To them, innocents are fair game.
Fuck that shit.
I can’t live somewhere like that.
And while the Camerino family isn’t as bad as the De Luca family, there’s too much going on in their politics for me to risk being seen there right now. They’re at war with the Rossi family, and not the passive war the Romanos and Andrettis are engaged in, where no one really remembers why we’re mad at each other.
Their war is fresh and angry and unrelenting.
So, here I am.
Homeless in Maryland during the fucking cold ass winter.
I sigh when my break ends, and I reluctantly enter Phantom, the club where I bartend every night. I make a fair amount of money here, but it’s better for me to save it in case I need it on the run.
I made a mistake by transferring all of my money into an offshore bank account under my real name, but I was in a rush, didn’t have an alternate identity set up, and wasn’t thinking straight, having just killed my uncle.
Now, I’m paying for that mistake with every dollar I choose to save instead of spend on a warm bed. I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. Living on the run is against every instinct of mine.
I was born to fight and live the mafia lifestyle.
Being idle and on the run is my worst nightmare.
But it’s also my only hope of survival.
Which is why, when I hear a clank in the alley I just left and open the back door of Phantom a bit to investigate, I wince at the familiar site of crazed blue eyes and scruffy brown hair. There, standing in the dark alleyway with a man I don’t know, is one of my former friends, Ignazio Colombo.
And in a car that just blocked off the exit to the alley is someone I’ve only met once but would recognize anywhere.
Asher Black.
“We’re gonna fucking be legends,” Naz says to the guy beside him, his voice splicing the silence.
I groan in my head, because anything Naz thinks is a good idea is one hundred percent bound to be a horrible idea.
Naz is a reckless idiot. He’s a total, complete, unbelievably dimwitted idiot that is, without a doubt, about to get himself into trouble right about now. And I may be Andretti enemy number one right now, but he’s still an old friend of mine.
Naz used to work in Florida with me—until he shot an innocent civilian who he thought looked like a Romano caporegime, because in his idiotic mind, it was logical for a Romano caporegime to be entering a goddamn Baby Gap in the heart of Andretti territory out of the fucking blue.
The civilian survived Naz’s piss poor aim, lots of men in blue were paid off, and Naz was sent to the border, where he’d be someone else’s problem.
And right now?
That someone is me.
Chapter Eighteen
Holding on to anger
is like grasping a hot coal
with the intent of throwing
it at someone else; you are
the one who gets burned.
Buddha
twenty years old
Naz pulls a shiny Smith and Wesson out from the waistband of his jeans, while the other guy pulls out a Colt with the outline of a snake etched into the base.
Turning to the guy beside him, Naz says, “Watch and learn, man. Watch and learn. They’ll be begging me to come back to Florida after this. I’ll be a fucking legend, dude.”
Man, don’t fucking do it, Naz, I beg in my head, still hidden from view.
And he does it.
I watch as he eyes the guy beside him and gives him a smirk before lifting his gun in Asher’s direction. Already, three Romano men have joined Asher and another is exiting the car. If Naz does this, he’ll die.
He thinks he can take on this many men, because he’s seen me do it.
But he isn’t me, and he doesn’t know what Asher is capable of. Up until a month ago, Asher was virtually an unknown entity in the mafia world. He came out of nowhere, and if Naz has even a semblance of a brain in his head, that should tell him all he needs to know about Asher. But of course, it would be asking too much to ask Naz to think things through.
So before I can second guess myself, I pull the gun I used to kill Uncle Luca out of the holster hidden underneath my hoodie. I shoot to kill the guy beside Naz, then I shoot Naz’s hand, the one holding the gun.
Asher turns to us, and the guys behind him pull out their weapons.
But Asher holds up a fist when he sees me, and his companions lower their guns.
“Niccolaio?!” Naz exclaims, clutching his injured hand tightly. His eyes are trained on mine, equal parts vehemence and disbelief in them.
If I look closely, I suspect I’d see the betrayal in them, too, which is why I don’t look too closely. Instead, I quickly reassess the situation and make a decision. The gun lays on the ground beside Naz. I ignore him, reach down and grab his Smith and Wesson and his friend’s Colt, too. I pocket them both in the waistband of my pants, keeping my gun in my right hand but loosely at my side.
Asher approaches us. When he looks at the dead guy on the ground, I shake my head, indicating that he’s no longer alive. Asher nods and turns his attention on Naz, who—like the idiot he is—is trying to get up.
I use my left foot and push Naz back down, knowing if he gets up, he’ll only make things worse for himself.
“Fucking traitor scum. You don’t deserve the Andretti name,” Naz spits out.
I don’t say anything, because I was expecting the insults the moment Naz spit out my name like it was an incurable disease. Instead of rising to the bait, I keep my mouth shut and wait to see what Asher will do.
He gives me a look that brings me back to the night I killed Uncle Luca, when he gave me that same look. We had just escaped the compound after Ranieri took one look at me exiting Uncle Luca’s room with Asher and ran into his bedroom for a weapon.
I had no doubt that he called Dad after that, and we were now targets in Andretti territory. I had to get out of there, and I didn’t know what to do. Asher stared at me, gave me this odd look like I surprised him, and then he just left.
And I was on my own.
Now, a month later, I can’t exactly say that I’ve been doing very well on my own.
But I’m alive, and that’s gotta count for something.
From beneath my foot, Naz snarls, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Niccolaio? Ya know, I didn’t believe them when they said you killed Luca. But I should have known you were scum. Do you know who this man is? Asher fucking Black. How much is he paying you?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “First you take Luca’s life, and now you save his life?”
Asher arches his brow as if to say, yeah, why’d you save my life?
But the truth is, I didn’t save Asher’s life.
I saved Naz’s.
The ungrateful shit just doesn’t realize it.
But if I let him kill Asher, Asher’s men would have mowed him down. He was out numbered, and there was a good reason why Naz had been sent to the border. He isn’t like me or Asher. He’s like one of those five pound Chihuahas that thinks that he’s a German Shepherd or some shit. The only reason he’s under the protection of the Andretti family is because his dad is cool with mine.
Other than that, he’s pretty much good for nothing. But still, once upon a time, he was my friend. And for some reason, that still matters to me, so I did what I can. I saved him, and in doing so, I happened to save Asher.
Now, I’m standing silently, waiting to see what the consequences of that are. I know Asher will piece together why I did this—if he hasn’t already. It’s just a matter of time. And once he does, I wonder what he’ll do to me.
After all, I was still born an Andretti.
“Angelo?” Naz calls out pitifully, turning his head in the direction of his companion.
I sigh and gentle my voice when I say, “He’s dead.”
Naz’s eyes flash, and they’re full of fury.
“He was one of ours,” he seethes.
“I didn’t recognize him.”
“You’ve been gone for a while.”
“I’ve been gone for a month.”
“A lot can happen in a month.”
He’s right.
A lot can happen in a month. In many ways, I’m a different person than I was a month ago. Physically, I’m stronger and quicker. Inside, I’m colder. Hardened by my uncle’s murder at my own hands.
But in some ways, I haven’t changed.
A month ago, I would have tried to save Naz. And as it turns out, a few minutes ago, I was still willing to do the same. Even if Naz is an ignorant, ungrateful ass. And unfortunately, both Naz and Angelo had guns.
And I only had one.
I couldn’t risk Angelo getting a shot off while I disarmed Naz, so I killed him. It was easier that way.
Did it suck that I had such a disregard for life?
Of course.
But even I recognized that, in a weird way, I also had a reverence for life, too.
I valued Naz’s life. It just happened to be at the expense of Angelo’s. Just like I valued Ranieri’s at the expense of Uncle Luca’s. It’s a disgusting ability to be able to look at lives and prioritize. To say which one is worth more.
But as the Andretti heir, that’s what I was taught by my own father to do.
But judging by Naz’s reaction to seeing me, none of the Andrettis see what I did this way.
And that means I’m still on the run. That perhaps I’ll always be on the run.
But then, Asher turns to me and gives me an offer that changes everything.
He offers me asylum in Romano territory, and damn it, I accept it.
And because I’ve hated living on the run and the Andrettis already hate me, I don’t even consider that it might be a mistake when I accept Asher’s offer.
That, once I do this, there’s no turning back.
Chapter Nineteen
Anger is a wind
which blows out the
lamp of the mind.
Robert Green Ingersoll
present
Lucy smashes into me as I open the door into the hallway leading to my dorm room in Vaserley Hall. The movement causes the medium-sized moving box I’m holding to crash onto the floor, and the clothes in it spill out onto the carpet.
She doesn’t do it on purpose, but it annoys me nevertheless.
“Sorry,” she says with a smile and reaches down to pick my things up.
I like it better when she avoided me. When she didn’t talk to me at all costs. A few months ago, if she accidentally bumped into me, she would have passive aggressively stared at me and turned the other way.
(And I probably would have sent a scathing remark her way.)
Now, she’s apologizing. With a smile on her face.
And I’m standing silently. Staring at her with an insult at the tip of my tongue that evaporates before I can speak it. For some reason, I just don’t have it in me to be mean to her. Yet, at the beginning of the school year, I couldn’t stand her and Aimee.
Aimee was competition. I had my eyes set on the Dean of Wilton’s Jefferson School of Business, and he had his eyes set on Aimee. He’s wealthy, from old money, and he runs several successful businesses. It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes.
And I was acting like that girl. The one that’s catty to someone for no other reason than she’s jealous and threatened. And as Aimee’s best friend, Lucy got caught in the crossfire. It was wrong of me. I know that. Heck, I knew that from the moment I started the stupid feud, but I did it anyway.
But something about the way the two of them are together reminded me—and still reminds me—of how Mina and I used to be together before Social Services took her away from me. I remember seeing them the first time, when we moved into Vaserley Hall, and thinking, how dare they be so carefree and full of life when my sister is trapped in an awful, rundown building in China Town?
And I reacted.
I was jealous, and I lashed out.
The first thing I said to Aimee was, “Ew. What are you wearing, Hill Billy?”
She had on ripped jeans and trendy, worn out cowboy boots that were, honestly, nicer than anything I could afford without the help of one of my marks. And Lucy stood there, gaping as Aimee gave me a smart, sarcastic remark.
It was war after that, and it didn’t help that the next day I saw Aimee talking on campus with the Dean of Jefferson, his eyes glancing down every few seconds to the generous swells of her breasts, the lust clear in his eyes.
Looking back now, I realize that I was being stupid. Like it often does, my anger had gotten the best of me, and what’s worse is I wasn’t even angry at Aimee or Lucy.
I was angry at the world.
I still am.
And it’s worse that Lucy turned out to be a good person.
And right now, even as I’m trying to change, she’s still being a better person than I am.
This isn’t the first time she has been friendly with me since I let her hide out in my dorm room. For instance, about a month ago, she greeted me cheerily when she caught me leaving John’s place. Come to think of it, it’s probably a good idea to ask her why she was entering John’s neighbor’s brownstone in the first place.
Nick’s brownstone.
My eyes narrow on her, ignoring the way her bodyguard hovers protectively behind her at the movement. “Who lives in that brownstone I saw you entering a month ago? The one by Central Park.”
There’s a flash of a smirk on her face before it evaporates, and she gives me an innocent expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Behind her, her bodyguard snorts. She turns to glare at him, but the glare is playful and silly on her delicate features, and the bodyguard’s snort turns into a full blown laughter. She watches, a soft smile of endearment on her face, as his giant, muscular frame shakes with laughter.
I clear my throat to regain her attention. “Yes, you do.” I take a step closer. “How do you know him?”
I curse myself for letting her know that I know the neighbor is a he.
Lucy, of course, catches on. Her eyes widen at my slip, and she doesn’t even bother holding back her full blown smile. “So, you’ve met Nick?”
Nick.
Yesterday, he told me his name is Nick, but I still don’t think it suits him. It’s just so normal when he’s anything but. His name is so average that learning it was almost anticlimactic. I liked it better when he was a nameless entity in my head.
I mentally force out those thoughts that have been taking so reality in my head. He shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence as the word “like,” unless I’m talking about how much I dislike him. Even if he is doing me a solid by letting me stay with him.
Though to be fair, I kind of backed him into a wall in that regard.
“Do you want to go to my wedding?” Lucy asks, interrupting my thoughts and taking me completely by surprise.
“What?” I parrot idiotically.
Because, really…
What?
Has she forgotten what I did to her? That I tormented her for months when she hadn’t even done anything other than befriend someone I was threatened by. I avert my eyes guiltily, remembering how, despite the way I had treated her, she saved me from being drugged and date raped by one of my marks.
Lucy is a good person. That’s something I’m not and will never be. It’s too late for me, but I’m glad I’m still able to recognize her goodness. That it’s at least not so foreign of a concept that I can’t see it for what it is.
“My wedding,” she repeats slowly, and I get the feeling that she’s laughing at me in her head.
Because as good of a person as Lucy is, she’s also weird.
And maybe even crazy.
One time, I was about to exit my dorm room when I caught sight of her beside her bodyguard, the on
e with her now. She was staring at a few of the girls in our hall and mouthing some pretty bizarre things, possibly something about Switzerland. Maybe even cheese.
As soon as I saw her, I pivoted and returned to my room, not down to deal with her craziness that day.
Staring hard at her now, I let out a pent up breath. “No, I heard you. I just don’t know why you’re inviting me.” I fidget from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is heading.
“Because you helped me out.”
And there it is. I knew she would bring it up, but I’m still not prepared to hear it. Because if I’m being honest, I helped her out of guilt. She helped me out, and even I knew that it was messed up not to do the same. But also, I thought that maybe if I helped her out I would find some sort of redemption. A way to end the guilt and the cycle of lashing out in anger.
I didn’t. Her presence annoyed me every second she stayed in my dorm room. So much so that Nella and I crashed at Lauren’s dorm room. And when it was over, I still didn’t feel like a better person.
Baby steps.
I cross my arms over my chest, as if the barrier will protect me from how uncomfortable this conversation is making me. “You helped me out first.”
She sighs. “Is that really how you want to live your life? An eye for an eye? Expecting everything to be reciprocated?”
I shrug, the movement awkward on my crossed arms. “Why not?”
It’s only fair.
“Because expecting something in return for everything you do is calculated, and that’s a shitty way to live life.”
I sigh, wincing automatically at the s-h-i-t word. “Why are we even having this conversation? Shouldn’t you be mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I was mean to you.”
“You’re right. You were mean to me, but you’re not anymore.”
“And you forgive me? Just like that?”
Niccolaio Andretti: A Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 2) Page 11