31. Nicholas
Nicholas
Nicholas got to the office early Monday, focused like someone who had made up his mind and just needed to keep busy until he could do something about it.
Friday. Tampa. Olivia.
Everything between now and then was just about getting through the days.
He was reviewing his schedule when Michael's text came through.
If you have a few minutes, come to my office.
On my way.
When Nicholas walked in, Michael was watching the TV on the wall. He pointed at the screen and hit rewind without saying anything.
The footage was grainy and shot from a distance. A man lay in the street next to a car, blood spreading dark and wide around his head. The newscaster spoke in that calm, professional tone TV reporters always use when discussing anything but calm or professional.
The victim, known as Little Frankie, was an associate of the Lucchese crime family.
He had been leaving a late-night bar and was about to enter his vehicle when two men emerged from an alley and shot him three times in the head at close range.
Police are investigating but have no suspects at this time.
It is the first mob-style killing in New York City in over seven years.
Nicholas watched the screen until Michael muted it.
The silence in the office was clear and understood by both of them.
"I thought you should know," Michael said quietly.
Nicholas nodded. "I'm going to Tampa on Friday."
Michael's expression shifted into something warmer. "Have you made your decision?"
"I think so." Nicholas exhaled slowly. "I'm going to talk to my mom first. Like you suggested."
Michael gave him a real, genuine smile, the kind he only showed when it truly mattered. "Good choice."
Nicholas called his mother from his desk before the morning had fully settled.
"When can I take you to lunch or dinner? I think we should talk."
Beverly's voice warmed immediately. "Tonight is fine if you're free. Your father has a meeting—the house will be quiet."
“Perfect. I'll pick you up. At your office or home?”
“At home, I want to change. Come at 6:30.”
“How about your favorite sushi restaurant?”
A beat of delighted recognition. "Now I know it's important. Your uncle took me there when he needed to talk."
Nicholas laughed—the first real one in days. "See you at 6:30."
He hung up and felt something change inside him. It wasn’t exactly lighter, but it felt more honest.
The restaurant was warm and softly lit, the kind of place that had been good for years without needing to prove it. They ordered, the server left, and Nicholas poured the white Burgundy he’d picked, Beverly’s favorite, and waited for his mother to do what she always did.
She waited, sipped her wine, and watched him with the patience of someone who had been reading her son’s face since before he could even speak.
Finally, she said, "So what's on your mind, my son? I know it's probably about a girl who has kept you distracted for months."
Nicholas laughed. "Is it that obvious?"
"You’re just like your uncle." Her smile grew, a mix of affection and exasperation. "You’re sharp in business, but when it comes to personal matters, you miss what’s right in front of you. I’ve been asking for weeks. Each time you said nothing, but your face told me everything."
He smiled. Let the deflection go.
"You know what’s funny? Uncle Michael told me how you helped him when he was having a hard time with Verónica.
He said I should talk to you because you see things clearly.
" He paused. "Her name is Olivia. Uncle Michael said you got that gift from Grandma.
So let me tell you the whole story, every part of it, so you have the full picture. "
Beverly set her glass down and folded her hands on the table. "I'm all ears."
"I met her during the Stratus Tampa interview."
Beverly's eyes lit up immediately. "I saw that interview. Is Olivia the woman who interviewed you?" Nicholas nodded. "She was gorgeous," Beverly said, not as a passing observation but as a verdict. "Very classy. Gentle. I liked her style immediately."
"There’s a lot more to it." He told her everything: how Olivia’s marriage had been falling apart, how they found each other by chance, and how quickly it became something he couldn’t define.
He talked about the divorce, Alexandra, and the weeks he kept his distance, only to realize how much Olivia meant to him.
He told her about Little Frankie, the diner, and the bruise on Olivia’s arm, watching his mother’s face shift from warmth to concern, with something strong beneath both.
"When I'm with her, I feel a contentment I've never known," he said. "She is always on my mind. I arranged reasons to be in Tampa because I wanted to be with her. I spend as much time with her as I can." He glanced at his mother. "So she's the real reason I've been going to Tampa so often."
"A significant part of it," Beverly said, with a knowing smile.
"She told me she loves me." He said it simply, without any show. "She’s said it more than once. Every time I held her or smiled, but I never said it back. My chest would tighten, I’d want to say it, but I just couldn’t.
" He looked at his glass. "The less I see her, the more I want her. Other women flirt with me, but I don’t care. That’s never happened to me before. "
Beverly was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice had that mix of exasperation and love only mothers have, the kind that makes you feel both seen and a little foolish.
"Oh, Nicholas, Nicholas." She shook her head slowly. "I feel like I've been through this before with your uncle. Why is it that you successful, good-looking men cannot handle the one thing that actually matters?" She leaned forward. "Tell me truly. How do you feel about Olivia? Just a few words."
He was quiet. He looked at his hands, then at his mother, and let the answer that had been sitting underneath everything for weeks finally surface without obstruction.
"I guess I love her, Mom."
Beverly raised an eyebrow.
Nicholas smiled. "I love her, Mom."
"Now," she said, "how does that sound?"
He thought about it honestly, letting the words hang in the air and listening to how they sounded. "Like I just told the truth." He paused. "I actually realized it when I was talking with Uncle Michael. He helped me see it. But saying it out loud is one thing. Accepting it is harder for me."
The sushi arrived, filling the pause between them with the easy routine of plates and chopsticks, and the quiet warmth of a meal shared by two people who don’t need to talk all the time.
They ate quietly for a while. Nicholas looked at his mother, really seeing her, and felt a wave of emotion he hadn’t expected.
"Mom."
She looked up; her face open and entirely present.
"I love you. Thank you." His voice was unsteady in a way he didn't try to correct. "I needed you to see what Uncle Michael saw. I see it more clearly now."
Beverly’s eyes filled with warmth, not quite tears, but close. She smiled the way she always did when he got something right. "I love you too, son."
The relief that moved through Nicholas was clean and complete.
He had his answer.
Wednesday, around noon, his phone rang. Alexandra.
"Nicholas, do you have some time now? I'd like to stop by your office."
He was surprised but didn't show it. "Yes, of course. How long?"
"I'll leave now. Fifteen minutes."
She arrived right on time, as Alexandra always did, and sat on the couch in his office with the focused efficiency of someone who didn’t make social visits.
"I'm not sure what you know," she began, "but Olivia is smart. She called me this morning. Two Tampa detectives visited her office. They asked about Little Frankie." She paused. "And about Devon."
Nicholas looked up. "Devon?"
"You didn't hear?"
"I saw the news about Little Frankie. Nothing about Devon."
"He was almost beaten to death last night in Tampa. He's in a hospital bed." Her eyes were steady and entirely professional. "I've never met Devon Brennan," he said.
"Okay." She gave a small nod. "The detectives asked Olivia if she had a boyfriend.
She refused to answer. Said it was none of their business, told them the interview was over, and directed them to contact me.
" A beat. "As I said—she's smart. I've already called Tampa PD to make clear that any further contact with Olivia goes through me first."
Nicholas felt something move through his chest at the image of Olivia standing up in that conference room and shutting the detectives down without flinching. He wasn't surprised. He was proud.
"I think you should contact Marvin," Alexandra said.
"If the police want to speak with you, I want you to have the best criminal attorney in the state beside you.
" She stood, smoothing her jacket. "I need to speak with Michael now.
I would have spoken to you both together, but then we'd lose attorney-client privilege. "
"Thanks for coming by, Alex."
She gave him a single nod and left.
A few hours later, Michael called him in.
They sat across from each other in the familiar geometry of the office they'd spent years building things in.
"Did you call Marvin?" Michael asked.
"This morning. He told me not to answer any questions without him present."
Michael nodded. "Good. We had nothing to do with any of this, but the police will probably want to speak with you, given that Little Frankie made a direct threat against you. Make sure Marvin is there." He leaned back. "You're going to Tampa on Friday?"
"Friday morning." Nicholas paused. "I was thinking of driving."
"I spoke with Grant." Michael's tone shifted into the easy authority of a man who had already handled the thing before the conversation reached it.
"Jim and Dan are formally assigned to you now.
They've been told, and they understand the arrangement.
The chopper makes more sense—they're already in Tampa with the SUV. "
"Thank you, Uncle." Nicholas felt the weight of it—not just the logistics, but everything behind them. The years, the family, the particular kind of love that showed up as problem-solving and never needed to announce itself. "I appreciate it. That's what I'll do."
Michael looked at him with the quiet knowing of a man watching something he'd helped set in motion finally arrive where it was always going.
"Have you decided what you're going to say to her?"
Nicholas met his uncle's eyes.
"I know what I feel, and I know the reality of the situation," he said. "I just have to figure out how to explain it all in a way that works."
Michael smiled. "That's the right problem to have."
Nicholas stood. Friday felt both very close and not close enough.
He had made his decision.
The only question left was how to explain it to her correctly.