20. Niccolò
Niccolò
I sit behind my mahogany desk, staring at the locked safe in the corner of the room. The contract sits inside it. One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of servitude.
It is a worthless piece of paper.
She gave me her submission in the back of the Maybach.
She wept for my touch, chasing the friction, begging me to claim her.
She is not a maid working off a debt. I will burn that contract.
I will bind her to my name until death. I will put my ring on her finger, and no force on this earth will pry her from my side.
The oak doors swing open.
My father, Roberto, walks in. His face is a mask of fury. Enzo and Alessio trail behind him, their expressions guarded.
"You went to war with your inlaws," Roberto states, planting his hands on the table.
I do not stand. I lean back in my leather chair. "The treaty is void."
Roberto’s jaw locks. "You invite war with the Falcos. For what? That stray you dragged into this house? You humiliate Caterina for a waitress?"
"Watch your mouth," I warn with a lethal calm.
Roberto scoffs. "You think with your cock, Niccolò. You compromise the syndicate. I will not let a South Side rat dismantle decades of alliances. If you cannot handle your whores, I will have her removed."
I stand up and walk around the table, stopping inches from the man who gave me my name.
"You will not go near her," I say. The quiet in my voice makes Enzo step forward, his hand hovering near his holster.
"I am the Don," Roberto spits. "I give the orders."
"You should not have threatened her life. Even you, father, are not above my madness when it comes to her."
I pull my weapon from my waistband and set it on the table between us. It is a symbol. A transfer of power forced by a threat I will not tolerate.
"You are finished," I tell him. "Your reign is over. Step down, or I will bury you alongside the men who tried to kill me at the docks."
Roberto stares at me, searching for a bluff. He finds nothing. He realizes I will slaughter my own blood to keep her breathing.
"You are insane," he whispers.
"I am the Don," I correct him. I look at my brother. "Alessio. Go to the Falco estate. Smooth out Caterina's bruised ego. Offer them the northern shipping ports as a severance. But make sure that they understand that the marriage is dead."
Alessio nods, a rare flicker of respect in his eyes. He takes Roberto by the arm, ushering the old man out of the room.
I am left with Enzo, Dante, and I just stripped my father of his throne. The syndicate will fracture before it realigns under my absolute control.
"The northern harbor is exposed," Dante points out, shifting his weight. His eyes flick to the door where my father just exited. "If the Falcos pull their soldiers, the Irish will flood the docks by midnight."
"We need a new border strategy," Silvio pushes, stepping closer to the desk. "We have to move the perimeter guards from the south to cover the gap."
My jaw locks. A vein throbs at my temple. I am not in the mood for logistics. The Irish are a nuisance, and my men are standing in my office demanding answers I am too wired to give.
"Don Niccolò," Dante presses, his voice rising a fraction. "If we do not act immediately—"
The sound of his voice grates against my skull like a serrated blade. My hand drops to the desk and my fingers close around an empty crystal tumbler. The cut glass bites into my palm, but it isn't enough to ground the violent hum in my veins.
I don't give him a verbal answer. I whip my arm back and hurl the glass straight past Dante's ear.
It connects with the mahogany paneling. A sharp, explosive crack rings out, showering the Persian rug with a hundred razor-sharp fragments.
"Secure the perimeter!" I roar, pointing a finger at Dante. "Put snipers on the roof. If anyone approaches the gates, you put a bullet in their skull. Do not question me again."
During my rampage, the door clicks open.
Livia walks in. She carries a silver tray with coffee. She stops, taking in the shattered glass, the furious Capos, the rage in my body.
She doesn't flinch. She sets the tray on a side table.
She looks at Dante. "Leave the room."
Dante hesitates. He looks at me.
I give him a single nod. He and Silvio quickly exit, pulling the doors shut. Enzo follows them without a word.
We are alone. I grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles white.
Livia walks across the rug. She steps into my space, placing her hands on my chest. Her touch is a cool balm on a blistering burn.
"You are pissed," she murmurs.
"I just overthrew my father," I say. "He threatened you. He said he would have you removed."
Her breath catches. She searches my eyes. "And you took his crown."
"I chose you."
She slides her hands up to my shoulders, her fingers tracing the collar of my shirt. "You took over the syndicate for me."
"I would burn the world for you."
She smiles. It is a seductive, confident curve of her lips. She steps closer, pressing her hips against mine. "Then show me, Don Niccolò."
She tugs my tie, pulling my mouth down to hers.
The kiss is an explosive clash of teeth and tongues. I grab her waist, lifting her onto the edge of the mahogany desk. She wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me flush against her.
She is wearing a simple skirt today. I push the fabric up, my hands finding bare skin. She gasps, her head falling back.
I bite her neck, sucking the sensitive skin right above her collarbone. "You like the power," I taunt, my hand sliding under her lace panties.
"I like your power," she breathes, arching into my touch. She reaches down, unbuckling my trousers. Her small hands are frantic, freeing my aching length.
She strokes me, a firm, agonizing friction that makes my vision blur. I groan, catching her wrist.
"You are playing a dangerous game," I warn.
"I'm winning," she whispers, pulling me inside her.
She takes all of me in one smooth motion. I grunt, my hands gripping her hips. The fit is agonizingly tight. I set a punishing rhythm, driving into her until the desk groans against the floorboards. She meets every thrust, her nails dragging down my back, pulling me closer.
We battle for control. She bites my shoulder, I grip her jaw, kissing her until she is breathless. The rage from the meeting dissolves into lust. "Mine," I rasp, increasing the pace.
"Yours," she cries out, shattering around me, reeling in the leash of the monster.