43. Nico
Nico
“Here you are in your lair, Capo. Freed any more girls today? Ones that weren't mine, that is,” Dante drawls when he finds me in my office.
I look up long enough to flip him off before returning to my work. “We’ve tracked down a few more, but I sent Eros to handle that. The children have a cough. I figured I’d stick close to home to help Matilde.”
“Then why don’t I see or hear the rugrats?”
“She took them to the doctor with Mother. They’re already heading back.”
Dante paces around the room, pouring a drink and then setting it aside without taking a sip.
He’s not been doing well since November.
I know I’m partly to blame. The fighting cage wasn’t enough of an outlet, so he’s thrown himself into helping me, but he’s going to need another distraction before his rage turns inward again.
Dante settles on the leather sofa across from my desk, but his continued fidgeting soon distracts me from any hope of further work. “What?”
“Have you heard from Alessio?”
“About Sofia? No.” I’ll admit I’m surprised. I figured she would’ve told her brother about her accomplice-turned-kidnapper by now.
The answer doesn’t please Dante, even if it should. I want the war with Vegas to end, not get worse. I’ve got enough shit to manage. And I miss our little sister.
My phone starts to buzz, and I sigh, seeing the caller. “Speak of the devil,” I say to Dante, pointing at it as I answer. “Hello, Alessio. Have you reconsidered allowing Caterina to come visit our father?”
“You mother-fucking, cock-sucking, lying piece of shit. Did you think I’d never find out?”
Goddammit. “Always so courteous. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners, De Luca? Oh right, you barely knew her.”
Dante stands, realizing from my cold-hearted taunt that the shit is about to be on.
“You killed my brother, Nico. Guess what? I’m going to kill yours. And I won’t just kill him. I will skin that fucking kidnapping, rapist asshole-”
“My brother would not do that. Well, kidnapping, yes. But not-”
“I’m going to slaughter-”
“You’re not laying a single, dirty finger on my brother, Alessio.”
“You didn’t let me finish, Nico. I’m not going to stop at Dante. I’m going to obliterate your entire fucking famiglia. I’m going to make you very sorry you hid this from me. I’m going to hit you where it hurts before I kill you, too. Again, and again, and again.”
Just then, I can hear Caterina and another woman’s voice in the background. Probably Sofia. They sound distressed but remote, like they aren’t in the same room with him. The old guilt resurfaces. “Are you going to hurt my sister?” I growl, my cool mask disintegrating.
“Hurt my beautiful wife? Hell no. I’m not going to hurt my wife,” he replies, ending the call and leaving me far more rattled than I want to admit.
“He knows?” Dante asks, watching me warily.
“Yeah, he knows. How does he suddenly know?” I ask, staring back at him, coldly.
My brother shakes his head, not answering.
Frustrated, I slam my phone down before deciding I should probably call Carlo at once. If I can get in front of this, say the right thing to appeal to Vicini’s avaricious nature, maybe New York won’t declare war on us, too.
But before I can call him, I’m getting another call. “What is it, Enio?”
Just like that, the phone call from Alessio loses all meaning. Or maybe it has meaning after all.
The bodyguard is shouting about armed men attacking the limo. He manages to give me their location, but all I can focus on is the sound of automatic gunfire, my wife’s screams and my children helplessly wailing in the background.
It feels like someone just yanked my beating heart from my chest, and my words dry up like autumn leaves.
The memory of Margareta on the ballroom floor, followed by an even more unthinkable image, of my innocent children being harmed and my beautiful Matilde, her loving gaze turning to disappointment over my failure as the life leaves her eyes.
“Nico?!”
Dante is roughly shaking me. I have no idea how many times he’s called my name. It’s the catalyst I needed to shove me into action. Unable to speak, I draw my gun and start running.
They were nearly home, so I don’t waste time with a vehicle. “Nico, are you fucking crazy?” Dante shouts, chasing after me as I race toward the firefight happening in the middle of my posh neighborhood.
The second security car obscures my view, and my men are returning fire. “ARE THEY ALIVE?” I shout at them, surprised there’s any oxygen left in my lungs after that sprint.
The men don’t answer, but she does. “Nico!” Her voice sounds faint coming from inside the limo, but she’s alive.
With an inhuman roar, I open fire at the attackers.
Dropping behind an ordinary blue post office box for cover, I nail one of the gunmen in the forehead.
Everything is a blur after that, though it probably lasts thirty seconds at most before it’s done.
Dante grasps my shoulder, shouting that the cops are coming. Why should I care about that? If they die, I die. My heart can’t decide whether it would rather shrivel up or explode inside my chest when I take in the smashed-up limousine riddled with bullets and see blood on the surrounding pavement.
Summoning what remains of my courage, I rush toward the car and my family.