Chapter 7 Nicolò
Nicolò
The good thing about enemies is they keep life interesting.
The bad thing—or one of several bad things—is that they never fail to remind you why no one should ever be trusted.
The Russians proved that just days ago, when I watched them bury a shit ton of metal into a dead man’s mouth while Bambalina Castellano was sitting in the passenger seat of my car.
My natural impulse was to shield her from the violence. She’s too young to see shit like that, especially after living such a sheltered life under the close eye of her father and aunt. But a small voice in my head reminds me she has seen shit like that before.
A lot of lives were lost at Cristiano and Trilby’s wedding. Her sister, Tess, fired a bullet at one of the men who broke into the venue. That’s why they were all sent to target practice—so they could, at the very least, attempt to defend themselves if they need to in future.
But, despite knowing this, while sitting in the safety of my car, something dark I’d buried deep inside me a long time ago climbed up my body, infusing my muscles with lactic acid.
An image flashed across my lids and it wasn’t of Bambalina. My heart clenched in pain as my real sister’s laughing face filled my vision.
She’d laughed right up to the end, while the rest of us held back tears until our throats hurt. Mom put on a brave face, holding us all together as best she could. But she and my father had strength in those moments that eluded me.
In the last few weeks of Sofia’s life, my visits with her grew smaller and shorter.
I learned I could only put on a front for a short amount of time before I broke down into sharp, shattered pieces.
Unlike my mother and father, I couldn’t simply accept what was happening and get on with making the most of our short time left with her.
The idea that God could put this beautiful, vibrant, funny, selfless, loving creature on his earth, then inflict upon her a terminal disease, was incomprehensible. The second we lost her, I stopped believing in a God of any kind.
When therapy was offered to me at age sixteen, I declined it, choosing instead to throw myself into criminal activities.
My father was only too happy to pass some of the baton to me, since Sofia’s death was just the beginning of his downfall.
He took to drinking and gambling, and before long it was drugs and girls.
He didn’t care who he hurt. Mama couldn’t divorce him—he was a senior capo under Gianni—but she wanted to.
In the end, she didn’t have to. One of Gianni’s men found him lying face down, higher than a kite, in a pile of cocaine he was supposed to have shipped to Canada, and shot him in the head.
As far as Di Santo retributions go, it was probably the most humane ending he could have faced.
He departed this earth just two years after my sister, leaving Mom with a shit ton of debt—which Gianni helped clear because he was a fucking saint—and me with a disdain for any and all kinds of emotion.
I still haven’t accepted that offer of therapy.
Shaking off the memory of my sister’s laughter, I anchored my senses to the view out the windshield. But the sensation of a warm breath brushing my thigh drew my focus south.
Bambalina wasn’t the first woman whose head I’ve pulled down onto my lap, but that was the first time I did it for reasons other than to get my dick sucked.
However, Pavlov’s dog and all that. Having a woman’s mouth in such close proximity to my boxers was always going to taunt my dick.
Especially when she slid her cheek backward along my thigh by an inch or two.
My dick felt her. I just hope to God she didn’t feel my dick.
I steady my breathing as I walk up the steps to the front door.
Even if she had felt it, she probably didn’t realize what it was. For all her curves and big eyes and wetted lips, she’s innocence personified. It wasn’t too long ago I saw her sitting at a family gathering with her head in some teen magazine.
I shrug off that thought with a silent curse and open the door.
“Nicolò, is that you? I want a word please.”
I groan inwardly at the sound of my mother’s curt tone.
We’ve always had a mature and respectful relationship, Mom and I, but it’s changed since she married Tony.
Suddenly, there are ways we should be behaving, people we should be thinking of.
I need to be at the table on certain days at certain times, and I need to take my shoes off the second I’m through the front door.
Shoes worth three thousand dollars a pair, mind.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
She walks out of the living room, stopping in the doorway when she sees me in the hall.
She tips her head, motioning for me to follow, which I do, sitting on the sofa next to her.
My gaze drifts to the TV just before she turns it off.
Another two men have been found dead with coins stuffed in their mouths.
One in Queens and another a couple of blocks from the convention center.
The Russians aren’t just sending a message—they’re painting the damned streets.
“I had lunch with Bambalina yesterday.”
Resting my elbow on the back of the couch, I squeeze my eyes with a thumb and two fingers. “Yeah?”
I know what’s coming. Lina’s probably told her I was an ass at the convention center for not letting her do her ‘job’ alone—that’s the kind of thing a teenage girl does, right? Tattle tale?
“She said she doesn’t think you like her very much.”
I blink my eyes open. “What?”
“Apparently, you hardly ever speak to her, and when you do, you’re not very friendly. And half the time, you behave as though she doesn’t exist. Is it true?”
I frown. “No. It’s not true.”
She lowers her chin giving me a look I remember from back when I was a kid, caught with my hands full of candy that I’d obviously just stolen from the grocery store. “Nicolò…”
“Look,” I shrug. “I’m busy. I don’t have a lot of time on my hands, Mom. There are things… going on. I need to focus right now.”
She looks down to avoid the elephant in the room. Mom has never wanted to know what I do each day. She’s just thankful I come home in one piece.
“I’m not saying you have to abandon your duties, Nicolò. I’m just saying it would be nice if you could be more friendly towards your little sister. She’s—”
My voice sounds like gravel. “She’s not my little sister.”
Mom releases a soft sigh. “Yes, she is, Nicolò,” she says, quietly. “She isn’t Sofia. No one’s replacing Sofia. But Bambalina is your stepsister now. So are Trilby, Tess and Sera.”
She sits back and narrows her eyes as if she’s realizing something.
“I’m so sorry, my love. I can’t imagine what this feels like for you. To go from having a sister, to losing her, and then acquiring four stepsisters overnight. I’ve been selfish. I’ve only thought about how it feels for me, but it must be weird for you too. Are you okay?”
My eyes soften at her confession. “I’m fine, Mom.”
She smiles sadly. “Yeah, I know. That’s what you always say. I wish you’d open up, Nicolò. If not to me, then to someone who specializes in processing grief.”
“I don’t need to process anything,” I reply. “I’ve processed everything I need to.”
“Okay then, well, to come to terms with the fact you’re suddenly a part of a much larger family?”
She’s clutching at straws now. Mom and I have had this conversation many times before and I thought she’d run out of angles. This is a new one.
“I don’t need to see a shrink, Mom. I’m fine.”
Her eyelids drop a touch. “If that’s the case, why aren’t you being nicer to Bambalina? If you’re so ‘fine’ as you keep saying, why is having a young stepsister around such a hardship?”
Oh fuck. I don’t have an answer for that.
She rests her hand on my leg. “Look, Tony and his family have welcomed us into their home and have been nothing but accommodating to us. The least you can do is be nice to Bambalina. And she needs a little kindness. Her two older sisters have left home, Tess is away a lot and Allegra is carving out a life for herself now that the girls are grown up. It wouldn’t kill you to cut her a bit of slack, okay? ”
I know every word Mom’s saying is true. Bambalina has been through a lot, but it’s not my responsibility to make everything better for her.
It wasn’t my choice to be joined with this family.
I’m happy for Mom, but this is her thing, not mine.
I didn’t want a bigger family. I already have a family—my brothers.
But, like me, Mom is stubborn, and she won’t let this go if I don’t at least appear to take it seriously.
“Fine. I’ll apologize to her.”
“Thank you. And please, just… make a little more effort to be kind, okay? I know you can do it when you really put your mind to it.”
Her smile is wry, her eyes dancing. I can’t say no when she does this.
“Okay, okay.” I stand and slowly blink my eyes in defeat. “Is she home?”
Mom picks up the remote and the TV flickers back to life. “She’s in the garden. But Allegra is taking her out shortly so I suggest you go see her now.”
I run my tongue along my top teeth, irritated that I have to take time out of my day to pander to a seventeen-year-old. Then I leave Mom watching the news, thankful the reporters only know half the story, and reluctantly follow the hallway to the back of the house.
French doors open onto the back yard, and at first glance, I don’t see anyone, only an expanse of lawn and dark green hedges surrounding a small fountain.
I walk around the side of the house then pause at the edge of another lawn, several yards from where Bambalina has her back to me, hacking away at something and cussing loudly.
She tears at some kind of foliage then yelps, bringing a palm up to her face.
“Ow! Fucking fuck!”
I can’t help my lips curling into a half-grin. It’s the first time I’ve heard her swear. She looks too small to swear. Too young and innocent.