Chapter 26 Nicolò
Nicolò
The club is empty when I arrive, exactly as I hoped.
I need space to think. I don’t know what is a genuine thought anymore and what is driven by lust or loneliness.
I feel displaced having only lived at the Castellanos’ for a year and now living temporarily at Cristiano’s.
I feel like my head, as well as my belongings, is scattered all over New York.
At the same time, I feel tethered—willingly—to one place. And that place is wherever Bambalina Castellano happens to be.
I can’t deny it anymore. I want her.
I want her so fucking badly I can’t see straight.
Sitting on one of the chairs, I sink my head into my hands and wonder what I’m going to do. There’s no way we can be together.
My mom would be devastated. It would be too close to home for her to have me be with a girl who’s been unwittingly pushed into playing the role of my stepsister. Even though she’s one of four, Lina is the only one still living at home and being forced into a new family dynamic.
Her father would skin me alive. I don’t take Tony Castellano for a violent man, but Lina is different.
She’s his youngest and his favorite. She has a whole life ahead of her and still time to make something of herself, by herself.
He knows that once a woman is involved with a made man, she’s with him for the long haul, and Lina is too young to be taken off the market so soon.
Then there’s Allegra—the closest person Lina has to a mother.
She’d rather watch me burn in hell than violate her favorite niece.
And don’t even get me started on her sisters.
Sure, it’s okay for them to hook up with made men themselves, but their youngest sister?
Not a chance. One of them has to make it out of the Castellano family unscathed.
Fuck.
That means I have to put a lid on this. I can’t act on what I want, and what I’m still certain she wants. It’s as simple as that.
My chest feels tight as though oxygen is scarce.
This is the first time I’ve felt so strongly for anyone since losing Sofia.
I’ve always been able to keep my feelings locked away, dismissed and unused.
That strategy has served me well. I’d grown arrogant that no one could infiltrate my armor.
I thought I could control it, but one person has proven me so very wrong.
I grip my hair in curled fingers and release a roar that rattles the windows.
Why the fuck does that person have to be Bambalina?
I press my fingers into the sides of my head and stare at the ground, somehow expecting answers, but the only thing I hear is the door opening and Andreas’ footsteps along the floor.
“Where were you? I didn’t see you at Tony’s.”
I squeeze my eyes closed briefly then sigh as I look up. “I was there, just not for long.”
“You okay?”
I can tell by the way his tone drops he doesn’t want the truth. He’s just being polite, when really he wants to get to the crux of why Cristiano has summoned us to Benito’s club in the middle of the night.
“I’m fine. Is Benito coming?”
“He’s on his way.”
Just as the words leave Andreas’ lips, the door opens again and in walks Cristiano, Benito and Augie.
Benito pulls out a chair and straddles it.
Cristiano sits, crossing one leg over his knee.
Andreas and Augie stand with their backs to the bar, while I remain seated, my forearms resting heavily on my thighs.
Cristiano scans each of us in turn. “I’m sorry to gather you all now, while you’re probably still enjoying the celebrations, but I’ve made my decision about giving Alessio Bellucci what he’s asked for and I thought you’d want to know.”
The room quiets to a foreboding degree and I hold my breath.
“I’m not giving him Manhattan.”
I exhale like I’ve just emerged from a lifetime undersea. The relief is immense.
“It’s my father’s life’s work. I simply can’t hand that over to someone who hasn’t worked for it, lost men for it. The city expects something of us. We can’t just give someone else that responsibility.”
I lift my head. “It’s the right decision, but Alessio might retaliate,” I warn. “His son insinuated there’s some kind of relationship with the Russians. Alessio might try to align with them as revenge.”
Andreas pours himself a whisky. “I don’t think he will. As much as he might want to, I know Russians. They don’t align with Italians.”
Cristiano nods. “I agree. Some of my biggest customers in Vegas had Bratva connections. They only worked with their own—never the Italians, never the Irish. But, the fact remains Alessio does have some influence across New York and if we are to end the Bratva’s infiltration, we’ll need to work with the Belluccis in some capacity. ”
Benito runs a rough hand through his hair. “What are you thinking?”
Cristiano pans his gaze across us. “We need to give him something of importance to us.”
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, relief still sinking into my skin.
“I don’t know,” he says, carefully. “I have a few ideas but nothing concrete—yet.”
I rub my temples. The stress of defending our family against the Russians, protecting those who need us, and trying to get a handle on these feelings for Bambalina erupting in my chest is taking its toll.
“We can’t waste too much time. The Russians are still moving fast. They took out Bianchi’s patch at the weekend. That’s another mil we’ve lost.”
“I know,” Cristiano says with a sigh. “I will come up with something. I just…” His face darkens with the shadow of responsibility. “I just don’t want to give them something important without exhausting every other option and truly thinking this through.”
“How long will you need?” Benny asks impatiently.
“As long as it takes. I’m asking you to be patient and trust me.”
Silence falls, illuminating the still bustling sounds of the streets below.
I feel tired. Exhausted. Depleted. This past week has been a rollercoaster.
From realizing I’d just broken the best thing to happen to me in twelve years, to craving a single text message, to then run my hands over a body that is and always will be off limits to me, I’ve run the gamut of emotions.
Things I’ve long prided myself on not having.
“Listen, it’s been a long night.” Cristiano stands and buttons up his jacket. “Go get some rest and we’ll convene again tomorrow. Don’t expect ideas from me just yet but trust that I’m working on it.”
We nod and murmur our agreement. Andreas and Augie remain by the bar while I follow the others out.
“You want a ride back to our place?” Cristiano says. If I wasn’t in such a shit, despondent mood, I’d chuckle at that. The way Cristiano talks about the mansion-come-compound that is the Di Santo residence makes it sound like some quaint little cottage somewhere.
I shake my head. “Thanks but I’m going to take a drive. I need to clear my head.”
Benito frowns. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I’m fine. It’s just… I need some air, that’s all.”
“Good idea,” Cristiano says, pointedly. I know my moods of late have been noticed and that’s another reason why I have to sort my head out and end this infatuation once and for all. It’s distracting me, it’s exhausting me and it’s compromising everything I’ve built up to now. It stops. Tonight.
Instead of going for a drive, I return to the Castellanos’. I need to talk to Bambalina. Ironically, I need to end things between us that haven’t even started.
I shake my head despairingly. Who am I kidding?
Things started a long time ago. They started when my mother announced I’d become related to the dark-haired, pissed-off, desperately beautiful young woman sitting in the center of the living room.
I’d removed my gaze from her but my awareness only grew.
And since then, I finally admit to myself, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.
That’s why I was cold toward her for so long.
It was all I could think to do to stop myself from feeling a certain way.
I forced myself to dislike her, see her as collateral damage, something I just had to live with.
I convinced myself that every attempt I made to protect her was because I saw Sofia in her, and that, in a way, by protecting Bambalina, I was making up for not being able to do the same for my sister.
All of these behaviors, these mannerisms, the way I’ve treated her, it’s all been designed to cover up a cold, hard truth: I fell for Bambalina that day.
When I walk through the front door, the house is quiet.
The lights are off, the guests have left, coats and shoes are gone from the hallway closet.
I check my watch and realize with a sinking heart it’s three a.m. Lina will be asleep, and God knows when I’ll get a chance to speak to her about this in private.
A faint note of panic rises in my chest. I can’t continue to hold this in. I have to talk to her soon. I have to explain how I feel before I move to Greenpoint and disappear from her life.
My head is throbbing with the strain so I walk into the kitchen to grab some water. When I switch on the low lights beneath the counter, my eyes catch on a figure sitting at the table.
Lina’s head snaps up and she presses a hand to her heart. “Nicolò,” she says, breathily. “You startled me.”
My heart is thumping. I know I need to talk to her, but now she’s here, the last thing I want to do is shut this thing down. The pull I feel toward her is gravitational, almost impossible to fight.
Her eyes are red from crying and her lips are swollen. If the cause of her anguish is me, this is only more evidence that I need to leave and let her get on with her life. It’s too much, for both of us.
My voice scratches against my throat. “Why are you up?”
She wipes a finger under her eyes and sniffs. “I’m waiting for you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I pour a glass of water and stand behind the island. It’s better if I keep something solid between us for this conversation. Taking a long slip, I place the glass down gently and look into her eyes.
This is going to hurt.