Chapter 71 Nico
NICO
Idrove the first hour, but my nerves were shot.
After we got through New Brunswick, I had to give Luis the keys and let him drive.
All I could think about was the time we were losing.
The full moon was on the horizon. What if the royals had already taken what they wanted from Maddy?
Thankfully, I didn’t let myself dwell on it too much.
Mostly, the guys talking kept me from falling too deep into my own thoughts.
“Seriously, man. I don’t think it’s gonna happen,” Luis said.
Marcus chuckled and shook his head. “I’m telling you. ‘Bama is gonna win the Natty again. I will say, yes, Florida will get to the SEC Championship, but my Tide are gonna roll you boys. Just like usual.”
Luis groaned and rolled his eyes. “You guys. One day, you all won’t be so cocky. You can’t be good forever.”
Darren burst out laughing. “True! But until that day? Roll tide, roll!”
“Oh god, I’m gonna puke. I should stick with soccer,” Luis muttered.
“How far are we?” I asked, interrupting their football conversation.
Luis leaned forward, trying to see ahead of where we were. “Looks like we’re coming up to the George Washington Bridge. From there, depending on traffic, less than forty minutes.”
I spent the last part of the trip trying to keep my mind off what was going on.
I ended up playing on my phone, but instead of getting my mind off it, I ended up checking the damned weather in Germany and searching for average flight times.
I even looked up the website for the castle in Germany that the royals owned.
I spent a solid minute just staring at the pictures of the stone walls, wondering if Maddy was inside them at this very minute.
Forty-five minutes later, the car lurched to a halt, and I finally looked up from my phone.
To say I was confused was an understatement.
The only time I’d ever been to New York had been on a layover when I was nineteen, and Dad had taken Diego and me on a trip up to Canada for a business meeting with some bear shifters he knew there.
We’d had time to go see Times Square, eat lunch, and then head back to the airport. This was… not New York.
I glanced around and saw more trees than I did buildings. The buildings I did see weren’t the stereotypical brownstones you saw on TV. Instead, they were the grassy lawns and rocky outcroppings tucked between sidewalks. This looked like a suburb of Chicago or something.
“Where the hell did you take us, Luis? This doesn’t look like New York.”
Luis looked over his shoulder. “Oh, it’s New York. We’re in the Bronx. This is Fieldston. And that”—he pointed out the windshield—“is my guy’s place.”
I opened the door and looked across the street.
The huge building must have been at least five thousand square feet.
The exterior was stone and stucco with moss and ivy growing up the north-facing walls.
It basically looked like a castle. It made me a little wary.
So far, all my dealings with castles had been in relation to the royals.
“Are you sure about this guy?” I asked as the others got out of the car.
Marcus glanced around and frowned. “Where are all the yellow cabs and stuff?”
“Jesus, guys. You really need to get out more. There’s more to New York than high-rises and Madison Square Garden. Come on.”
We followed Luis across the road, kicking yellow and brown leaves aside as we went.
The late fall air was brisk, and I realized in my haste to get going that I was still dressed for Florida weather.
We stepped up to the house, and Luis pressed the doorbell.
I didn’t hear anything ring inside, but a few seconds later, a response came from a small intercom beside the doorbell.
“Is that you, Luis?” came a drawling voice.
“It’s me. Let us in, Donatello.”
Marcus swatted his brother Darren in the arm and whispered, “Donatello? Like the Ninja Turtle?”
“Quit it,” I hissed. “It’s just a name. I’ve got a brother named Rafael. It doesn’t matter.
Darren shook his head. “These people are obsessed with the Ninja Turtles, bro.”
Before the Alabama brothers could embarrass Luis further, the door swung open to the slickest-looking dude I’d ever seen in my life—bright, almost-white blond hair combed back, small round glasses that sat at the bridge of his nose.
His face looked like it had been carved out of marble by a Renaissance sculptor.
He wore a fitted blazer over a dark gray turtleneck, skinny slacks, but bright white high-top sneakers.
I did a double-take when I saw the Prada symbol on the side of the shoes.
Everything about him exuded money and confidence. Who the hell was this guy?
The man—Donatello, I assumed—smiled. “Luis. My friend.” He put a well-manicured hand out, and Luis shook it.
“Don. Glad you could help us on such short notice.”
“Nothing makes me happier than helping a friend in need. Come in. All of you, come in.”
Donatello stepped aside and swept an arm toward the foyer.
We stepped in, and I was thankful there wasn’t some cliché butler or maid running around.
The home was large but not ostentatious.
There were lots of dark mahogany and black walnut accents and antique furniture and artwork from what looked like the Victorian or Edwardian eras.
Nothing about the house was modern. It was kept perfectly and elegantly how it must have looked in the roaring twenties.
I could easily picture a Prohibition speakeasy party happening here with all the city's wealthiest families.
As much as I hated to admit it, I was impressed.
“So, I understand you and your friends are in a bit of a bind?” Donatello said, giving Luis a wry grin. “Tell me what you need.”
Luis nodded grudgingly. “Well, my three friends and I need fresh passports and identification, and we need your jet to go to Germany.”
“Would you like a brand-new Ferrari and some ladies to enjoy for the flight as well?” Donatello asked, giving Luis another strange smile.
Luis put his hands on his hips and glared at Donatello. “You owe me. No jokes. Can you get what we need or not?”
Donatello’s smile evaporated, but the good-natured glimmer in his eyes stayed. He put a finger to his chin and thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think this is doable. How soon do you need it?”
“Today,” I said, interjecting into the conversation. “We’ve already lost a lot of time. We should be halfway to Germany by now.”
Donatello raised an eyebrow at me, then glanced at Luis. “Is this your alpha? The one you were telling me about?”
“Yeah,” Luis said. “He’s right. We need this ASAP.”
“Well,” Donatello said. “I can get them, but due to the late nature, there’s no way I can have them today.
No one could on such short notice. For one thing, my jet is on lease and is on the way back from Los Angeles.
It’s due to land sometime this evening, and the pilot is required a full ten-hour break.
But I can get it all to you, after my fee, of course.
As we discussed, I’ll give you half off due to our history.
I’ll also wave the cost of the jet fuel. ”
I hissed in irritation and shook my head. “There’s no other way?” I could practically see time slipping through my fingers like sand.
Donatello gave a sad shake of his head. “Unfortunately not. I’ll have to grease some wheels with some unsavory people as it is to get it done that fast. I’m your best option.”
I did some math in my head. If we left the next day, we’d still get to Germany with time to spare before the full moon.
As much as I hated it, this was our only option.
We’d come too far to turn back or try another route.
I nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Let’s do it.
” I dug out my wallet and looked at Donatello, raising my eyebrow.
“I don’t suppose you take credit cards?”
Donatello chuckled wryly. “My good man, this is the twenty-first century. MasterCard or American Express?”
Over the next two hours, Donatello took us into a side room near what looked like a fully stocked bar that would have made Maddy envious and took our pictures—headshots for the new passports.
He then provided us with a tray of cheeses, meats, and fruit for a meal.
Most of the cheese looked like it cost more than my monthly truck payment.
For the hundredth time since we’d gotten there, I wondered what Luis could have possibly done to have this guy be in his debt.
Some type of courier arrived not long after Donatello finished printing out the pictures. I watched Donatello hand the printouts and what looked like a massive wad of cash to the guy, and he was gone in seconds. I had to hope this friend of Luis’s wasn’t full of shit.
After eating, Luis called over to Donatello. “Hey, Don? You still have that pool table upstairs?”
“The Cappelletti? Indeed. Are you looking to pass some time?”
“If it’s okay with you?”
Donatello nodded, and Luis, Marcus, and Darren headed toward the massive spiral staircase. Luis glanced over his shoulder. “You coming, Nico?”
I shook my head and eyed Donatello. “Nah. I’d like to get to know our benefactor here.”
Donatello stepped over to his bar as the others went upstairs. He poured himself a scotch and glanced over at me. “A drink, Mr. Lorenzo?”
“Call me Nico. Got any vodka? I’d love to take the edge off a little.”
Donatello bobbed his head appreciatively. “I have Chopin Family Reserve?”
I shrugged. “I literally don’t know what that is. Is it like Grey Goose?”
“Oh, my friend. Let me change your life,” he said and started making me a cocktail.
I sat in a leather chair that must have been a hundred years old in what Donatello called his smoking room. He handed me a martini glass with a thinly curled lemon peel hanging on the edge of the glass. “Lemon Drop. Simple but delicious. Lets the vodka really shine through.”