Chapter 22
Aubergine.
While in the Uber on my way home, I made my resolve.
I was going to pack up Nicola’s shit. I was going to call Mike and have him pick it up. I was going to let Dad take over the cleaning jobs. He said he was feeling better. I was going to take his word on that.
I was going to cut all Moretti’s out of my life.
Yeah, I was losing my second income. Alimony payments sucked. But I was surviving. I would be fine.
I stuck my key into the lock, but my front door creaked open before I could turn it.
I frowned.
For one ridiculous second, I thought maybe Nicola had come back.
Maybe he’d decided we weren’t done.
My stupid heart tightened in excitement at the thought, then I pushed it down.
No. I was done.
The door opened as footsteps approached behind me. There were two large men dressed in black that I didn’t recognize.
I looked up at them, slack-jawed, Emotionless, one gestured into the apartment.
“After you,” one of them said.
Every instinct I had screamed at me to run. But I was cornered. There was no way I could shove past them, throw off my heels and run. Fuck.
Of course, I had to wear the stilettos today! I stumbled inside.
An older man sat comfortably on my couch as though he’d been invited, his hands were resting in his lap.
Elegant, impeccably dressed. Silver hair slicked neatly back.
His legs were crossed, with one polished shoe tapping against the floor.
“Sir,” one man behind me said.
The older man looked up. His expression brightened.
“Ah! Aubergine, yes?”
My mouth had gone dry. “What’s happening right now?” I whispered.
He smiled pleasantly as he stood. “Forgive me for intruding on your home. My name is Lorenzo Ferraro.”
He brushed an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve, then folded his hands patiently in front of himself again. “You and I are going to take a trip together.”
My stomach dropped. Hands grabbed my wrists, yanked them behind my back. Plastic bit into my skin.
“Wait–” I barely got the word out before I was shoved to my knees. Fabric covered my eyes. Everything disappeared.
Adrenaline pumped in my system with nowhere to go. My mind blanked.
Oh. Okay.
I was going to die tonight.
Nicola.
The door clicked shut behind Aubergine.
And for a long time, I didn’t move.
Occasionally, the ice would clink quietly, settling in my barely touched whiskey.
Condensation dampened my fingers. I hadn't let go of the glass.
Slowly, I placed it onto my desk. I reached up, loosened my tie. It slipped free from my collar. My jacket followed.
I rose, and walked to the windows overlooking Manhattan.
The city stretched endlessly beneath, the city that everyone insisted belonged to me. Lights. Traffic. People.
I wasn’t actually looking at any of it.
Everything felt numb, surreal.
Aubergine talked to me like I was a monster.
The worst part? She wasn’t wrong.
I closed my eyes. Vividly, I remembered the guys congratulated me when we heard Richie Gallo was in the hospital.
I recalled the gratification, the vindication. I had my proof. He wasn’t good enough for her. That's what I thought.
Aubergine escaped past my territory where she knew I wouldn’t follow. She looked for a person who was the opposite of me.
A ‘nice’ guy. Clean record. A good family. A normal life.
And she still had been hurt. My jaw tightened.
How many times had I done that? Made a decision and expected everyone else to live with it? I was the man in charge, that's how it was supposed to go.
Until Aubergine changed the fucking script on me. I rested one curled fist against the glass pane.
How did you fix something that felt… insurmountable, un-fixable?
My eyes drifted toward my phone sitting on the desk. I stared at it for several seconds, attempting to draft a message in my head.
I didn’t know what I was going to say.
Sorry.
I'll buy you all the vacuums you want.
I can't sleep unless you're there.
None of it mattered. She already told me not to contact her.
A knock sounded at the door. I didn’t know how long I had been standing there, mind blank, but the sound startled me into the present.
It opened, Gio stepped in.
“You taking Aubergine home?” I asked.
He gave no answer.
My brow furrowed.
Michael and Thomas stepped into the office directly behind him. One of them quietly shut the door.
Even with us all gathered, no one spoke. No one moved. They all looked grim.
My blood turned cold, and just before I could snap at someone to speak, Michael did.
“Lorenzo Ferraro took Aubergine.”
I blinked.
Gio took Aubergine home because I told him to. She was at home right now, because that was how I envisioned her in my head. She sat in bed with her arms crossed, pissed at me. But she was safe.
“A Ferarro must’ve seen you two here tonight,” Michael said quietly. “I don’t know. But they were waiting at her apartment before she even got back.”
My eyes darted to Gio. “You… you were supposed to take her home.”
“She’d already left before I found her,” he said quietly. “I looked all over. When I realized she left, I went to her apartment to make sure she made it safe.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Her door handle was broken when I got there. They must’ve forced their way in before she came home.”
He hesitated. “And... her phone and purse were on the floor. It doesn’t look good, Boss.”
Eye for an eye.
For days, I worried Lorenzo would discover what Tommy had done to his grandson.
I worried for my brother's safety. The measures I would go to, the promises I would break to protect him.
Instead… Lorenzo had the fucking audacity to touch her. He made it more personal, more vicious.
She wasn't supposed to be a part of this. A sensation of heat crawled up my spine.
I couldn’t clock it as panic, but it was something familiar... Rage.
The same boundless, frenzied rage I felt when they told me Richie roughed her up. The same rage I carried as I went to his house. I pulled him out of his bed. And I beat the ever loving shit out of him.
I could feel it trying to take over, and at the moment, I welcomed it.
“Where did he take her?” I asked.
Michael nodded toward my desk. “He sent a mass text to you, me and Thomas. Look at your phone.”
I tapped the screen. An unknown number, several unread messages.
I picked it up. My fingers didn’t feel like they were attached to my body as I opened the first.
Don Moretti, I have a proposal.
Tell me which of you killed my grandson.
And I won’t kill her.
Another message.
If you do not answer within twenty-four hours...
My thumb stopped for a fraction of a second.
...she’s dead.
There was one final attachment, a photograph.
My chest was heaving, my vision blackened at the edges.
But I opened it.
Aubergine, still in her dress, was seated on a concrete floor, blindfolded. Her wrists were bound behind her back.
The lighting was dim. Industrial, no windows. Nothing identifiable.
Just her.
I zoomed in without thinking. Her hair had fallen over one shoulder, her head was lowered. One of her earrings was missing.
It hurt to breathe. I shut my eyes for a fraction of a second.
“We have twenty-four hours," Micheal said, unknowingly bringing me back to my senses. "We gotta start looking.”
I looked back down at the photograph. Twenty-four hours.
And every minute we wasted… The odds of her living got worse.
I lowered the phone, carefully and set it upon my desk. My fingers rested upon the cool, polished wood for a moment.
Then my head lifted to Thomas.
He paled the second our eyes connected.
“Nicky. Hey.” He took one hesitant half-step backward. “I didn’t know that was gonna happen.”
His palms lifted as I circled the desk in slow approach. “Nick… I swear—”
I grabbed a fistful of his jacket with my left hand, then drove my fist into his face.
Something made a cracking sound as Thomas hit the floor. Blood immediately splattered down the front of his white shirt.
My knuckles burned.
Michael stepped between Thomas and me. "Enough." His hand rested against my chest and he pounded on it once.
“Nicola, get your shit together.” His voice was steady, his eyebrows lifted. ”Give the orders."
Gio was deathly quiet, Thomas was still on the ground, looking up at me with a bleeding nose and split lip.
The office disappeared for a moment.
The grief, the unimaginable guilt, the anger, broke over me like an ocean wave. I immediately scrambled to place all of it into a locked room in the back of my mind. There would be time to reckon with it later.
I had to. Because if I didn’t find her… there wouldn’t be a later.
I looked at Michael and he straightened immediately at attention. “The photograph.”
“The building she’s in has concrete flooring, no windows. Industrial lighting. She’s in one of their abandoned drop off sites.”
Michael nodded.
“Get every capo moving.” I gestured to the giant map hanging beside my desk. “Get their men checking every single fucking warehouse. Ours and theirs. Every dock, every factory. I want every interrogation site they’ve ever used searched first.”
Michael had already pulled out his phone. “I’ll start calling.”
“Mike.” He stopped at the door, glanced at me. “Lorenzo has people listening, or watching, at the very least. Keep your eyes out.”
Michael gave one sharp nod. “I’m on it.”
Thomas slowly pushed himself upright, wiped at his face with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I didn’t… I didn’t–”
“But you did.” The words came out flat. “Go home, Thomas. You’ve done enough.”
His shoulders sagged, even as Gio helped him to his feet.
He stared at me, like he wanted to say something else.
But he turned and left instead.
That was probably the first wise decision Thomas ever made in his life.
My eyes shifted over to Gio.
“I need you to pick someone up.”
He straightened. “Who?”
“I don’t know his last name.” I thought for a second. “Pierce. Aubergine’s ex-husband. Take the guys with you, to pick him up and bring him to Warehouse Three.”
Gio nodded once. “Got it.”
"I'll meet you there. Don't hurt him. Just... scare him a little."
The office emptied. The door clicked shut behind the last of them.
Silence settled over the room again. My phone still rested on the desk.
The photograph was still displayed. I looked at it one last time, drew in a heavy, sharp breath through my nostrils. Boxed away the sensations that were clogging up my throat.
I slipped the phone into my pocket. Slowly, I pulled the tie back on. My jacket. I ran my hands through my hair, then did a double take at my right knuckle.
Bloodied and red from where I hit Thomas.
I glanced out the window. This was nothing. The night was still young.