Chapter 18 – Nico
“Wicked fun, those,” Emanuele added.
Joey huffed. “And this isn’t fun?”
I flicked the lighter open and closed in my hand. The construction site was roped off from the road. The insurance would cover the damages to the equipment. And we’d done a sweep to make sure no one would be injured in the explosion.
“It’s a bad investment, nonno,” I repeated, keeping calm.
Looking up from his desk, my grandfather’s lip curled. “You have a lot to learn, figlio.”
The conversation from earlier roared in my mind. It took very little digging to uncover that the safety reports and the environmental surveys were falsified. Tucker Samuelson was taking advantage of my grandfather’s greed, playing into his desire for a legacy.
It was easy to see how convincing this project would be. A high rise, luxury block of condominiums along the Charles River would be a spectacular investment.
If the paperwork wasn’t fake.
Several conversations with the local businesses proved that this area was rife with political turmoil.
It was a miracle some group of alphabet boys hadn’t been here to shut the project down already.
That was still a risk, and if the building sprang up, if Don Grimaldi sank our funds into this dump, we would lose a huge portion of our capital when this project eventually was called into question.
The don thought it was as simple as greasing the palms of a few politicians, encouraging them to look the other way.
We’d argued about it for the last few days.
Nonno was stuck in the past. That wasn’t the world we lived in.
Legal ventures such as this had to be squeaky clean, not riddled with potholes.
“Nico?” Joey tapped my shoulder. “Tell me you’re not having second thoughts.”
I bent…and touched the lighter to the fuse.
Fire crackled along the length. It raced to its goal, and with a mighty crash, the cannisters of fuel ignited.
Luigi whooped.
There was no undoing this. While we’d covered our tracks, this was the first outward sign of treason. Such actions should be punished by death. That was what we were risking. But the alternative—sitting by and letting the plump old men ruin everything—was not an option.
“I think we went overboard on the gasoline,” Emanuele muttered.
Luigi clapped him on the back. “No such thing, fratello.”
“Get out of here, you three,” I barked. “The law will be crawling over this area in the next thirty minutes.” If not sooner.
“Come back with us,” Joey offered. “Papa will have breakfast.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to hang around here for a bit.”
A twisted desire to see my actions unfold steeled my resolve.
“We’ll wait with you.” Emanuele looked between his siblings, and all three nodded.
It warmed my heart. It did. They were already risking too much with this act of defiance. I would have acted alone, but I wasn’t a pyrotechnical genius, neither could I have carried all the material and placed it myself.
“Go now, that’s an order,” I snapped.
They didn’t buy my surely tone for a moment. But they did leave, disappearing into the night without a trace.
As the flames climbed higher, eating every fragment of consumable material, I sauntered down the road. The first boom echoed through the district. That would be the backhoe. The dump truck was next.
And later today, the lead investigator—whoever was assigned to this crime scene—would have a delivery of papers sent to his office. They would lead him to question Tucker, and the Samuelson Venture Capital would soon have its scant resources tied up in legal turmoil.
Even if my grandfather was delusional enough to want to, there was no way he could financially support another one of Tucker’s hairbrained schemes.
How many more terrible decisions was I going to have to find a way to reverse? I scraped a hand over my hair, tugging at the longer strands on the top.
“How did you do it, Dad?” I muttered, going up to a lookout point on the Charles River. “How did you make him see reason?”
The brackish water slapped the shore, a mocking response to a question I would never find the answer to.
As the eastern sky grew purple, sirens wailed in the distance.
I should have left already, but something about the water was calming.
Hell, maybe I should head over to the point.
A briny swim would do me good. The ice baths were all the rage, but there was something damn near primal about swimming in the cold ocean that transcended fitness and health fads.
A faint huff, followed by a scuffle, had my head snapping up. That sound could only have one meaning. A dangerous smile tipped my lips, and I took off jogging toward the noise. In an alley that ran behind one of the numerous marinas was a group of four men, squaring off with a lone wolf.
I hung back for a moment, assessing the fight.
The group was woefully outnumbered. The lone fighter was skilled. The way he struck and twisted out of their clutches said as much. Dancing under the glow of the neon light, my suspicion was confirmed. I knew that man.
“Ma guarda un po.’” I laughed under my breath.
Il Lupo was far from home tonight.
If I was heir to the Grimaldi famiglia, the little wolf was my counterpart to his.
One of the men lunged forward with a knife, slashing wildly. The wolf sidestepped with practiced ease, grabbing the attacker's wrist and twisting until a sickening crack echoed through the alley. The knife clattered to the ground as the man howled in pain.
Chuckling, I reached for my weapon. He didn’t need my help. But it would be a tragedy to let Brando Zorzallo be seriously injured on my watch.
Two more rushed him simultaneously. The wolf dropped low, sweeping his leg in a tight arc that sent one crashing into a stack of empty crates. The second man managed to land a glancing blow to the wolf's shoulder, but it only seemed to fuel his rage.
Blood pounded in my ears as I watched him grab his attacker by the throat, lifting him clear off the ground before slamming him into the brick wall with enough force to dislodge mortar dust. The man slid down the wall, unmoving.
The fourth attacker, clearly recognizing he was outmatched, pulled a gun.
Mine answered the threat. Two shots to the back, and the last man toppled over.
“The fuck?” Brando bellowed. “I didn’t want him dead!”
I shrugged and holstered my weapon. Stepping into the gloomy light, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Would you rather it was you?”
Brando sized me up before spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Asshole. Now I have a body to clean up.”
“Could be worse.”
The wolf went to the man with the broken wrist, bent, and with a vicious tug, snapped his neck.
“It raises the question, why are you fighting in our territory, Zorzallo?” I rumbled.
Cold eyes, the color of the stormy sea, flicked in my direction as Brando moved to execute the other two men. “I was out for a jog. They jumped me.”
My mouth twisted in disgust. “You ran all this way?”
Brando dispatched the last of his attackers, rose, and shrugged. “What, like it’s hard?”
I let out a short laugh. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, kid.” Brando walked over and held out a hand.
I untangled mine, shook his, and pulled him in for a hug. His athletic shirt was slick with sweat.
“You’re back then.” Brando nodded, stepping back to look me up and down. “We heard rumors, but no one believed it. How’d you get off the murder charges?”
“The coma wasn’t pinned on me,” I drawled. “The witnesses took extended vacation. The victim’s next of kin died of cocaine overdose.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.” I nodded to the marina. “There’s a security camera on the wall. Might want to take care of that.”
Brando grumbled. “I was making good time on my pace.”
“You can always go for another run…if you don’t wind up in prison.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Fair point. I’ll call some guys down here to disable the cameras and scramble the feed.”
“Don’t worry about them.” I jerked my chin to the four bodies. “Consider it a favor.”
“I don’t want to owe you Grim Fucks anything,” Brando said with a bite.
“A personal favor,” I countered. “What’s the point of being friends if we can’t help one another out? Hmm?”
“You’re a good man, Dominico, even if you are a Grim.” Brando pulled a phone from the zipped pocket of his running shorts.
I mimicked the action, dialing a cleanup crew. A gust of wind cut through the space. I turned to face it, defying nature to make me feel weak.
Pressing the phone to my ear, I gave short, precise instructions.
Vinny, the capo who oversaw the cleanup crew, would no doubt call me later in the morning, asking for details. The fewer I gave now, the better. Right before I hung up, another call beeped in my ear.
I frowned at the name on the screen but answered. “What is it?”
“Dominico,” Arabella gasped. “Where are you?”
“Out for a run.” Dread knotted in my gut. “What is it?”
“Francesco”—hiccup—“Godfather woke up, was shouting in his phone, and had a”—hiccup—“heart attack.”
Another gust of wind sent the blood draining from my face. It was happening. The day I always knew would come was here. It was just a hot summer Wednesday. Nothing special, no supernatural sign to mark the occasion. Beyond me, Boston was carrying on with her morning routine.
But fate was handing me the throne.
And the only thought that pulsed in my mind was that I wasn’t ready.
“The EMTs are here,” Arabella continued. “But my godfather isn’t responsive!”
I pursed my lips. “I’ll be there in a half hour—”
“No, come to the hospital,” she corrected, voice gathering a sudden strength. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to cut you off, Dominico, but I…don’t know what else to do.”
The delicate child. It had to be hell for her.
My grandfather was the only father-figure she had.
To wake up to that chaos in the big house…
fuck. She probably felt all alone. I could picture it.
My grandmother screaming. The staff scrambling to summon help.
And little Arabella, standing to the side, not able to jump in and help.
But she did well. She’d called me. That showed her mind was already calculating. Maybe she had it in her to make a good mob wife—to anyone but me.
If I’m king, she doesn’t have to marry anyone until she decides she’s ready.
One bright spot in this bleak situation. I would protect her—I would have to protect them all.