45. Nico
Nico
Two months later
“I’m telling you Alessio didn’t do it, Nico. Francesca has spoken repeatedly to your sister and her cousins. Caterina would never forgive him if-”
“Would you mind lending me your magic crystal ball, Don Vicini? My sister loves that animal, but do you really believe a man we labeled Reaper is above such actions?”
Carlo falls silent over the phone, both of us understanding the kind of men we are and the kind of men we work with. “Someone else was behind it,” he offers at last.
He has zero proof, but I'm beginning to suspect he's right.
All the Barzetti conspirators have been captured and killed except one – Cosima.
What had my father said to me? “You and your soft spot for women. Be careful or it will make you a weaker Capo.” After Alessio’s threat, I didn’t fully consider Cosima could do that, so maybe he had a point.
Torturing women will never be my way. Listening to them, however, is definitely a good idea.
Between Matilde mentioning Cosima's father's trusted men and what a sobbing Vera was able to share with enough coaxing and infinite patience, I've made an interesting discovery.
Cosima's special bodyguards were bikers from a small chapter of an insignificant motorcycle club.
Bikers can't be trusted, so I can't imagine why her father chose a handful of them to work with his crew in Cincinnati and act as guards for his daughter.
It's not our way. Perhaps they had some leverage on him and, later on, Antonio.
Returning my attention to the unhappy Don on the phone, I mutter, “I think you’d try to convince me of Alessio’s innocence simply because you want peace.”
“Maybe so. This goddamn war is costing us a fortune.”
“I always heard our thing is recession-proof.” He chuckles, tiredly. After I admitted Dante’s role in Sofia’s escape to him, I’m grateful we’re still on speaking terms.
The call ends on a less tense note as Dante walks in the room. “Thank fuck, you didn’t open your mouth just now. If Carlo heard your voice…”
“Fuck him,” my brother says, irritably. “I should go to New York, chop off his cheating dick and slit his lying throat for dishonoring the princess.”
“Princess?”
“I met with a former member of that pissant MC today like you asked," he says, ignoring my question.
“And?”
“They worked as hired guns and mules, taking jobs her father wasn't willing to risk his regular crew on, but one of them got cozy with Cosima years ago."
"Cozy?"
"Cosima and Antonio had a different sort of trio. According to this biker, Cosima enjoyed being with larger, rougher men when it came to sex. Her favorite loved bragging about his bedroom escapades with a thirsty cougar of a mob wife… while her husband watched.”
People can be into all sorts of things, but murderous rage fills me at the very thought of another man touching my wife. “The men who attacked the limo had tattoos we didn’t recognize, but a small motorcycle chapter from a different city…”
“Yeah. Want me to take some men and destroy them?”
“If they plotted the attack on my family with Cosima, I’ll personally burn them and their clubhouse to the ground.”
"I get to help."
"Of course, you get to help."
My brother smiles, darkly, eager for blood as always. “I’m glad being Capo hasn’t eliminated your bloodlust, Nico. Does this mean you’ll bring Matilde and the kids home now? You’re a grumpy bastard without your pretty wife around. Some think you’ve done her in.”
“What?!”
“The Capo’s wife has disappeared. It fuels speculation.”
“Well, they can believe whatever they want. She’s staying where she is, and I don’t want anyone who doesn’t need to know to know where that is.”
“For how long?”
“Until I’m certain they’re safe.”
“You want guarantees? Newsflash, Nico – Life is full of uncertainties, especially our lives. Didn’t Margareta’s death at a goddamn wedding reception make that clear to you?
If it’s not the Bratva or civil war or some fuckers in balaclavas, it could be a car accident, falling down a well, drowning in a swimming pool, catching a horrible virus or-”
“Sometimes, I fucking hate you, Dante,” I growl, triggered by the images he slings at me so callously.
“Sometimes, the feeling is mutual. I shouldn't have… I don't want anything horrible happening to them either. I'd die for the rugrats and your wife, but you have something I'll never have – a loving family. Stop letting guilt and fear of losing them fuck with you or you'll blow it.”
There’s a lost look in his eyes that snuffs out my remaining anger. “You have family that loves you, too, Dante. Camminerò fino all’inferno per te.”
Our eyes meet, our bond unbroken by rash choices or harsh words. “I will walk to hell for you, too, Nico. I’ve been thinking about who your Consigliere should be.”
“Who better to advise me than my brother?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t want me in that role. I was going to suggest Eros. He’s our uncle’s second son, so he won’t succeed his father as Underboss in Detroit, but he’s too clever not to make better use of than a foot soldier."
Pondering the suggestion, I nod. “Yes, Eros could be a good Consigliere with some seasoning. He’d be a better choice than Ritchie Barzetti ever was for our father for sure. I was thinking of another young man who might be put to better use for the Trio, too.”
Dante raises his eyebrows, and I share my thoughts regarding Primo with him.
After that, he strolls over to the corner of my office where the canvas and easel are, studying my first attempt at painting in fourteen years. “Nonna always loved to paint. I’ll bet she never expected one of her son's sons to take it up though.”
“I expect not.”
"Are you going to cut off the rest of your ear, Vincent?" He pokes my earlobe with its missing piece.
"No, but I could cut off yours for you."
He chuckles, knowing I won't. “It’s not half bad.”
“It’s not half good either, but I don’t sleep well, and it gives me something to occupy my mind late at night,” I admit. It makes me feel closer to Matilde during our separation, too. I wonder what she’ll think of it when she sees it.
Glancing at my watch, I bid my brother good night. It's nearly time for my favorite part of the day.
“Bona sira, cara mui," I greet her when she answers. I can hear her smile through the phone when she praises my pronunciation. My Sicilian is as meager as my painting skills are rusty, but my wife is always encouraging.
"Nico, I'm sorry but the babies fell asleep early. There is a new lamb, and they would not nap today…"
Her domestic worries and bewitching voice wash over me, carrying away my own cares.
Every night, we chat, and she'll hold the phone up for the children to see my face and hear my voice before she lays them down to sleep.
I often ask her to lay the phone down, placing it on speaker so I can listen to the peaceful comfort of her singing lullabies to our children.
"Nico, can we come home soon?"
"I hope so."
"When will you visit again?"
"A few days, I hope. There's something I need to take care of in Ohio first." I hear her huff of disappointment, but I'd rather be rid of the threat from Cosima's bikers first. "Is everything okay there? No trouble?"
Leone and Ugo update me regularly, but I want to hear it from her, too. "Yes… other than one of the guards snuck off to see his girlfriend in Chicago today. Your uncle and Ugo were furious."
I frown. "Which man?"
"Don't punish him, Nico. He misses her. He loves her."
And I love my wife and children. The guards are supposed to protect them. Leone will tell me which man, so I opt not to upset Matilde any further. "If I can't see the kids, I think we should work on our lessons some more. Not language lessons."
"You are a very bad man," she whispers, though I hear the covers rustling already. My wife, who once was too ashamed to pleasure herself, enjoys our phone sex, where I instruct her what to do, living for her breathy gasps and quiet moans.
"You like my variety of bad. Start with your throat tonight, tesoro. Wrap a hand around it. Using your thumb, find your pulse for me. Can you feel it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, I want your other hand resting on your stomach…"
***
Hours later, I'm busy at the canvas, sated but not sated, when my phone buzzes again. I scowl, seeing the caller. "Maddalena? Is everything alright?"
“When are we coming home?” she asks. “It’s been sixteen days since you visited us in person.”
“I didn’t realize you’d been keeping count.”
“I have for my sister. Who misses her husband. Who is starting to wonder if her husband really misses her or not. If one of the guards can come home to see his girl, why can't the Capo come visit his wife? Or why can't we at least visit you for a day or two? She cried herself to sleep tonight."
Dammit. The thought of Matilde crying twists an invisible knife in my guts as Maddalena’s words hit me like a bucket of ice water. “I’ve told her every night that I miss them."
“Over the phone. It’s not good enough, Nico. Do better.”
She ends the call, leaving me both amused and annoyed with myself. “Do better.” The same words Matilde used the day after we married.
I have done everything I could conceivably do to make Chicago safer for my family. My fear over losing them will always be with me, but I have to learn to manage that. Otherwise, I don’t deserve to be Capo or call myself her husband.
Making up my mind, I call Dante. “I’m going to ask you to handle things here tomorrow. I’m going to visit the farm… and then I’m bringing my family home.”
“About damn time. I miss the rugrats.”