24. Niccolò
Niccolò
The rain lashes against the bulletproof glass of the Maybach, distorting the neon city lights into blurred, chaotic streaks of red and yellow.
I sit in the back seat, staring at the encrypted tablet resting on my thighs.
Beside me, Enzo pours a measure of scotch from the crystal decanter built into the console, his movements precise and unbothered by the erratic swerving of the vehicle on the slick roads.
"Alessio is at the warehouse," Enzo states, handing me the glass.
"The Irish factions bought the decoy. They genuinely think you are sitting across the table from their lieutenants right now, discussing the southern harbor tariffs.
It buys us exactly two hours before they realize the man wearing your coat is a fucking proxy. "
I take the glass, the amber liquor burning a smooth trail down my throat. "Two hours is all I need."
Enzo watches me, his icy blue eyes assessing the rigid set of my jaw. "You wired the scullery door."
"I wired the whole servant wing," I correct him.
"You warned me I was developing a blind spot.
I eliminated it. When my woman handed a stack of stolen hundreds to a perimeter guard with a gambling problem, the audio feed routed directly to my secure server.
She thought I was blind to the inner workings of my own house. "
Enzo exhales a slow breath, shaking his head. He turns to look out the tinted window. "She is trying to run, Niccolò. You gave her the gardens, you gave her the run of the estate, and she uses the first crack in the armor to plot an escape. She doesn't want this life."
"She doesn't know what she wants," I snap, the crystal glass cracking slightly under the pressure of my grip. "She is terrified of the syndicate. She thinks if she runs far enough, the monsters won't follow her. She is wrong. The only place she is untouchable is right by my side."
The driver navigates the treacherous streets, turning onto the private access lane that leads to the northern boundary of the estate. The trees loom like towering sentinels in the storm, their branches thrashing against the wind in a violent display.
I knew she would choose the eastern service gate.
Leo was stationed there, an easy mark for a desperate girl with a pocket full of cash.
I arrived thirty minutes before the grandfather clock chimed midnight.
I found Leo shivering near the iron bars, waiting to betray me for pocket change.
He didn't even have time to reach for his weapon before I cracked the butt of my Smith & Wesson against his temple.
He went down in the mud, unconscious and bleeding.
The car rolls to a silent stop fifty yards from the gate. I hand the glass back to Enzo, unbuttoning my suit jacket.
"Hold the perimeter," I instruct him, pushing the door open. "Nobody intervenes."
The freezing rain pelts against my face the second my boots hit the wet pavement. I walk through the shadows, the storm swallowing the sound of my approach. I stand on the opposite side of the wrought-iron gate, blending into the pitch-black night, waiting.
The iron hinges groan in protest. The gate swings outward, revealing the woman I would burn the world for.
Livia stands on the threshold, a worn canvas duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
She wears a faded sweater and jeans, soaked to the bone.
When her sneaker hits Leo's unconscious body, a scream lodges in her throat.
She stumbles backward, her eyes wide with horror, clutching the iron bars like they are a lifeline.
"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"
She freezes, and I step into the pale glow of the streetlamp, letting her see the reality of her failed escape.
I wear a tailored suit, completely indifferent to the torrential downpour soaking my clothes.
The water runs down the harsh, unforgiving angles of my face.
I hold a hunting knife, confiscated from Leo, letting it catch the meager light.
"You thought you could outsmart me in my own city?" I ask, my tone is devoid of any warmth, any softness.
I step over the bleeding guard and close the vast distance between us.
The urge to shake her, to demand answers until my throat is raw, claws violently at my chest. I toss the knife into the mud.
I reach out, wrapping my hands around her upper arms, and haul her away from the gate.
Her sneakers slip in the slush, her chest crashing against mine.
"Niccolò, please," she chokes out, twisting her wrists, fighting desperately against my grip.
"I gave you the gardens," I growl, leaning down until the rain dripping from my hair falls onto her pale cheeks.
"I gave you my home. I gave you my protection.
I stripped my own father of his title to ensure you would never have to look over your shoulder, and you repay me by paying one of my own soldiers to betray me. "
"You are a killer," she sobs, the tears mixing with the rain on her face as she beats her fists against my soaked chest. "You just slaughtered that boy. You kill people, Niccolò. You are a monster. I can't stay here. I can't."
"He is breathing, you fucking idiot!" I shout over the wind, giving her a single, jarring shake. "I cracked his skull because he took syndicate money to leave my property vulnerable. I protect what is mine!"
"I am not yours!" she screams, her voice cracking with desperation. "Let me go! Just let me walk away!"
I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me, forcing her to see the wreckage she is causing.
"Why isn't it enough?" I demand, my voice dropping to a harsh, ragged whisper that the storm nearly drowns out. "I offer you the world on a fucking silver platter. I offer you my life, my loyalty, my name. What more do you want from me? Why do you constantly look at me like I am the devil?"
Livia shudders, her chest heaving as she stares into my eyes. She is trapped, cornered against the iron bars with nowhere left to run.
"Because I am pregnant!" she screams, the words tearing out of her throat like jagged shards of glass.
The thunder crashes overhead, shaking the stone wall, but the sound doesn't register. The rain pelting my skin ceases to exist.
"I am carrying your baby!" she cries, her hands coming up to press against her stomach, a shield against the life we created.
"And I refuse to let my child grow up in a fucking slaughterhouse!
I refuse to let you mold my baby into a ruthless, blood-soaked soldier who solves problems by cracking skulls in the mud. I will not raise a monster, Niccolò!"
A hollow-point bullet to the chest would have done less damage.
I release her jaw, stumbling backward a fraction of an inch. My hands go numb. The Smith & Wesson tucked into the waistband of my trousers, the weapon I have carried every day since I was eighteen, suddenly feels like an anchor dragging me to the bottom of the ocean.
A baby.
My mind races, connecting the fragmented pieces of the last few weeks. The sudden exhaustion. The nausea she tried to hide during the syndicate party. The way she pulled away from my touch, treating my affection like a death sentence.
She isn't running because she hates me. She is running because she is a mother protecting her young from a predator.
I look at her standing in the freezing rain, her arms wrapped defensively around her midsection, willing to choose poverty, starvation, and a life on the run over a life with me.
She genuinely believes my proximity will corrupt our child.
She sees me as a disease she has to eradicate from her bloodline.
The possessive rage that fueled my pursuit evaporates, leaving behind a vast, hollow crater. A terrifying coldness seeps into my bones, freezing my veins. I lose control. Not in a violent, explosive outburst, but in a complete detachment that severs my soul from my body.
I am a monster. She just confirmed it. My own woman looked at the life I built and decided the gutter was a safer place for her offspring.
"Niccolò," she whispers, her voice trembling as she watches the shift in my demeanor. The fight drains out of her, replaced by a new, uncertain fear.
I do not answer, instead I reach out, grasping her upper arm in an iron grip. I don't yank her, but I don't offer any gentleness either. I simply turn her around and commence walking back toward the estate, dragging her alongside me through the torrential downpour.
"Please," she begs, stumbling over the uneven ground, her sneakers slipping in the mud. "Please, just listen to me. You know what this life does to people. You know what it did to your father."
I ignore her. I focus on the looming silhouette of the mansion, treating her pleas like background static. We pass the greenhouse, the stone pathways slick with rain. She cries, the sound is a broken, pathetic noise that bounces off my frozen exterior.
We reach the rear service doors. Enzo is standing under the awning, flanked by three armed guards. He holds a radio in his hand, his eyes scanning the tree line until they land on us. He takes in the soaked clothes, the mud, the fact that I am dragging a weeping woman by the arm.
"Get a medic for Leo," I instruct Enzo. "He is unconscious by the eastern gate. Clean up the mess and lock the perimeter."
Enzo nods, his sharp gaze assessing my blank expression, but he knows better than to ask questions. "Understood."
I pull Livia through the kitchens. Marta is standing near the ovens, a terrified expression on her aged face, but I do not spare her a glance. We ascend the servant stairs, moving swiftly through the corridors until we reach a master suite.
I push the oak doors open and shove her inside. She stumbles, catching her balance near the edge of the Persian rug. She turns to face me, dripping wet, her chest heaving as she rubs her bruised arm.
"You can't do this," she whispers, her eyes darting to the hallway behind me. "You can't keep me locked up like an animal. I am having your child."
I do not step inside the room. I stand on the threshold, looking at the woman carrying my heir. There is no warmth left in my chest. There is no possessive fire. There is only the crushing reality that my love is a cage she will gnaw her own limbs off to escape.
"You stay here," I tell her, my tone flat, emotionless.
"Niccolò, wait—"
I pull the double doors shut, cutting off the sight of her tear-stained face.
I reach into my pocket, pull out the master key, and slide it into the brass lock.
I turn it, the loud click sealing her inside.
I walk away down the silent corridor, and for the first time since she stepped foot into my life, I do not look back.