject and stuff. Really cool.”
“Great—now it’s time to get you home. We’re on the clock, remember? Arriana, do you want a ride?”
She flinches like my question has taken her off-guard. The look she gives me might as well scream, Stop playing games with my head .
“Please,” Destiny says. “We can talk about pictures and stuff on the way back.”
Arria nods. “Yeah, okay.”
We walk to the car. I’m constantly scanning my surroundings. Slowly, I’m becoming certain that I may have overreacted by meeting with Arria and telling her about the mob. I could’ve just let her get on with her life. But what if something had happened? All I need to do is get through this dinner, then I can put this experience behind me. Go on with my life. Go on with my lies. And let her go.
“She was really nice,” Arria says as I drive her home. “Are we okay to be seen together, do you think?”
“Yeah, she is,” I reply. “And honestly, I don’t think anyone’s tailing either you or me. After my dinner with Dominic later, we’ll be free to put this behind us. If anybody saw us now, I’m just an uncle taking his niece home after she helped with some pro bono work. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” she repeats, hugging her arms around herself as if my words have hurt her.
I want to pry, to comfort, to explore. But they’re all terrible instincts. She looks out the window. “Mom had a weird reaction when I mentioned the mob earlier.”
“You mentioned the mob?” I growl.
“Relax—I said nothing about you. All I said was that I’d heard about some muggings, mob-related, and Mom gave Dad a really weird look. I’m not an idiot, Nico. They’re keeping something from me, I suspect. I think you know it, too.”
I say nothing. She turns to me. I can see her out of the corner of my eye, but I keep stubbornly facing forward. I’ve already overstepped the mark by sharing what I did to keep her safe.
“You should forget everything I said. I only told you because of the remote possibility that something might happen. So far, it looks like I overreacted. But better safe than sorry.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “But I can’t just let this go. Did you tell the truth about Aunt Lucy, at least?”
At a red light, I turn and stare at Arria. She’s looking at me with wide, gorgeous eyes. There’s a hint of desperation in her expression. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if we’d betrayed her aunt. It’s another reason she’s so captivating to me.
“Yes. We’re not a real marriage.”
“You had to fake it for the mob, right?” she presses.
“Who told you that?”
“I already told you—I’m not an idiot. It’s the only reason you’d have this elaborate scheme.”
“I don’t want to get you involved more than I have to,” I mutter.
“I’m already involved. I was involved the second I assaulted a mob boss!” she exclaims.
“He’s not the boss. He’s the boss’s son, a little prick, and I’m proud of you for standing up to him.”
She smiles. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Even if it’s caused all this mess?”
“Yes, Arria.”
“I thought it was Arriana , now?”
A car behind us honks its horn. The light has changed, and I hadn’t even noticed; all my attention focused on her. “Don’t be such a smartass.”
I pull away from the light. Arria goes one, “Destiny really respects you. She was singing your praises. Apparently, everybody in her neighborhood respects you. You’ve done a lot of good, Nico.”
“I’d better have. I’ve got a lot of making up to do.”
“That stuff you told me… your old life.” She audibly swallows. “What did you do?”
“We don’t need to talk about this.”
“But maybe I want to know.”
“You want me to give you reasons to hate me?”
She snaps, “Even if that was true, wouldn’t that be a good thing? Us hating each other? It’s better than the alternative.”
I sigh heavily. “Fine, if you want to know. Dominic used me as a battering ram against other crime families and, a few times, the Cartel. I always refused to hurt women or children or civilians—men who weren’t involved in the criminal underworld. When you enter this life, you sign a metaphorical waiver. I agreed to do violence. Anyone who used violence against me. Those were the men I killed.”
My tone has become harsher. Dark. Maybe I’m trying to scare her. Hell, maybe I agree with her. It’d be better if she despised me.
“Kuh-killed,” she says.
I can’t even look at her. She probably imagined that the Savior never got his hands dirty or that this all fit into a neat box of civilization. We’re from different worlds. More specifically, I’m from hell. And she’s too damn heavenly for me.
“Killed,” I growl. “Don’t you see, Arria? That’s just another reason this could never work. We’re not built from the same stuff. We’re not from the same place. I did what I did for my parents—and it didn’t end up mattering, anyway. Sometimes, I try to tell myself it’s all okay because the men I killed were bad, bad people. They’d done terrible things. They didn’t live by the same rules as I did with women and kids. But blood is blood.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her judging me. She’s trying to hide it, but her eyes don’t lie. She’s staring at me as if she doesn’t know what species I am. That’s good—that’s right.
“So forget about the kiss. Forget about everything else. That’s who I am. I’m not a savior. I’m not a Good Samaritan. I’m a cold-blooded enforcer, Nico the Nightmare and Barberi the Barbarian. I’m a savage. An animal.”
“Don’t say that.” She puts her hand on my arm, her touch transmitting support and warmth unlike anything I’ve ever felt. “You did what you had to do. I’m right, aren’t I? About the marriage? It has something to do with the mob.”
“The Don took an interest in your aunt. She was terrified of him, and she had every right to be. He’s not a good man. She came to me, and I did my best.”
“You helped her when you didn’t have to,” she whispers, but I can hear her just fine.
“Don’t turn me into a good person,” I grind out.
“Don’t turn yourself into a devil, then,” she quips right back.
“You need to remove your hand.”
She tightens her grip. I can feel her fingernails clinging to me desperately. “Why?” she asks breathlessly.
I keep driving, somehow, but it takes an intense effort. “Because your hand feels too good. It makes me think a bunch of things, Arria, that I shouldn’t be thinking.”
Again, she grips me tighter. “Like… what?”
In the pause, she begins to breathe heavily.
“You don’t want to ask me that.”
“But I just did.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” I snap. “I’m not a good person. Because of what I did before. And because of what I want to do to you—I want to take you to a hotel, book a suite, and tear off your clothes. I want to devour your soaked, inexperienced pussy, lick your clit, your hole, all of you. Make you wild. Soak for me. Then—oh, fuck—I want to drive my dick inside of you. Just the thought of you is making me hard. I’ll fuck you like the goddamn savage I am. I’ll fuck you so that your big perfect tits bounce up and down for me and your cheeks are flushed in that beautiful way I like. I want to bury my face in your tits, greedily sucking, kissing, as I pound into you even deeper.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers as if she’s going to come just from my words—as if she doesn’t even need to touch herself. “Then what?”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“You’re making me crazy,” she whimpers.
“You are crazy if you just learned who and what I am and still want me to keep going.”
She wriggles in her seat. The city glides by past the windows. I keep going—not even sure how I manage it. My rod is solid, flush with my seed, thick from the tension. How does she do this to me?
“Are you getting wet right now? ” I growl.
“Hmm,” she whispers. “What were you saying?”
“I’d fuck you. Hard. I’d kiss and suck your nipples. Then I’d let the mafia barbarian come out. My dark side would emerge. I’d bend you over and stare down at your juicy, plump ass. I’d spank your roundness, make you red for me, and then spank you again. With each spank, I’d be pulling you closer and closer to my dark side. Then I’d shove my dick inside you. By then, your virgin slit would be so fucking ready for me. I’d sink all the way in, your ass flush against my hips, making you look even more perfectly fucking—fucking— juicy …”
I’m gasping, trembling. She’s shaking, too. It’s like we’re both going to explode.
At another red light, I turn to her and find her staring at me. “What if I said take me somewhere now?”
“Don’t,” I snap. “We’re not thinking straight. We turn each other into animals.”
“What if I enjoy being an animal?”
“I have to be the mature one.” Hating and respecting myself for forcing these words out. “I want to make my dick soaked with your pussy’s wetness, then fuck your tits, followed by your tight hole, then explode inside of you, fill your body with my release, fucking flood you with it. I want to spank you, own your curviness. But we can’t. ”
“Hmm.” She wriggles again like she wants the friction of the seat if she can’t get anything else. “We should stop. Saying stuff. Like this. Then.”
“I know,” I groan. “Take your hand off me. Christ. I’m going to explode.”
“Stop it,” she whispers. “What’s wrong with us?”
“Everything,” I mutter. “Everything is wrong with us.”