7. Nico
Nico
Matilde’s alone with my children. Pulling out my phone, I check the cameras again. The twins are still asleep in their cribs, but she’s in my bedroom. “Why is she raiding my underwear drawer?”
I show Dante the screen, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “A nosy teenager.”
“Or a spy,” I counter.
“But Silvio’s dead. Good riddance.”
Good riddance, indeed. I want to believe Caterina will be safe in Vegas now, but I’d still prefer to have my sister married to a man who answers to me instead of that crazy De Luca fucker.
A pitiful-looking street prostitute pecks on the window of my Mercedes, drawing my attention away from the girl on screen. Killing the engine, I meet her gaze. She stares at my scar for five full seconds before quickly tottering away. She’s seen plenty of scars, I’m sure.
On the corner, there’s a black van idling that I don’t like the look of. “You noted them?" I ask the solider guarding the entrance of The Gentleman's Post as we head up the stone steps.
"Yeah. We've noticed them a few times over the summer."
"Get their plate number,” I tell him.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Cheryl, the madam purrs when Dante and I enter for our meeting with the Barzetti men. “Will you take some refreshment?”
I give her a quick nod, wishing I hadn’t agreed to this location.
When Cheryl leaves to fetch our drinks, I notice a young girl dusting the chandelier above the foyer. I’ve rarely spared her a second glance, but something about her dark hair, slightly pointed chin and brown eyes reminds me of the nanny. “Maddalena, why are you here?” I ask the girl.
She drops her duster. “The regular cleaning girl has been sick.” I scowl, noting the state of her clothes. She’s been cleaning all day when she should be in school.
Cheryl beckons us into the sitting room with our drinks, and Maddalena takes the opportunity to flee. “She’s not to work here,” I warn the madam. “Not even to dust and vacuum. Understood?”
“I understand. I’m sorry, Nico.”
“Have any of my men bothered her?”
She shakes her head before asking if we’d like some company this afternoon. “We have a fresh new girl from-”
“No.”
Cheryl nods before making herself scarce.
It’s her job to greet the customers, handle the house upkeep and arrange the whores’ schedules, but it’s Antonio Barzetti and his son, Giacomo who handle the business end of our sex establishments in Chicago.
They manage them efficiently, the money flows in, and they never fail to give their Capo his lion’s share.
I’ve never liked them, nor Antonio’s older brother, Ritchie, my father’s Consigliere, but friendship is not a requirement for doing business.
“Do you still suspect them?” Dante drawls, sipping his drink.
“Of something, sure. I just don’t know what exactly yet.”
“So why do we have to meet with them?”
“I’m making some new rules. Why? Are you bored? Making more travel plans?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and that maniacal glee in his dark eyes sets my teeth on edge. Dante has been up to something ever since our trip to New York for a wedding that didn’t happen, and I suspect it has everything to do with the missing bride, Sofia De Luca.
Pulling my phone out again, I find Matilde in the nursery with the children. Satisfied, I tuck it away as Antonio slithers in. Snakes in the garden.
Giacomo follows his father, still zipping up his pants. He takes full advantage of his position at the brothel, but all the women who work for us do so freely, understanding what they’ll be doing in exchange for the money they earn.
“No female entertainment for you today?” Giacomo asks.
“We’re here to talk business. Where’s your brother?” I ask Antonio of Ritchie.
“Upstairs. His pretty young wife is gone again, so he’s busy with-”
“When I call for a meeting, it’s not an excuse for anything else!” I roar, fed up with this bullshit. Antonio wisely closes his mouth. “I’m making changes regarding our sex work operations…”
“Twenty-one?!” Giacomo complains once I’ve said what I came to say.
I turn my cold gaze on him. “Yes. Girls under the legal drinking age working where alcohol is served could give the Feds an excuse to raid our establishments. We can’t give them easy ways in.” It’s not the main reason I feel strongly about this, but it’s one they’ll comprehend.
“The Bratva aren’t so choosy,” Giacomo argues, thinking he can persuade me. “We already lose customers to them because they find virgins for their wealthiest customers-”
“The Bratva are our enemies. We’re not following their examples. No girls under twenty-one. Definitely not minors.”
“But our own girls marry young. Your sister was barely eighteen when-”
“Marriage and this business are not the same thing. My decision is final, but, while we’re on the topic, let it be known that if I catch any of our men messing around with underage girls, their balls will be meeting my blade.”
I stand, ready to leave, and Antonio nods, but his son still doesn’t know when to shut up. “Cheryl’s newest girl is nineteen. Trust me, she’d make you reconsider this idea. Surely, with your wife dead, you’d enjoy-”
Slamming Giacomo against the wall, I cut off his stupid words and knock the wind from his lungs. He balls up his fists, so I pull my knife, pressing it against his throat. “Go ahead. Hit me if you can. I’d enjoy your attempt and what would follow more than anything.”
Eyes wide, he gulps and shows me his palms. I guess I don’t get to kill him today. Shoving him away, he stumbles into Dante who helps him into a chair. Forcefully.
“My personal affairs are my business, and our business does not revolve around getting our cocks wet at every opportunity. If you want to be Captain after your father, you’ll get that through your head.”
Storming out, I accost the guard. “Plate?”
“They drove off when they saw me coming, Nico.”
Annoyed, I wait for Dante in the car. “Why is it that I have the reputation for being the volatile one?” he taunts, getting in.
“Because you are. Fuck, I despise them.”
“Let’s kill them.”
I shake my head at my brother. “That’s your solution for everything.”
Checking my phone again, I scan the cameras for Matilde and the children, grimacing when I find them heading outside.
“Goddammit, I want them to remain inside if I’m not there. Come on,” I say, starting the car. “We’re going to my house.”
***
“I will boil you alive if you hurt them!”
The shouted threat, the smashed glass, she’s spirited for certain. Her bedraggled hair, soiled blouse, bare feet and bloody hand. This girl with her big brown eyes, like melted honey, burning fiercely reminds me of a vengeful creature from mythology.
But the moment she recognizes me, her olive-toned cheeks are blasted with color. “I need to pee,” she gasps, racing past me like her life depends on it.
Upstairs, Dante is still sniggering over the debacle when I finish changing diapers. “Be useful and watch them for me,” I tell him once the children are settled in their cribs.
The door to the downstairs guest bathroom opens and instantly closes again when she sees me. “Matilde,” I say, sternly. “Come out here.”
Still barefoot, with wild hair and wide eyes, she does. She’s tried washing out the cut, but it’s already bleeding again. I grasp her hand, ignoring the way she flinches at my touch, and inspect the wound. I doubt she has much experience with them.
“Let me take care of this. Do you have spare clothes in your bag?” She shakes her head. “Follow me.”
Her guilty eyes settle on the rumpled duvet when we reach my bedroom. Why is it rumpled? Did she get in my bed when I wasn’t watching? Fuck, I don’t need to think about that.
Leading her into the bathroom, I retrieve the first-aid kit from under my sink. “Sit.” I jerk my chin toward the empty space on the counter. For a brief time, Margareta’s makeup, lotions and fragrances littered it, but it wasn’t long before she slept and bathed in another part of the house.
When I remove my coat and start rolling up my sleeves, Matilde gulps and stares at me intently. She's probably afraid I’ll pull my knife again. “You always wear suit,” she comments.
“I wasn’t born in one. Let me clean your wound.” I hold out my hand until she’s forced to offer me hers. “You were not to leave the house.” I swipe the cut with antiseptic, and her nostrils flare either from the sting or the scolding.
“The garden is part of the house.”
“I’m in no mood to be contradicted, Matilde. You’ll stay indoors unless I’m here.”
“The babies like it.”
“The babies aren’t in charge.”
“I like it.”
I tilt her chin up until she’s forced to look me in the eye. “No setting foot outside this house without my permission when you watch my children. I make the rules here. You follow them. Understood?”
She gives me a tiny, sullen nod. “Yes, sir.”
I’ve already told her to call me Nico. This is the second time she’s called me that instead. A headstrong girl who thinks she knows best. Exactly the sort of hassle I don’t want or need.
Yet, her protectiveness and determination when it came to the children surprised me. They deserve nothing less. For the first time, I acknowledge the possibility she’s not the worst nanny they could have.
“This needs a couple of stitches.” I brace myself for girlish tears.
Matilde simply shrugs. “I could do them if not my right hand.” She pretends to hold a pencil, indicating her hand preference and making me want to grin for some reason.
Prepping the needle, I tell her to keep still. She does, but her plump bottom lip trembles when I pierce her flawless skin. I decide to distract her. “Have you had stitches in the past?”
Her eyes dart up to meet mine, curiously. “I was ten. We have a small farm in Sicily. I helped with the lambs.”
Her thick accent flavors her sweet voice, and an idyllic image springs to mind. “Matilde, the shepherdess.” She scowls at me suspiciously. “Come dici… Pastorella?”
Understanding, she smiles, a radiant sight, and continues. “We grow peaches, too.”
Why does the mere mention of the fruit trigger an olfactory hallucination? Or maybe she really does smell like them.
She also smells like my cologne. She was messing around my bureau earlier, and something buried deep down likes that she smells like my cologne, but that’s for damn sure a thought I won’t entertain.
“One day, I was walking on top of the wooden fence watching lambs play. I lost my balance and fell. A sharp rock cut my leg. Bad. My father treated it.”
“If he was part of Cosa Nostra, he’d be familiar with stitches,” I reply, carefully drawing the needle through again. She winces. Why does my cruel heart wince, too?
“Papà… he warned me not to walk on the fence.”
“Did he punish you?”
“No, but he told me a silly goose faces the con… con queso?”
“Consequences,” I correct, biting my lip to keep from asking if she likes Mexican food.
“Yes. He made me do the first three.” She holds up three fingers and lifts her left leg, showing me a small scar on the inside of her smooth thigh. An inappropriate thought threatens, so I force my eyes to return to the needle.
“Giving yourself stitches at ten,” I murmur, thinking of my own father’s harsh lessons.
“I cried, but I learned.”
“How to stitch wounds or to always listen to your father?”
She gives me a mischievous grin. “How to stitch them so he would not know next time.”
Completely unexpected, laughter attempts to bubble up from my belly before I quickly squash it. I can’t recall the last time I even felt like laughing. She laughs tentatively, watching me closely with her eyes sparkling like diamonds in this lighting.
“Your father died recently?” I ask, mastering myself again. Matilde nods, sadly. "How?"
"War in Cosa Nostra. He was shot… near our farm."
I know so little about her. “Did anyone get the man who killed him?"
She shrugs. "Yes. Revenge, it never ends."
She's not wrong about that. "And your mother?”
She quickly shakes her head. I’m not sure what that means, but her eyes glitter with tears now. That’s the last thing I intended.
“Why did you really come to America?” I ask her, finishing up.
“I told everyone, for school.”
I don’t know her well, but some subtleties can’t evade me. “I’m familiar with deceit, Matilde. I’m a veritable expert at it, and that was a lie.”
Her mouth opens before she closes it again. Then she hangs her head. “I took this. Earlier.“
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out my stiletto switchblade, offering it to me.
It was on my bureau this morning. She shrinks back at my expression, but I’m angrier with myself for leaving it out on a day she was going to be here alone with my children.
Stupid fucking fool. I want to be furious with her for my failure, too. “So, you’re a liar and a thief?”
“No, I was… curiosa. Mi dispiace. I will not take again.”
I sigh. “If you would kill for my children, I suppose it doesn’t hurt for you to have some protection.”
“You let me keep it?” There’s an alluring darkness dancing in those beautiful eyes for a moment, a wildness that speaks to my own twisted nature.
“If you’ll keep it away from my children, yes. Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes, yes. Never near them. My father showed me.”
“I’d like to see what he showed you someday. You may borrow a clean t-shirt from my clothes. I believe you can find my bureau.”
Her eyes widen with alarm, trying to determine how much I know about her snooping, but I’d rather not tip my hand yet. “Thank you, sir.”
“I told you to call me Nico,” I snap, annoyed by her calling me ‘sir’ again. I want to hear her say my name.
“Yes, Sir Nico,” she snaps back before sliding off the counter and scurrying out of my reach.