Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One

by Michelle St. James

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  She turned to find Nico watching her from the doorway of the conservatory. “Good morning.”

  “Mind if I sit?”

  “It’s your terrace,” she said, still looking out over the water.

  “I’m happy to leave if you prefer it.”

  She sighed. She didn’t want him to leave. It didn’t mean she believed him about her father. But she trusted him, and god help her, she wanted him.

  “No, sit,” she said.

  He lowered himself onto the step, and she could feel his eyes on her face.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  She turned her head and found herself being pulled back into his eyes. “Hey.”

  He leaned in, kissing her softly on the lips before taking her hand. “Sleep well?”

  “Like the dead.”

  “I’m glad,” he said.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep well without you again.”

  She felt a smile touch her lips. He looked as sharp as ever, his slacks perfectly pressed, his cashmere sweater hugging every glorious muscle of his chest, arms, and back.

  “Where did you sleep?” she asked, trying to distract herself from his beauty.

  “One of the other rooms,” he said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She squeezed his hand and took another drink of coffee. She didn’t know what to do in the face of so much contradiction. How could she want to get away from him at the same time she wanted to mold herself to his body? How could she feel something so much like affection when he had kidnapped her, held her prisoner, told her horrible things about her father? Most of all, how could she feel so much for someone who did the things Nico did for a living? How could he be so kind, so tender, and still be into something like organized crime where people got hurt and killed?

  People will tell you who they are if you listen.

  “You have questions,” he said.

  “Yes, but there’s no point talking about my father anymore. I won’t believe he killed your parents until I have proof. I can’t. And you will believe he did it until it’s proven otherwise. I think that’s called a stalemate.”

  “I’m not talking about your father,” he said. “You have questions about me. About what I do.”

  She turned to look at him. “You would answer them?”

  “I’ll never lie to you, Angel. Go ahead and ask your questions.”

  She took a deep breath. “You’re in organized crime.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it… I don’t know. Is it what I think it is? Hurting people? Killing them? Forcing people to pay you to do business?”

  He was quiet for a moment before answering. “My father and your father were part of the same generation. They were part of the old family, and the old family did things a certain way. To be honest, I didn’t want any part of it for a long time.”

  “What changed?” she asked.

  “My father started acting… scared.”

  “Scared?”

  He nodded, and he suddenly seemed very far away. “It wasn’t like him. He was the fiercest man I knew, and the strongest. But he got paranoid about my mother and me, and about a year before he died he asked me to be his Underboss when everyone expected the title to go to Dante’s father.”

  Her blood ran cold. “Dante?”

  “His father was a high ranking member of the family,” Nico explained. “He was a natural choice.”

  She filed the information away to examine later. “But your father chose you?”

  “He did,” Nico said. “And I sensed that it mattered to him, that it was a kind of legacy. So I agreed, and I started learning from him, and as I learned, I also started to see where things could be different. Where the family could move into the twenty-first century. Less killing, more business. Less risk, more profit.”

  “So you… don’t kill people anymore?”

  He looked into her eyes. “I’ve killed people, Angel. And I’ll keep killing people if that’s what it takes to protect what’s mine.” He let that sit between them before continuing. “But it’s not a first line of defense. We have… other methods for making our point, and the vast majority of our business interests are every bit as ethical as the criminals on Wall Street.”

  “Sounds like a rationalization to me,” she said, looking away from him.

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  “What kinds of things do you do?” She needed to know the truth about him. Needed to be honest with herself about that much at least.

  He shrugged. “Bookmaking is still a big part of it, although our clients are vetted to make sure they have the resources to play, and to make sure they don’t have a history of addiction. Companies pay us for unconventional cyber protection, the same way mom and pop shops paid us for physical protection in the time of my father—and yours.”

  “Unconventional cyber protection? That sounds like code for illegal.”

  “It is,” he said. “But hackers are vicious and inventive. Sometimes keeping them out requires measures that are equally vicious and inventive.”

  “What else?”

  He sighed. “It would take me months to tell you everything, and while I’m happy to do so, I’m not sure now is the time. We do what we we have to do, but there are things the Vitale family doesn’t touch; human trafficking, porn, drugs… All stuff that used to be standard and all stuff that’s off the table for us now.”

  “Did the other families follow suit?” she asked.

  “Each family is run by their own boss.” His expression was pained. “The details are left to them as long as they follow the code laid down by the Syndicate.”

  She thought about her father. Had he run the Rossi family the old way? Had he been involved in all those hideous things that Nico claimed not to touch? It made her sick just thinking about it.

  “I’m not a saint, Angel.” He was back to looking out across the water, avoiding her eyes. “Some would even say I’m not a good man. But this is the man I am.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. Assuming they could put the issue of her father to rest, could she accept Nico? Could she love him knowing what he did for a living, knowing about the world he was part of?

  She didn’t know. So much stood between them, she suddenly felt exhausted with the weight of trying to break through it all.

  “Am I allowed to take a walk?” she asked, setting the empty coffee cup down on the terrace.

  He nodded, and she knew he only agreed because his men were patrolling the perimeter. If she wanted to get away, to find her father and speak to him on her own terms, she’d have to be smarter than making a run for it while Nico’s armed guards stood watch around the property.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” she said.

  He stood next to her and took her hands in his. “I do trust you.”

  She looked up at him, bitterness and affection warring in her mind and body. “Is that why you won’t let me leave?”

  His face hardened. “We’ve discussed this. I’m not going to turn you lose with those animals out there. You’re part of something bigger now.”

  “A pawn in your game, you mean.”

  “A pawn in the game your father started when he murdered my parents.” He was angry, his voice hard. She looked away, not wanting to see how much he believed it. He took a deep breath and kissed her hand before dropping it. “You’ll just have to trust me, Angel.”

  He had his hand on the door to the conservatory when she spoke. “What if I can’t?”

  He didn’t turn to look at her. “You will. When I give you proof, you will.”

  She watched him disappear inside the house before stepping off the terrace onto the lawn.

  32

  Nico sat at the desk in his study, still thinking about his conversation with Angel. She’d spent most of the da
y wandering the grounds, and he’d tried to keep his distance. He was asking her to believe him—someone who had kidnapped and imprisoned her—over her father. It was a lot to expect. She needed space to figure it all out.

  And he understood more than she realized. It hadn’t been easy to accept the truth about his own father, and while Raphael Vitale had been a more compassionate breed of man from Carlo Rossi, Nico was under no illusions; his father had participated in some vile parts of the business. Nico had only been able to forgive him through the lens of his death, and a generous allowance for the context of his generation.

  Would Angel be able to do the same once she knew the dirty truth about her father? Once she realized that Carlo Rossi traded in the most disgusting aspects of the business—including all the things Nico mentioned were off the table for the Vitales? Drugs, porn, trafficking, assassinations, prostitution… they were all lynchpins of the Rossi family business. The thought of Angel being exposed to them—of having to face the truth about her father—made him want to punch something.

  He settled for slamming his fist down on the antique cherry desk. The contents on the surface rattled.

  “Boss?”

  He looked up to see Luca standing in the doorway. “Yes.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” Nico said, forcing his voice even. “What is it?”

  “Carmine’s here.”’

  Nico sighed. “Send him up.”

  “Open the gates,” Luca said into his headset. He turned his attention back to Nico. “You want me to bring him here?”

  “Yes, and have Gideon send in some food.”

  “You got it.”

  Luca disappeared into the hall and Nico crossed to the window overlooking the lawn. He’d known the visit from Carmine was coming, and while he appreciate his Consigliere’s advice—that was the point, after all—he didn’t relish defending his stance regarding Angel. For Carmine, it was all business. To Nico, it had become something far more personal.

  A few minutes later, Luca reappeared at the door with Carmine. Nico walked toward the stout, older man and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Carmine, welcome.” He stepped back, leading Carmine into the room as Luca retreated. “How was the drive?”

  Carmine waved away the question. “You know me. I’d never leave the city if I could help it.”

  Nico chuckled. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, pouring himself a Scotch.

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Carmine said, settling on the small sofa in the middle of the room.

  Gideon entered carrying a tray of salami, olives, bread, peppers, and cheese. “Evening, Carmine.”

  Carmine’s eyes narrowed as he sized Gideon up.

  “You remember Gideon Marconi,” Nico said. “Arturo’s son? Been working for me for years. Best chef in the Northeast.”

  Carmine nodded. “How’s your father? He was sick for awhile, wasn’t he?”

  “He’s in remission now,” Gideon said.

  Carmine reached for an olive. “Good, good. Give him my regards.”

  “Anything else, boss?” Gideon asked.

  “That will be all,” Nico said. “Thank you. And shut the door on your way out, will you?”

  He handed Carmine a glass. “I take it this isn’t a social call,” Nico said when the door had closed.

  Carmine set down his glass and rested his hands on his diminutive knees. “After the bloodbath at Headquarters?”

  “It wasn’t a bloodbath,” Nico said. “Not for us anyway.”

  “That may be, but it was a breach of the code.”

  “Storming into my headquarters with weapons was a breach of code,” Nico said, fighting to keep his voice respectful. He was in charge, but Carmine was his elder, and his most trusted advisor. More than that, he was a friend.

  “Agreed, yet you instigated the invasion when you took the girl.”

  “Carlo Rossi instigated my taking of the girl by killing my parents and going underground,” Nico said through gritted teeth.

  “I’m on your side, Nico. But this isn’t how things are done. I warned you that taking the girl was risky, and now that you’ve done it and Carlo hasn’t met your demands, you must act.”

  He met Carmine’s eyes. “I’ll never hurt her, Carmine. And I won’t let anyone else hurt her either.”

  Carmine studied him for a long moment. “So it’s like that then,” he said softly.

  Nico nodded. “It is.”

  Carmine stood and paced the room. “That’s… problematic.”

  “Maybe,” Nico said. “But it’s the way it is.”

  “What do you propose?” Carmine asked. “You can’t keep her in good health indefinitely. You look more and more impotent with every passing day. Carlo’s men invaded the sanctity of your headquarters, shot at your soldiers without approval from Raneiro and the Syndicate.”

  “Yet you say I have to follow the rules,” Nico said angrily. “So which is it? Follow the rules or seek retribution?”

  “You sought retribution the moment you took Carlo Rossi’s daughter,” Carmine said. “Now you can only minimize the damage.”

  “Only if doing so won’t also compromise the justice my parents deserve.”

  “Raneiro isn’t happy with these turn of events,” Carmine said. He suddenly looked older and more tired than Nico remembered him.

  “Then the Syndicate should have acted when I brought the charges to them two years ago.”

  Carmine opened his palms. “You had no proof. What did you expect them to do? Bring charges against one of the Syndicate’s most important bosses with nothing but an accusation?” Carmine shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way, Nico. The system is in place to protect everyone.”

  “Don’t you defend them,” Nico said, his voice low.

  Carmine crossed the room and stood in front of him. “It’s my job to advise you,” Carmine said. “I’ve done that to the best of my ability. What you decide to do with that advice is up to you, but it seems you and Carlo are at an impasse.”

  Nico turned his back on Carmine and poured more Scotch into his glass. Carmine was right. He was walking a tightrope between Angel’s safety, his feelings for her, and his need to bring her father to justice, to say nothing of the Syndicate’s expectations and his responsibility to the people who worked for him.

  When he’d calmed down, he turned to face Carmine. “I’m sorry.”

  Carmine nodded. “Think about what I said, will you?”

  “I will,” Nico said.

  Carmine looked at his watch. “It’s late. I should get on the road home.”

  “Why don’t you stay?” Nico offered. “Head back in the morning.”

  “I wish I could, but Mary’s expecting me. She worries when I’m out late.”

  Nico smiled. Mary, a voluptuous woman with a heart of gold, was Carmine’s wife of forty-plus years. “Next time then.”

  Carmine patted Nico’s cheek like he was still five years old. “Take care, Nico. And keep me posted. I’ll talk to Frank, urge him to keep the Rossi family calm in Carlo’s absence.”

  “Thank you,” Nico said.

  Carmine looked up at the soaring ceilings of the foyer as they made their way to the door. “Your mother loved this house.”

  “She did,” Nico said. “It’s part of why I love it, too. I can still feel her here.”

  Carmine looked into his eyes. “She would want you to be happy.”

  Nico tried to smile. “Maybe someday.”

  Carmine kissed him on both cheeks and walked out the door. Nico looked after him for a minute before returning to his study. He picked up his glass and realized it was already empty. He toyed with the idea of pouring another, then thought about Angel. He didn’t want to be drunk and angry around her. There was already too much baggage between them. If only they could have met apart from the mess between their families. Of all the things he ever had to lose, she was the most valuable of all.

&
nbsp; He was fucked. They all were.

  He hurled the empty glass at the fireplace.

  33

  Angel stepped back into the shadows as the short man named Carmine strode from Nico’s office.

  I’ll never hurt her, Carmine. And I won’t let anyone else hurt her either.

  She’d believed it even before she heard Nico’s voice through the door, but now it felt even more true. She was debating the merit of checking on Nico versus giving him time alone when the sound of breaking glass erupted from behind the closed doors. She wasn’t even aware of making the decision to enter the room.

  Nico looked up, anguish visible on his face in the moment before he saw that it was her. A second later his features were smoothed over into the expression of calm assuredness he seemed to wear for everyone.

  “I just… I wanted to make sure you’re all right,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  “I’m fine,” he said, turning to face the window. Turning away from her.

  She crossed the room and stood behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her head on his broad back. “Talk to me.”

  He turned to face her. His eyes burned into hers. “I don’t want to talk.”

  She looked up at him and ran her hands over his chest, linking them behind his neck, pressing her body to his. “Then let’s not talk.”

  She kissed him, gently at first, waiting for his lips to soften under hers before she slid her tongue inside. Finally, his arms came around her, pressing her more tightly against him as he dove into her mouth. But she didn’t want him in control this time. It wasn’t what he needed. And it wasn’t what she needed either.

  She pulled away and took his hand, pulling him toward the center of his office. She kissed him again, this time more forcefully, then pushed him so he was sitting on the sofa. He reached for her, and she lowered herself onto his lap where the hard length of him pressed between her legs.