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

by Parker S. Huntington

  “Nice to properly meet you both,” Ashley says, hiding her uncertainty behind a shaky smile.

  I notice that she has a ring on her ring finger.

  “Congratulations!” someone says, approaching our small group and slapping John on the back. Ashley looks grateful for the interruption, and together the three of them leave us alone without another word.

  I lead Minka down the aisle towards one of the rows in the middle. Usually, the groom’s friends and family sit on one side of the aisle while the wife’s family sit on the other, but the seating arrangement is open, since Lucy is a foster child with very few friends, except for some chick named Aimee. Speaking of Aimee, Lucy’s maid of honor, I make a mental note to stay clear of her. I’ve only heard bad things about her.

  That she’s funny. Hilarious. A riot.

  Gross.

  “You’re grumpy again,” Minka remarks as we slide into one of the pews in the front.

  “No, I’m not.”

  She looks pointedly at the thinly set line of my mouth.

  “Fine,” I admit, “maybe I’m a little grumpy. I don’t like weddings.”

  “Why not?”

  “Actually, I don’t like Romano weddings. Too many trigger happy people that have been taught all of their lives to hate someone with my last name.”

  “And do they?”

  “What?”

  “Do they hate you because of your last name?”

  “Y—” I cut myself off and really consider it. “Huh. They don’t.”

  If I really think about it, they do avoid me and avert their eyes, but it’s not because I’m an Andretti. It’s because I’m the fixer. It’s the same reaction I’ve seen Asher garner, and I suspect that, like Asher, I’ll get these looks long after I retire from this position.

  I’m startled by the realization, but now that I’m aware of it, it doesn’t take me long to figure out why it’s been years since I’ve been treated like a pariah thanks to my last name—Vincent Romano.

  As the fixer, I’ve worked under his tutelage as the head of enforcement from the start, and he’s always been quick to punish people who have mistreated me. To set them straight with the words of a well-respected man. And in the rare chance that didn’t work, to force them into submission.

  I look diagonally across the aisle at Vincent Romano, wanting to study him after this revelation. But I frown when I see him. Something’s off about him tonight. He looks a little ragged, a little less put together.

  In normal circumstances, this would be concerning… but this isn’t a normal circumstance. This is Asher’s wedding, which makes it even more alarming, because we all know Vincent would give up his life to make this day perfect for the man he considers to be his son.

  One glance at Asher standing before the Romano boss, who was ordained to complete the ceremony, and I can tell that Asher sees it, too, because he keeps glancing at Vincent when he should be clearing his mind and focusing on Lucy and this wedding.

  I make eye contact with Asher, and he quirks a questioning eyebrow in Vincent’s direction. I shrug, hoping it conveys my confusion. Asher nods, his frown deepening, but it immediately clears when the wedding music begins to play and the flower girl, one of Vincent’s nieces, Bastian’s youngest sister, starts walking slowly down the aisle and tossing flower petals or some shit.

  I ignore the procession of women and men walking down the aisle, glad that Asher didn’t bother asking me to be one of his groomsmen, because we both know that I’d hate it and do a shit job of planning everything except the bachelor party.

  Next to Minka, one of the notoriously handsy caporegimes tries to subtly scoot closer to her. I cut him a glare so harsh it quickly takes care of that problem.

  Minka looks startled by my reaction before amusement and a dash of determination quickly take over her features. “For someone who was so quick to run a couple of nights ago, you sure are possessive.” Her tone adopts a teasing lilt, but I suspect she’s serious when she says, “You know, it would be great if you could get over this crush you have on me.”

  I barely refrain from scowling. “I don’t have a crush.”

  “Then, what do you call this?” she asks, gesturing to our proximity and the way I’ve angled my body to ward off other unwanted assholes.

  I sigh in resignation, putting a little distance between us, not even bothering to wonder why she says half of the shit she says. She wasn’t complaining when I was watching her come undone in front of me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?” I ask.

  Her eyes widen slightly, like she’s just remembering that she doesn’t like me, and she returns her attention to the wedding. Aimee, Lucy’s maid of honor, and Asher’s best man, some friend he knows from his childhood, have finally reached the end of the aisle, and everyone has turned their attention to the entrance, where Lucy is now standing.

  Sometime in the past ten minutes, Vincent exited the room from the side and made his way to the entrance, where he’s now escorting Lucy down the aisle. When she passes the first row, Lucy sends a beaming smile to one of the older ladies sitting on the pew, who I recognize as Lucy’s former social worker from one of the background searches I conducted when I finally learned Lucy’s real name.

  When I return my eyes to Asher, I see something flash in his eyes. Nerves, maybe? I doubt it. Then again, he is about to hitch himself to Lucy, who’s weird as fuck, for all of eternity. And that’s exactly what’s happening.

  For. All. Of. Fucking. Eternity.

  After all, Asher doesn’t do things half assed.

  I know this because when he offered me refuge in Romano territory after I saved his life, he set me up with a forty million dollar brownstone, a high-paying job and eventually two security guards from Black Security. And just when I thought that was the end of the surprises, he took me by surprise again by befriending me.

  And as Lucy and Asher exchange vows and give each other genuine promises of forever, I find myself pushing aside my derision for marriage and wondering what it would be like to find someone who I’d like to spend forever with. Or, baby steps, the type of woman I’d like to date to begin with.

  Whoever she is would have to be able to put up with my asshole tendencies. She’d have to be fierce and capable of one Hell of a mean streak. Nice girls are overrated. Sure, I want a woman who can be kind, but I also want her to have a spine. One hell of a backbone. Preferably one that leads to an ass as fine as Minka’s.

  Hell, who am I kidding?

  It’s Minka I want.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Forgiveness is an act of

  the will, and the will can

  function regardless of the

  temperature of the heart.

  Corrie ten Boom

  I fidget in my seat at my table in the banquet hall, remembering the odd looks Niccolaio sent my way during the wedding, which is just about the worst occasion to be sending a girl looks like that.

  Gone was his usual blank mask and in its place was a distinct look of wonder. He tried to hide it, but I saw it, lurking beneath the depths of his eyes as he studied me when he thought I didn’t notice.

  But the problem is I did notice. I notice everything about him. I’ve been trying to chalk it up to lust, so I can dismiss it as nothing more than a meaningless crush, but I don’t think that’s what this is.

  At least, I can’t reduce it to lust when my heart pounds at the thought of him and I feel my throat swelling in so much feeling when I think of all he’s done for me. Like going out of his way to call in favors with Asher, so I can talk to Mina every single day. And making Mina laugh whenever he’s there while I’m video chatting with her. And being someone I can talk to about my past—and present—without feeling judged by every wrong (and right) decision I’ve ever made. And giving me a place to stay when we both know he doesn’t need to do this, since I’m not going to go blabbing my mouth about him.

  I
sigh, swirling my soda in my glass as I watch him talk to the mayor across the banquet hall. Yeah, the mayor. And earlier, I think I saw Beyoncé and her daughter running around this place. I shouldn’t be surprised that Asher knows all of these people or that Niccolaio is so casually talking to them, but I am.

  In his hand is a glass of tea, filled a third of the way. Earlier, he asked a waiter for a glass of whiskey, poured it into one of the nearby plants, and refilled the whiskey glass with some tea from the table’s pitcher. Sly Devil.

  “Having fun?” a voice asks from beside me, causing me to jump.

  The Sprite in my hand splashes outside of the cup from the movement. Asher hands me a napkin, and I hastily wipe the spilled liquid off of my hand.

  “I didn’t hear you sit,” I say the obvious.

  I wonder if Asher taught Niccolaio that or Niccolaio taught Asher that. Or maybe these mafia men are just born with the inherent knowledge of how to sneak up on people and scare the living daylights out of them. Seriously… How do you sit down beside someone so quietly that they don’t hear?

  Asher shrugs, smirking a little as he glances at Lucy on the dance floor with Aimee. “Are you having fun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t lie. It’s unbecoming.”

  I sigh. “Fine, but it’s not like I’m not having fun. I’m just… This is weird.”

  “What is?”

  “I mean, thank you for donating the tablets. That means the world to me. But… You hate me. Lucy hates me. Aimee hates me.”

  He studies me before relenting, “I donated the tablets because I wanted to, not because of Nick or you. I did it for the kids.” His words remind me of an article I read on his philanthropy for underprivileged children, and I suppose it makes sense with his background. “And I don’t hate you,” he continues. “No one does.”

  “I haven’t forgotten what you said to me at Carmen’s Cantina.”

  I know your type. You’re not at Wilton for a degree. You’re there to find someone to marry. Some rich sucker you can leech off of for the rest of your parasitic life. Come near Lucy again, and I’ll blackball you so fast, no man in the city will dare touch you with a ten foot pole. You clearly know who I am. You know I’ll do it.

  Yet, here I am, sitting in the same room as Lucy, at her wedding no less, and I haven’t been black balled. But that doesn’t lessen the lacerating sting of the words as I remember them. Mostly because he was right about everything except for the Wilton part. I am parasitic. I am looking for a rich sucker I can leech off of for the rest of my life. Well, for as long as I think Mina needs me to.

  “It’s pretty cowardly to hold a grudge.”

  “Are you calling me a coward?”

  “Well, you’re not exactly acting brave.”

  When he smiles, I realize he’s joking, and that surprises me more than it would if I learned he wasn’t joking.

  After a minute of silence, Asher shrugs carelessly and mocks my earlier words, “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done to Lucy.”

  I frown, remembering how awful I was to her. “Are we enemies, Asher?”

  “No.”

  It’s stupid, but I ask, “Why not?”

  “You’ve been horrendous to deal with, yeah. But part of what you’ve done was give her a safe place to stay when she was in danger. When it counted the most. I haven’t forgotten that, and I won’t ever forget that.”

  I lean back. “But I’ve been so mean to her.”

  “You haven’t since, and I don’t think you will again.” He looks me in the eye. “It seems like the only person who’s finding it difficult to forgive you is you.”

  And with that, he’s gone.

  He’s just as irritating as Lucy.

  Shortly after Asher leaves, Aimee and Lucy join me, but this time I’m not surprised—I could hear their raucous laughter from across the room.

  Aimee gives Lucy a dubious glance. “We like her now?”

  Lucy elbows her in the stomach and turns to me. “Thank you for coming.”

  “No problem,” I say, and I mean it. “I’m glad I came.”

  And I am. I needed to hear from Asher, from anyone, that I’m forgiven for my past. Lately, as I’ve started to question whether or not my choices have been good ones, I’ve also abhorred my inability to reign in the ugliness of my emotions and how I’ve treated others.

  I needed to hear that I’m not beyond redemption.

  Aimee breaks the surprisingly comfortable silence that stretches out, “Hey, Loosey Goosey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “No one shot you down today.”

  Lucy smiles. “I haven’t been poisoned either.”

  Aimee snorts, and I give them polite smiles that hide the What in the firetruck? I’m thinking in my head. I have to remind myself that I reevaluated my opinions on Lucy after our last talk in Vaserley Hall.

  I mean, I still think she’s crazy… but now I understand why. She’s a fifty year old woman trapped in a twenty year old’s body, and all that age old wisdom crammed into that youth has turned her insane.

  I’m not sure what Aimee’s excuse is.

  “So, Nick, huh?” Lucy asks me.

  I look at him, talking at the edge of the dance floor with Asher. He has a smile on his face that I haven’t seen on him with anyone other than me. And while I’d love for it to be reserved for me, I’m glad he has Asher. They seem good for each other.

  Around the dance floor, men avert their eyes from Asher and Niccolaio. I saw it in the tunnels, too. The guy who led us through them couldn’t even meet Niccolaio’s eyes. And when we made our way through the pews in the church, people backed far away from us, some of them even noticeably cowering.

  And I realized that Niccolaio is an intimidating man.

  So why have I never felt that about him?

  As if he knows I’m thinking about him, Niccolaio’s eyes meet mine, and I’m ensnared by them.

  On the other side of Lucy, Aimee loudly whisper shouts into Lucy’s ear for all of us to hear, “Fuck, they should just sleep together and get it over with.”

  Abruptly, I feel several pairs of eyes from the surrounding tables turn to me. Lucy is quick to jab Aimee roughly with her elbow (again).

  “What the fuck?” Aimee asks defensively, rubbing her rib cage with a look of surprise on her face.

  “We’re in a church.”

  Well, we’re in a banquet hall built into the back of the church, but still…

  Aimee’s eyes widen. “Shit, I forgot.” Her face half somber and half apologetic, she corrects herself, “Holy fuck, they should just sleep together and get it over with.”

  Lucy groans and rubs at her forehead, giving up on Aimee. Instead, she sends me an apologetic look, which I shrug to. As long as Niccolaio didn’t hear that, I’m not too mortified. I steal another glance at the man in question and am surprised to see him making his way towards me.

  Around me, I hear the girls quickly reacting, and I wonder if they’d be reacting the same way if he was uglier or if they’d cower away from Niccolaio like all of their male counterparts seem to do.

  “Care to dance?” he asks me when he reaches me.

  I nod, saying my goodbyes to Lucy and Aimee. He leads me to the dance floor, holding my hand tightly in his. People naturally part for him, for some reason repelled by him when all I seem to be able to do is get closer.

  When he pulls me closer, I inhale his seductive scent. I can feel his laughter against my chest, but I don’t care. I’m not even embarrassed by my reaction. I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll always react this way to this man.

  “Did you just sniff me?”

  “Yes,” I mumble into his suit jacket.

  “I think it’s only fair if I do the same.”

  He leans into my neck before I can prepare myself for it, and I tense, my skin erupting into a million goosebumps as he trails his lips against the curve of neck. I can feel my
nipples pebbling against my dress, unhindered by a bra, and I push myself closer to hide them from the crowd. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  When his mouth reaches the space below my ear, he takes me by surprise by lowering my body into a dip, twirling us into a half circle at the same time he raises me back up. A genuine smile spreads across my lips

  “You should smile like that more often.”

  “You should dance with me more often.”

  “Okay.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask, as he leads us to the tunnels, barely pausing to send a boyish head nod Asher’s way.

  “I’m taking you on a date, Minka Reynolds.”

  I’ve never been on a date.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  True forgiveness is when

  you can say, “Thank you

  for that experience.”

  Oprah Winfrey

  Of course, my first date happens at a movie theater.

  Original.

  But honestly, with Niccolaio as my date, I can’t even bring myself to care, and when we walk into the completely empty theater lobby, I know why we’re here and not somewhere more crowded. Not for the first time, it occurs to me that Niccolaio is always thinking a dozen steps ahead.

  “This is a dollar theater that plays movies that have been out in theaters for a few months, and honestly, it should be out of business already. None of the theaters are in decent viewing condition, so no one goes.”

  I see what he means when we enter the theater, and there’s a gaping hole on the top left corner of the screen. In the center right, there’s a giant stain on the screen, also. How that happened, I have no clue, but I’m not impressed. Again, I also don’t particularly care, though I am amused and confused as to why Niccolaio took me here. Surely, he’d be able to find another place that isn’t frequented by people.

  We sit down at the center of the handicap row. Normally, I’d be more sensitive about using up a seat reserved for handicap people, but this place is a ghost town. There’s even only one employee running the whole place.