Chapter 26
NICO
Soft white light glowed from almost every window of my home as I drove up the drive. It was a strange feeling to come home and have someone waiting for me.
My car pulled to a stop, and I got out before my driver could open the door. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Walter. Please apologize to Camilla for keeping you out so late.” Slapping the man on the back, he chuckled as I walked toward my front door.
A glow from the kitchen made me stop for a moment, but I was tired, covered in blood, and I needed to see my wife. I needed to make sure she was okay.
I could still hear the threats to her life echoing through my head as if someone was behind me whispering them in my ear.
How the Cardones knew she was in danger was something that even my worst torture methods hadn’t been able to make them talk.
So either they were just blowing smoke up my ass, or they’d been paid handsomely to keep it quiet.
There was always the other alternative: they were being threatened, but that wasn’t exactly something I was overly concerned about.
My steps on the marble floor of the foyer echoed, and I wasn’t sure why tonight this place felt emptier than it had for a long time, even though it was filled with my family.
Running my hand over the notch in the newel post, I thought back to the stories of how the two generations before me fought to save this family.
The bullet hole was never fixed and served as a reminder to me of what I had to do to keep the people in my life safe. It also reminded others who came to this house of the lengths we’d go to to protect this place.
Our room was empty, the bed turned back, but my beautiful wife wasn’t in it. The bathroom door was ajar, and that wasn’t like her, so I didn’t even have to look in there. Her closet was empty, well, other than the clothes she’d amassed over the last few weeks at a rapid pace, thanks to Letty.
Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I dialled her number and groaned when I heard it buzz from the dresser. I hated to send a mass text this late at night, but I needed to know where she was.
Me: Where’s my wife?
Nobody responded immediately, and my anger rose. She was supposed to be protected in this house, and not one person knew where she was?
Me: WHERE IS MY WIFE?
Suddenly, the bubbles popped up.
Camilla: She’s in the kitchen, sir.
Me: What is she doing down there?
Camilla: Baking bread, last I checked.
I could just see the older woman’s smug smile as she typed it.
Me: Thank you.
Pulling off my shirt, I tossed it in the garbage, which would go to the incinerator and grabbed one of my many black button-down shirts. It was just us awake, so I didn’t bother tucking it in or even doing it up all the way.
Arriving at the door to the kitchen, I stood there and watched the woman who was quickly working her way into my soul, doing nothing but being herself, kneading dough. She rolled out the dough and plopped it into loaf pans as I gazed at her.
She spun around, and the scream that left that woman’s mouth would be able to wake the dead.
Emilia slammed her hand to her chest, making the flour she had on them puff out in a cloud.
“What the fuck, Nico?” She panted out as she bent over, gasping for breath.
“You scared the shit out of me.” Her words were mumbled.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I tried to hide my laughter with a cough.
“Don’t laugh, this isn’t funny. I could have had a heart attack.” She finally stood upright again, and I watched her eyes drift over the unbuttoned part of my shirt. “You look like you’re in one piece. Did we take any losses?”
“No, your intel was spot on. Men are at every place you said they would be, and the exact number inside. I still want to know how you knew that,” I said as I sat down on a stool across from her.
“People are predictable in this business. They find a plan that works and stick with it until it no longer does. Well, the smaller families do.” She turned and slid the loaf pans into the oven. Her perfect, round ass was almost enough of a distraction to forget what I was talking about.
“But not you, Nico. You weren’t predictable. It was one of the reasons I never planned to take you out. I couldn’t get a read on you, and you had too many men for me to predict your next move.” She sat down and ran her finger through the flour that was on the counter.
I sat with the information she had just freely offered.
She’d avoided talking about her surveillance of me, but finally she cracked a little.
“So, tell me, why are you down here baking bread this late at night?” I watched her frown as she processed what I asked.
She was probably expecting more questions about her time leading her family.
“I bake when I’m worried. I started with cookies and then you weren’t home, so I started bread,” she mumbled.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve done it all my life.”
“You were worried about me,” I gloated.
“I was worried about the men that work for you, not you.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“You were worried about me.” Standing from the stool, I slowly moved around to her side of the island.
“As I said, I was thinking of the men who have families.” She stuttered as she tried to come up with something that sounded good.
“It’s okay, you can admit it, you didn’t want me to get hurt.” I leaned against the edge and crossed my arms.
“Fine, you big oaf, I was worried about you.” She crossed her arms and slouched.
“But last time you were worried about me, you moved another bed into our room, so what’s different this time?
” I tried to hide the smirk crossing my face as I watched her face instantly change.
Her eyes sparkled with a wicked playfulness, and her tight-lipped smile made me wonder if she had another plan like that waiting for me.
“This time you didn’t piss me off,” she said, grabbing the towel beside her and throwing it at me.
“I knew you liked me.” Taking a step closer to her.
“Like is a really strong word,” Emilia said, finally looking up at me, but she was pretending to frown.
“Well, now I know, so you can’t hide it.” I laughed, and she turned away from me, her pink cheeks the reminder that she’s very innocent in some ways.
“So how do you know how to do all this?” I quizzed her as I moved to the wine fridge and poured us each a glass.
“Things in the house I grew up in weren’t easy. More than just the abuse,” she added quickly. “We didn’t have the money for cooks or chefs, so it was up to me to figure out how to make meals and bake whatever my father decided he wanted that day.” She sat on the stool again and sipped the wine.
“Who knows about the situation in your home?”
“Nobody.” Emilia shook her head. “It’s probably the best-kept secret in the Cosa Nostra. He portrays that he has money, when in reality the house is probably close to being foreclosed on, and the cars will be repossessed.”
The oven timer blared, and she jumped. For one moment, I watched her composure slip, and she was suddenly unfocused. Her eyes darted around the room, as if she’d forgotten where she was.
Emilia jumped off the stool and wrenched the oven door open.
With her back to me, I focused on the slump of her shoulders and the sigh she let out.
Gently, she pulled out the rack and tapped the bread.
Without a word, she put it back in and closed the door.
She reached for her phone, tapped the screen, then put it down.
“Where did you go?” I asked quietly, but I couldn’t hide the concern in my voice.
She took a ragged breath and looked toward the ceiling.
“That was the same alarm my brother would set off to let me know he was coming for me.” Reaching out, I pulled her to me, and she sat in my lap.
“I used to hide, but the beatings would just be worse when he found me. So I would just wait in the hallway for him. I know it’s crazy, but it gave me just a little bit of control. ”
“Why did you let it go on for so long? Surely there was someone you could tell?” I whispered.
“I protected my sisters from the same nightmare. As long as I kept quiet, he didn’t do anything to them.” A tear fell onto my arm, and I held her tighter as we sat in silence.
Everyone in her family who knew, or even had an inkling, would pay. I didn’t know when, but when I enacted revenge for her, it would be lengthy and painful.
Her fingers traced the outline of the tattoos on my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts of revenge. The alarm on her phone buzzed, and the difference between the blaring stove and the phone's chimes was night and day.