Chapter 8 NICO
NICO
The Maserati moves through the Bronx like a blade through water.
I’m driving. Leone has gone up ahead on my orders to knock on doors and raise hell.
Beside me in the passenger seat, Izzy has not stopped gripping her phone since we left the restaurant.
She presses a hand to her forehead. “This is my fault.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” I repeat.
Her laugh is thin and miserable. “You’re being too nice.”
“I assure you, no one’s ever accused me of that.”
She looks at me like she wants to argue again. Like she knows from experience that’s not true. But I know better than to delude myself. She doesn’t remember our night together. How could she? It was seven years ago, in a club dark as sin.
Better this way. Better she has no idea what she means to me.
“I should have been more careful,” she whispers. “Should have heard my phone. It was just so busy on the floor tonight, and,” She stops talking and presses both hands to her face. “I’m such a bad mother.”
“You’re nothing of the sort.”
“Yeah?” She laughs bitterly. “Because I lost my kid today. That’s not Mother of the Year material.”
She looks at me then, really looks, and for one brief second I see how close she is to falling apart. I understand why she doesn’t. Mothers like her do not have the luxury of falling apart. They keep moving because someone smaller depends on them to.
“Tell me about Noah,” I say. “Anything that can help locate him.”
She hesitates. I recognize the look instantly: guarded. Like a door slamming shut halfway.
I ignore it.
“Does he walk home alone?” I ask.
“Not really. But the school is pretty close,” she says. “We usually go on foot. I guess he could have learned the way, but…” She drags in a deep breath. “It’s not a nice neighborhood. Ours.”
Not nice is the understatement of the century. They live in the heart of my territory. It’s not the kind of place you want to go without a gun, or even with one. The Bronx is a living thing: everything that belongs is blanketed by its darkness, protected.
And everything that doesn’t is chewed up and spit out in pieces.
“Does he know the neighborhood well?” I press.
“A little.”
“Friends nearby?”
“Not really.”
“Relatives?”
She shakes her head.
Just the two of them then. The thought makes me grip the steering wheel harder. “What else?”
“What?”
“Noah. What kind of kid is he?”
She blinks. “I—why?”
“Because we are driving through the night looking for him,” I say calmly. “It will help to know who we are looking for.”
She considers that. “He’s a good kid. Never gets into trouble, always does what he’s told.”
“That’s good.”
“He’s picky, though,” she says eventually.
“Picky.”
“With food.”
“That is a crime in most Italian households.”
“I know,” she says weakly.
The corner of my mouth twitches.
“He won’t eat gelato unless it’s real Italian gelato.”
“Smart child.”
She laughs. A small, surprised sound. The first one since we left the restaurant.
“He is very stubborn.”
“A trait he did not inherit from you, I’m sure.”
“Ha.”
“He sounds like a man of good taste anyway.”
“He is,” she says softly. “He’s my little man.”
Something warm flickers in her expression when she says it. Pride. Love.
It is… disarming.
“How old is he?” I ask.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because children behave differently at different ages.”
She still hesitates.
Interesting.
“You said he goes to school,” I continue calmly. “That means he is at least five.”
She stares at the floor of the car.
“Six.”
The word is quiet.
Six.
For a fraction of a second something cold moves through my chest.
Six.
The timing…
No.
I shut the thought down immediately.
It is none of my business. Izzy’s life is hers.
And men in my position do not indulge fantasies about waitress mothers and miracle children.
That is how fools become weak.
Still, information is information.
After that, Izzy goes quiet, speaking only to give me directions to her place. I pretend I need them. That I haven’t been driving this exact same route every night since we met again at Notte Bianca a year ago. Better that she thinks she’s a stranger to me.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him,” she confesses quietly. “He’s my everything.”
“You won’t lose him.”
“How can you promise that?”
“I’m a powerful man, Izzy.” This time, I look her straight in the eye. “When I make a promise, I keep it. Even if I have to bend and break the world for it.”
Her breath hitches. I remember that look on her face from seven years ago, that hint of a fire just waiting for the right spark. If it were any other time—if we weren’t facing the crisis of a missing kid in the dead of night—it’d be that much harder to keep myself from kissing her.
It’s still fucking hell, though.
Finally, we pull up in front of Izzy’s place. The lights are all off except for one window.
Then we see it.
A figure standing near the apartment building entrance.
Another smaller shape bundled up in his arms.
Izzy leans forward suddenly.
“Oh my God.”
Leone is holding a small boy. The kid looks half-asleep, wrapped in a blanket that looks hand-knit, something an old lady might whip up.
Izzy is out of the car before I even stop completely.
“Noah!”
The boy’s head lifts.
“Mom!”
He launches himself toward her the second Leone sets him down.
Izzy catches him like gravity itself depends on it.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, crushing him against her chest. “Oh my God.”
“I’m sorry,” Noah says immediately. “I went to Mrs. Delgado’s because Gabby didn’t come.”
“That was smart,” she says. “You did so good, baby.”
He buries his face in her shoulder. “I didn’t know where you were.”
“I’m so sorry.” She kisses his hair over and over like she is trying to make up for every second he was scared. “I’m here now, okay? I promise I won’t ever let this happen again.”
The sheer affection between them tugs at something in my chest. A part of me I’d long thought I’d buried.
I step out of the car slowly.
Leone meets my eyes.
“He was napping at the neighbor’s,” he says quietly. “Lady told me he showed up sometime in the afternoon. Said his sitter didn’t show. She’s elderly though—only has a landline and a phone book. Had no idea how to track down Izzy to let her know.”
I clap him once on the shoulder. “Good work.”
Leone grins. “That mean I get vacation days this year?”
“Keep dreaming.”
Izzy is still holding Noah like she will never let go. For a second, I see myself and my mother, the way we were before the world broke us. Before it took her from me and turned me into a monster she’d struggle to recognize.
Love like that is pure. And pure things are exactly what men like me destroy.
After a moment, Izzy looks up at me.
Her eyes are wet.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
Noah turns in her arms.
Then, finally, he turns to look at me.
For the first time I really see him. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Straight nose. Straight eyebrows, and a small birthmark just beside his ear.
My hand moves before I realize it.
My fingers touch the same spot on my own face.
The same mark. The same shape. The same place.
The world goes very still.
Izzy sees the movement. Her eyes follow my hand.
Then they flick to Noah. Then back to me.
The silence between us changes.
I’ve wanted to stay out of this. Of her life, her pure world of light. I’ve been content following her at a distance, making sure she was safe, that her kid was safe.
But Noah isn’t just her kid.
And that changes everything.
“We need to talk.”