26. Niccolò
Niccolò
The freezing harbor wind cuts through the shattered skylights of the abandoned warehouse, carrying the briny stench of the Atlantic to mix with the metallic scent of freshly spilled blood.
I stand over the kneeling body of a Falco lieutenant, rolling my bruised shoulders to relieve the stiffness settling into my muscles after two hours of uninterrupted interrogation.
The man finally gave up the locations of their offshore gambling accounts, whimpering around a fractured jaw and a shattered kneecap, and I didn't feel a single ounce of satisfaction when I drove the butt of my weapon into his temple to end the conversation. The violence used to serve a purpose, but tonight it just feels like a hollow, useless motion. I am tearing Caterina’s family apart piece by piece, dismantling their shipping routes and burning their financial assets to ash, yet the destruction does nothing to numb the suffocating agony clawing at the inside of my ribs.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Livia standing in the pouring rain with her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach, looking at me as though I were the devil incarnate coming to drag her into hell.
She was willing to brave the storm with nothing but a canvas bag and a handful of stolen cash because she genuinely believed my proximity would infect our unborn child.
The confirmation of my most profound, buried fear paralyzed my veins, confirming the horrific truth that I am a monster unfit to hold the very woman I promised to protect.
"You have been bleeding the Falco operations dry for five straight days without a break," Alessio observes from the shadows, stepping forward to flick the butt of his cigarette onto the cracked concrete floor.
He wears a scuffed leather jacket over a black t-shirt, his usually arrogant smirk replaced by a tight, scrutinizing scowl as he watches the cleanup crew drag the unconscious lieutenant toward the loading bay.
"You haven't slept more than two hours a night, you refuse to eat anything Marta prepares, and you are operating on a volatile mixture of caffeine and homicidal rage that is going to get you killed if you don't slow the fuck down. "
Enzo stands beside my brother, his impeccably tailored suit completely unbothered by the grime and gore of the warehouse.
He taps the newly acquired banking coordinates into an encrypted tablet, his icy blue eyes never leaving the screen.
"We seized three of their legitimate fronts this morning and crippled their weapon supply lines through the narrows, Niccolò.
The Falco family is bleeding out. You have made your point.
Continuing this relentless rampage is an unnecessary expenditure of syndicate resources. "
"I will tell you when the point has been made, Enzo," I snap, wiping a smear of blood from my knuckles with a white linen handkerchief.
I toss the ruined cloth onto the floorboard and turn to glare at my men.
"They thought they could plot an ambush against the Severato crown and walk away with a bruised ego and a severed treaty.
I am going to eradicate their name from this city until nobody even remembers who Don Falco was. We hit the southern docks next."
Alessio pushes off the rusted scaffolding, crossing the concrete to close the distance between us, his boots crunching over the scattered glass.
"This isn't about the broken treaty, and it isn't about securing the borders.
You are using the syndicate as a goddamn punching bag because you are too much of a coward to face the pregnant woman locked inside your own house. "
The accusation strikes a raw, exposed nerve, sending a ferocious jolt of adrenaline straight to my brain. I lunge forward, grabbing my brother by the thick collar of his leather jacket and slamming him backward against the rusted steel beams. The metal groans in protest under our combined weight.
"Watch your fucking mouth," I roar, the restraint snapping as I press my forearm against his collarbone. "You know nothing about my relationship with Livia, and if you ever call me a coward again, I will forget we share the same blood."
Alessio doesn't flinch. He doesn't raise his hands to defend himself, nor does he break eye contact. He simply stares back at me with a steady, unapologetic defiance that reminds me exactly why he is the most lethal enforcer in my ranks.
"Then prove me wrong, Niccolò," Alessio challenges through my fury.
"You shoved the woman you love into a suite and turned the lock because she hit you with a harsh truth you weren't prepared to hear.
She is terrified, yes. She found out she was carrying the heir to a mafia empire, and she panicked.
But instead of staying there and proving to her that you are not the monster she fears, you ran away to crack skulls in a warehouse.
You abandoned her to face that pregnancy alone while you drown your heartbreak in a river of blood. "
"I am protecting her from myself!" I shout, my fingers twisting tighter into the leather of his jacket.
"You remember what it was like growing up in that house, Alessio.
You remember the sound of Roberto's belt against the wood, the way he used his fists to teach us how to be men.
He was a tyrant who poisoned his own sons with his cruelty, and I share his fucking DNA.
I kill people for a living. I break bones with a blank expression.
How the hell am I supposed to hold a child with hands covered in blood? "
I shove away from him, running my shaking hands through my damp hair as I pace the length of the loading dock. The frantic energy drives a terror so massive it eclipses any physical threat I have ever faced.
"She was right to run," I confess. "If she stays with me, I will eventually mold that baby into a soldier.
I will teach my son how to load a weapon before he knows how to drive, and I will drown him in the exact same violence that ruined our childhood.
I am poison to them, Alessio. The only way I can keep them safe is by staying as far away from that suite as possible. "
Enzo lowers his tablet, stepping forward to join the conversation.
"You are confusing proximity with corruption, Niccolò.
You are not Roberto. When our father sensed a vulnerability in his children, he exploited it to maintain his dominance.
When you realized Livia was vulnerable, you banished the man who threatened her and put the entire syndicate on lockdown to ensure her safety.
You do not hurt the people who rely on your strength, you annihilate the threats circling their perimeter. "
Alessio rubs his shoulder, stepping away from the steel beams to fix me with a hard, uncompromising glare.
"Enzo is right. You absorbed Roberto’s beatings so I wouldn't have to, and you took the throne to ensure that cycle of abuse ended permanently.
You have the power to raise your child however the fuck you want.
But if you keep hiding in these warehouses, letting Livia sit in that bedroom thinking she destroyed you, you are going to lose her for good.
She needs her man, brother. Figure out how to put your own demons to rest and go home. "
I have been punishing myself for a crime I haven't even committed yet, treating my unborn child as a casualty of a war that exists solely inside my own head. I do not offer them a response. I turn my back and walk out of the warehouse, leaving the cleanup to my men.
The drive back to the estate is an agonizing exercise in patience. I stare blindly out the tinted window of the Maybach, watching the city lights blur into a continuous stream of neon color while my heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I need to see her
By the time the armored vehicle pulls through the fortified iron gates of the Severato compound, the digital clock on the dashboard reads three in the morning.
The mansion is cloaked in silence, the perimeter guards standing like invisible statues in the shadows of the manicured hedges.
I bypass the grand entrance, utilizing the private elevator to ascend directly to the residential wing, my boots making no sound on the thick runner rugs.
I pause in my own bathroom to strip the blood-stained suit from my body, tossing the ruined garments into the incinerator chute.
I stand under the scalding spray of the shower until my skin turns a raw, flushed red, scrubbing the grime and the scent of violence from my pores with a punishing thoroughness.
I refuse to carry the stench of the warehouse into her sanctuary.
Dressed in a clean pair of cotton sweatpants, I walk down the corridor and stop in front of the master suite.
The brass lock gleams in the dim light of the wall sconces.
My hand trembles slightly as I reach into my pocket, retrieving the master key I haven't used since the night I dragged her back from the storm.
I slide the key into the lock and turn it with an agonizingly careful motion, ensuring the mechanism produces minimal noise.
The heavy oak doors swing inward, revealing the vast, opulent bedroom swathed in shadows.
The only illumination comes from the silver moonlight spilling through the massive bay windows, casting long, geometric shapes across the Persian rug.
I step over the threshold, closing the door silently behind me, and allow my eyes to adjust to the gloom.
Livia is asleep in the center of the massive king-sized bed.
She is curled onto her side, hugging a silk pillow against her chest, her dark hair fanning out in a chaotic, beautiful halo against the white linens.
The aggressive, defensive posture she usually carries during the day is completely gone, leaving behind a soft, breathtaking tranquility that stops the breath in my lungs.
I cross the room, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, until I am standing right beside the mattress.
My eyes trace the delicate curve of her cheekbone, the slight part of her swollen lips, and the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown.
She looks so incredibly fragile lying in the center of my world, a civilian trapped in the crosshairs of a mafia empire, carrying a child that will inherit a kingdom built on extortion and fear.
I am the villain in her story, the warden who locked the gates and swallowed the key, yet the fierce, possessive love expanding in my chest feels more real than anything I have ever experienced.
I slowly lower my frame, kneeling on the rug beside the bed to bring my face level with hers. The familiar, intoxicating scent of vanilla and warm skin envelops my senses, a potent drug that instantly soothes the agitation in my veins.
My hand moves entirely on its own accord.
I reach out, my fingers trembling as I hover mere millimeters above the soft skin of her cheek.
The overwhelming urge to brush the hair from her face, to pull her flush against my chest and bury my face in her neck, wages a violent war against my ironclad discipline.
I want to wake her up. I want to beg for her forgiveness and demand her surrender in the same breath.
But I force my hand to stop.
I curl my fingers into a tight fist, the nails biting into my palm, and pull my arm back. She established her boundary in the freezing rain, and until she is ready to invite the monster back into her bed, I will respect the distance she requires to feel safe.
I lean forward, closing my eyes as I rest my forehead against the edge of the mattress, inches from her sleeping form.
"Ti amo, mia regina," I whisper into the quiet room. I love you, my queen. "Sei la luce nel mio inferno. Ti proteggerò sempre, anche da me stesso." You are the light in my hell. I will always protect you, even from myself.
Livia sighs in her sleep, a soft, content sound, and shifts closer to the edge of the bed, her hand falling open on the sheets mere inches from my own. The unconscious movement sends a jolt of liquid heat straight to my core, a cruel reminder of exactly what I am denying myself.
I stay kneeling on the floor for a long time, watching the steady rhythm of her breathing, memorizing the peaceful curve of her mouth.
I commit the picture to memory, storing it away to combat the demons waiting for me outside this room.
When the first faint traces of dawn begin to bleed through the windowpanes, threatening to expose my presence, I finally force myself to stand up.
I walk backward toward the oak doors, my eyes locked on her sleeping figure until the very last second.
I step out into the cold corridor, pulling the door shut and sliding the key back into the brass lock with a definitive click.
The separation is a consequence of my own destructive nature, but I will endure the purgatory for as long as it takes.
She is carrying my world inside her womb, and I will gladly stand guard outside her door for the rest of my miserable life if it means she never has to fear the shadows again.