Niccolaio Andretti: A Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 2)

by Parker S. Huntington

  I stiffen, everything in me becoming completely rigid at this revelation. “What… what did you just say?”

  He leans in closer and whispers, “Mina” into my ear, like someone would whisper, Boo!

  It’s a taunt.

  It’s an evil taunt.

  I succumb to his earlier demand, because if there’s one person I’ll suck it up and do anything for, it’s Mina.

  And darn him, he’s figured this out.

  Looking him dead in the eye, I glare at him and begin with a voice full of hatred, “My biological father used to supply the woman who birthed me with drugs in exchange for sex. He left for a while after I was born, so he wouldn’t have to take care of me, and by the time I was five and he came back, my,” I wince, “mom had dropped me off at a neighbor’s—Mrs. Rosario’s—years ago.

  “When he came back, though, he brought my mom with him, and they took me from the neighbor, who actually did a decent job of raising me. Her daughter died young, and she was lonely. I think she actually wanted to keep me, but she wasn’t going to go after my biological parents for custody.”

  I shrugged. “Mrs. Rosario didn’t have the money for it. So, the three of us—my biological mother, father and I—moved to another apartment building, where they decided I was old enough to run drugs for Daddy,” I say the title bitterly. “After all, who would arrest a five year old selling chocolate bars for money? Except they weren’t chocolate bars.”

  Nick nods slightly in understanding, like he knows the con, which wouldn’t surprise me given his background. Not that I think my “dad’s” set up would be done by someone affiliated with the mafia. Someone like Nick.

  My dad was small time. A tadpole in an infinite ocean. Nick, on the other hand, strikes me as the type to dominate whatever pool he’s swimming in. And that probably means knowing all of the cons, all of the games, out there. Like the one my dad used to have me run.

  I continue despite Nick’s familiarity with the gig, for some reason needing to talk about this, “They were just drugs wrapped in gold foil, and it worked. I was running drugs for Daddy dearest until my mother got pregnant with Mina by another man. My father left after that, but I was already exposed to the guns and violence and killing that came with drug dealing.”

  Nick studies me, and I’m actually pleased to see no sympathy in his eyes. They’re just blank. The exact opposite of what I expected. I’ve only told one other person this, and she started crying and tried to suffocate me with hugs.

  I was at an alumni admissions interview for Wilton University. The alumni interviewing me was a philanthropic woman, who was wealthy from old money. I knew that if I aced my interview, she would put in a good word for me, and it’d hold a lot of clout in the acceptance process.

  So, I sucked it up and told her my sob story. I gave her the Hillary Swank, Oscar winning, tearjerker truth about how my parents never wanted me; my dad had me running drugs at five years old; and my mom just up and left me with a baby to take care of when I was eight years old, had no clue what I was doing, and had to beg the drug addicted woman next door for some help.

  Then, I told the story of how, despite it all, I had straight As in high school, a full-time job, an Ivy league dream, stars in my eyes and all the other redemptive, inner city kid goes to college, becomes the president of the world or whatever fantastical, uplifting story elements she wanted to hear.

  I gave her the inspiring story at the end, and I told her everything I was doing was for Mina, which was the biggest truth of them all, and the lady just bawled.

  She straight up bawled into my shoulder, and I had to comfort her for the greater part of half an hour until she straightened up and said, “I’m so sorry that happened to you, honey. You’re so strong to have survived all of that.”

  And her eyes?

  They were so full of pity, I wanted to vomit. To scrub it off of my skin and scream, “I don’t need your pity. I just need Mina!”

  Yeah, it was great that she cared enough to cry for me, but that wasn’t what I needed or wanted. I was a kid making decisions on behalf of another kid, and never for a second did I ever feel like I knew what I was doing.

  I wanted someone to tell me what to do. I needed confirmation that the path I was taking was the right one. I didn’t get that confirmation, but I did get her pity and, later, an acceptance into Wilton.

  And after that, I’ve never wanted to tell anyone about this again. But when I look Nick and the way he takes in my words without judgment or even a reaction, I feel like my pain and my past are completely normal. Nothing worth reacting over.

  I don’t feel like the fragile doll the Wilton alumni made me out to be, nor do I feel like the villain I often convince myself that I am. I just feel… normal. And despite my initial reluctance, I realize that I don’t actually mind talking about my past. It’s almost cathartic.

  Even if I was pressured into revealing everything.

  Nick angles his head slightly to the side and studies me. “Trafficking drugs is dangerous. How the Hell are you still alive?”

  “A lot of it is luck. But my dad also sent me to his longtime clients, who, for the most part, never gave him trouble in the past and were unlikely to do so in the future. Most of the clients just left me alone, because the system was working and I was just a kid at the time. So long as I was alive, their supply wasn’t getting cut off.”

  He nods, and I expect him to make a comment about what I said when he admits, “I already decided that I was going to let you stay before you walked through the door.”

  My jaw drops. “Then why did I have to tell you all of this?”

  He shrugs casually, as if I didn’t just bare myself to him for no reason. “I wanted you to know that I know about Mina, and I wanted to know more about you.”

  My lips part in surprise, and I don’t reply to his words, because I don’t even know what to make of them. The second half would almost be cute if it wasn’t preceded by a vague—perhaps threatening—comment about the person I love most in this world.

  And the saddest part?

  With his arms on either side of me, his face close to mine, and the scent of his masculinity wrapped around me, that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bitterness is like cancer.

  It eats upon the host.

  But anger is like fire.

  It burns it all clean.

  Person

  “We’re leaving,” Nick says suddenly after removing his hands from the kitchen island counter and standing upright.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  He turns back and stares at me. After a while, he finally says, “You’ll see when we get there.”

  I reach out for his arm, stopping his movement but also nearly stopping my heart at the same time. He stares at my fingers and the way they firmly grip the massive bulk of his impressive biceps before I quickly pull them back, as if they’ve been scorched by the contact.

  And they may as well have been.

  I can still feel the heat from his body—from the attraction pulsing between us—against my fingertips.

  “Just tell me where we’re going,” I say, shaking the aftereffects of the brief contact out of my head, hating myself for being so affected by him. I take a deep breath and take a risk, because he hasn’t killed me yet, so I figure he won’t. “I know you’re involved in the mafia.”

  I sort of expected him to look startled, but he doesn’t.

  He takes the revelation in stride, his eyes level on mine as he asks calmly, “How?”

  “I saw Lucy Ives come in here a month ago. She used to live in my dorm hall, and she waved at me while letting herself into your home.”

  He shakes his head slightly and mumbles something like, “So you’re the warning,” but it’s cryptic and not what I want to know.

  I understand why we need to go. Obviously, this place has been compromised
. But wherever we go, I need it to be near Mina. So, even though I want to ask what he means by that, I redirect my words to more important things.

  “I asked Lucy who you were when I picked up my things at Vaserley, and she was helping her friend move out of the dorms, too.”

  “What did she tell you?” There’s interest in his eyes.

  “Nothing. But it’s obvious you’re involved in mob activity. Lucy only hangs out with Asher, her guards, Asher’s family, and Aimee. And I think Lucy would have let me know if Aimee claimed you, so that leaves Asher. You could be one of his legitimate business contacts, but with all the bullets flying when you’re around, I’m betting that you’re someone from his mafia past.”

  “Alleged,” Nick says, though there’s a look of amusement on his face.

  I roll my eyes. “Alleged mafia past,” I correct myself. “I don’t care about the legalities. You know about my illegal past, and you have Mina to hang over my head, so just do me a favor and tell me where we’re going.”

  “I’m already doing you a favor by taking you with me.”

  “Fine. Then, do me another favor.”

  He takes a moment to study me, and I guess whatever he finds satisfies him, because he answers, “We’re going to a safe house. I texted Vincent Romano, Asher’s… dad of sorts. He set one up for us to stay in for as long as we need.”

  “And where is this safe house?”

  “Hell’s Kitchen.”

  I give myself a moment to consider the distance. That’s about a three dollars and nine minute subway trip to Mina’s group home. I can live with that, so I nod my head without further argument and take off to gather the few things I own from the beautiful room I never had a chance to stay in.

  When I exit Nick’s brownstone to place my belongings in Nick’s trunk, I see a quick flicker of movement coming from the curtains in John’s bedroom. I roll my eyes at John’s nosiness, but I expect nothing less.

  I’ve seen him obsessively checking his security feed from his phone before. One time, I watched him listen in on a bunch of blue blood moms gossip about their children’s upcoming cotillion while stretching across the street.

  I didn’t even want to think about how he got audio over there.

  In the back of my mind, I wonder if John is bothered by this. By my involvement, however odd it is, with Nick. After all, John and I were sort of together. Not exclusively or officially but together nevertheless.

  At the same time, given that I saw my doppelganger earlier outside of John’s home, John is the one who’s actually with with someone else. Even though I shouldn’t be worried, I can’t help but be a little concerned.

  If John is angry at me, he might take it out on me or Nick. I don’t think he knows about Mina, since we share different last names and I never talked about her when we were together, but John does know Nick.

  John’s a powerful guy, and if he wants to, he can probably give Nick a hard time. At the same time, I can’t picture anyone going up against Nick. Not even Asher Black. So, I shake the dark thoughts out of my head and enter the brownstone, ignoring the ominously prophetic feeling of my suspicions.

  And when I meet Nick in the basement and watch him inject a syringe full of sedatives into his prisoner’s neck, I groan, wondering how I went from being John’s gold digging girlfriend to Nick’s partner in crime.

  It’s quiet on the drive to the safe house. Jax is laying unobtrusively in the back seat, knocked out and silent, thanks to the drugs Nick injected him with. Upon my insistence, his arms and limbs were bound earlier, and in addition to the gray duct tape over his mouth, he has one of my ratty scarves wrapped tightly around his eyes, several times over.

  Nick says there’s no chance he’ll wake up from the strong sedatives, but this is my first time in a situation even remotely like this one, and I’d rather not take any chances. And given the fact that this is my first time, I feel as if I should be panicked, concerned, shocked, or anything other than the calm I’m feeling right now.

  Until now, I didn’t realize how unfazed I am by things that should trouble me. Even at a young age, I remember people commenting on this trait of mine, but it’s been some time since I’ve done anything quite so discerning.

  Unless you count gold digging, which tore me apart, but I’ve long since gotten used to it. Heck, even then, it only took me one day to get used to gold digging. Whenever the feelings and panic threaten to overcome me, all I have to do is think of Mina, and I conquer the wave of emotions.

  When my mom first left me, I used to cry every night. And each time, Mrs. Rosario, the woman who raised me for a bit after my biological parents pawned me off onto her, would tell me to picture a bunch of waves. Each wave was an emotion that I could surf over until there were no emotions, no pain left. It worked, and still works, like a charm.

  Back then, I was always going on and on about how I wanted to be a lawyer like Mrs. Rosario’s dead son. So, Mrs. Rosario would tell me that I was fearless and that, because of it, I’d make a good lawyer one day.

  Father dearest, on the other hand, told me I had the makings of a good whore—quiet and discreet.

  Given my life choices, I guess they were both somewhat right.

  I’m not a prostitute, but I may as well be. I sleep with men; they lavish me with expensive jewelry and clothes; and by the time they’ve moved onto the next girl, I’ve sold it all. I’m also on track to becoming a lawyer.

  Go figure.

  At the same time, it’s odd that I’m okay with this situation with Nick, almost comforted by the familiarity of crime, yet I have to smother my panic at the idea of having to sleep with John or another mark once more. So, maybe Daddy Dearest was wrong.

  I take more comfort than I should in that thought.

  “What are you thinking about?” Nick asks, his eyes glancing from the car’s rear view mirror to the side mirror.

  We’ve been driving in random paths around town for the past hour. I think this is Nick’s way of getting rid of tails, but other than his bodyguards following in the car behind us and the millions of taxicabs that look identical, I haven’t recognized a single car.

  This man brings a new meaning to paranoid.

  Then again, I suppose I have my moments, too. I glance at Jax, sedated, gagged, blindfolded, and tied up in the back seat.

  I return my gaze to Nick. “I’m thinking of Mina,” I say, not quite lying but not quite telling the truth either.

  Truthfully, if Mina’s not in the forefront of my mind, she’s always in the back of my mind. So, technically, I’m always thinking about her.

  Nick spares a moment to glance at me, and I think I’m hallucinating when I see a spark of concern in his usually impassive demeanor. “What about Mina?”

  “I was supposed to visit her today. Saturdays are my days with Mina.”

  “And you couldn’t because of this,” he finishes for me.

  I nod. “When do you think I can?”

  He hesitates, which immediately causes me to stiffen. “Honestly… not for some time. It’s not safe for you. Or her.”

  I want to argue, but I don’t. If he thinks I shouldn’t, I should listen to him. I’ll never forgive myself if I bring Mina into this mess and she somehow gets hurt, and above all, Mina’s safety is the most important thing to me.

  But at the same time, I need to make sure things are okay with Mina at the group home. I usually get my reports on Mina’s wellbeing from Erica, Mina’s social worker, on Saturdays, and without those, I can’t make sure she’s being fed well, happy or doing well in school.

  I’m not happy about this, and I find myself—thankfully—resenting Nick again. I allow my familiar annoyance at him to settle against my chest, making sure to lock the sentiment there. I can’t allow myself to forget that I dislike him, because after all of this is over, I have to go back to my normal life, where rent and school and gold digging are my reality.

  Just because I was able
to talk about my past with him doesn’t mean that we’re friends or will ever be friends. This man is connected to the mafia, and I’m trying to keep a clean record to get my sister back. It’s a convincing argument for why I should distance myself from this man, but my body just isn’t agreeing with my mind.

  My body still wants him, and my brain wants to throttle my body.

  “You’re mad at me,” he says.

  I nod, not bothering to deny it. I’m not just mad at him. I don’t like him. I can’t like him. We’re probably equally to blame for me being in this mess, along with whoever wants to kill Nick…

  But I just don’t feel like accepting the blame for forcing my way into Nick’s life, so I let him take the blame. After all, I need to continue to hate him. It’s the only way I’ll get through living with someone I’m so attracted to with my resolve to gold dig intact.

  At the same time, I’m smart enough to realize that I shouldn’t antagonize someone I’ll be living with. So, when he doesn’t respond to my affirmation of anger, I let it go.

  Behind us, the guards’ car turns left while we turn right, but I don’t question it. I trust Nick—at least with my safety. So, I allow us to simmer in silence, because it’s easier that way. Given how hectic my life is, easy is a victory.

  Pretty soon, we pull up to a warehouse in a lesser populated area of Hell’s Kitchen. Nick drops me and Jax’s body off at the alleyway entrance of the warehouse. Then, he goes to find parking without any issues. A few minutes later, he’s back and opening up the place for us.

  The warehouse is set up like a decent-sized, expensive New York studio and doesn’t actually look like a warehouse inside. There are security cameras set up around the warehouse. Nick also has me configure my eye and palm for the subtly-placed scanners at the entrance.