My stomach slowly rose into my throat. If Nico was at the party but not with the main partygoers out front, did that mean he was back here in a private room? It wasn’t possible. He would never do that to me. Yet that sixth sense pulsed louder and louder in my ears until it drowned out the music and the pounding of my heart was all I could hear. I should turn back and run. Nothing good could come from finishing my search, but I was compelled forward. I stepped mechanically into the doorway of the last door on the left and took in the scene before me, my heart splintering into shards at my feet.
Nico stood facing me, his head thrown back in pleasure as one hand steadied himself against the wall and the other held the head of a blonde on her knees, her head bobbing before him. My body betrayed me, freezing me to the spot, forcing me to witness his blatant infidelity to the bond between us.
As if sensing the destruction he was causing, Nico’s eyes slowly opened as his head came forward. None of the surprise or remorse I had expected were present, adding another blow to the gaping hole in my chest. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn’t care.
Confusion over encountering this alternate reality made my head swim with dizziness.
This couldn’t be real. There had to be some supernatural explanation.
But there wasn’t.
It was real—just like when Marco was killed.
Every second was real and seared into my brain.
“Why?” I gasped as I braced myself against the doorframe.
Nico tugged at the girl’s hair, pulling her lips off him, and tucked himself casually back in his pants. When the girl turned to see what was going on, I realized it was Brooke Britton, one of the cattiest, most heartless of the Xavier cheerleaders. She smiled snidely at me, winked at Nico, and left the room, bumping my shoulder on her way out.
“We aren’t kids anymore, Sofia,” Nico said coldly. “You can’t just follow me around like a lost puppy and expect me to hang onto you forever, passing notes and holding hands. This isn’t working for me anymore.”
Not working for him? Where was this coming from? Was this because I stopped him from going further on our date? How could he be breaking things off between us when he was just professing his feelings for me days before? And why did he have a black eye and a split lip? None of it made any sense—my traumatized brain could hardly process the information.
“Why are you doing this? What … what happened to you?” I stuttered out, my words a jumbled mess in my head.
“Life happened. We all grow up sometime, and that sometime is now. I’ve decided to go into boxing. I’m good at it and can make a shit ton of money. You know I don’t want to end up in debt like my dad, and boxing will get me there. I’m quitting school, and this little thing between us is over. My life is headed in a new direction, and it doesn’t include you.” His eyes were cut shards of glass as he spoke, each word more resolute than the last.
He reached out to grab his jacket off a nearby chair with a slight wobble. Was he drunk? I’d never known Nico to drink, and now I was wondering if I ever knew Nico at all. Was this a show put on for me, or had he always worn a mask to hide the monster underneath? We all had secrets. We all wore masks. Which Nico was the real one and which was the front?
“Stop this!” I finally shot back at him, charging over to where he stood. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to stop right fucking now. It’s not you, and I know it.” I punctuated my words by slamming my hands against his broad chest over and over.
Nico grabbed my wrists, stopping me mid-tantrum. “This is the real me. If you can’t accept that, you’re in for a world of pain. Brooke’s not the first, and she won’t be the last, so I suggest you get over your little crush and move on.” He flung my hands out to the sides and charged past me, leaving me drowning in his wake.
The deep waters of grief and devastation surged up around me, causing my knees to buckle. I dropped to the floor, my lungs convulsing with painful sobs—like I was breathing underwater, choking and coughing but finding no relief.
Nico Conti didn’t just break my heart; he destroyed it.
If anyone came in search of a vacant room and spotted me weeping on the floor, they didn’t make themselves known, and I didn’t care if anyone witnessed my undoing.
I didn’t care about anything anymore.
Once a soothing numbness settled inside me, I picked myself up, found a back exit from the house, and left. The early April night was chilly, but I didn’t notice. I walked home in the dark, unaware of any lurking dangers. Or maybe I was aware, and in my broken mental state, I was inviting them to put me out of my misery. Regardless, it was not to be that night. I made it home safely, shaking from head to toe.
After letting myself in the side door, I disarmed the alarm, then walked in a haze upstairs. I don’t know why I did it—it wasn’t something I did consciously—but I opened the door to Marco’s room and crawled into his empty bed. Maybe it was my imagination, but I swore I could still smell him on the pillow. Wrapped in the imaginary arms of my big brother, I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
***
What did you say to someone who’d thrown you away? Did you beg them to come back? Or did you recognize that it wasn’t meant to be and move on? I wasn’t the type of girl to beg, but my relationship with Nico went too far back to give up without a fight.
True to his word, he never came back to school. For weeks I tried to talk to him—texting, phone calls, and even dropping by his parents’ house—all without any luck.
He was a ghost, as if he’d never even existed.
His departure didn’t just leave me with heartache; it also sparked the wrath of Brooke Britton. She waged a war against me, blaming me for Nico leaving school. I was pretty sure it was just an excuse, but that didn’t matter. She took every opportunity she could to make my life a living hell.
On top of dealing with my grief and hurt, I was bullied on a daily basis. While in PE, my school clothes would end up mysteriously soaked in my locker. If I wasn’t careful, I’d get an elbow to the ribs walking down the hall or a tray of food dropped over my head in the cafeteria. Each day was a new torment, making me more miserable than I already was.
I began to dread lunch and classroom transitions. Nico had been such a large part of my world that I’d had no need for other friends. There were girls I had talked to in classes, but no one I was close with. When he left, I was all alone. In a school full of wealthy, privileged kids, I became an easy target. I tried to stand up for myself at first, but it only made things worse—as if Brooke fed on the conflict.
One day, I was walking with my lunch to the far table where I sat each day alone, and a foot shot out, sending me flailing to the ground on top of my tray of food. Roars of laughter filled the room. I slowly stood, relieved that my sister didn’t have the same lunch period and couldn’t see my utter humiliation. I didn’t look for the culprit or make eye contact with anyone as I stood, pulling my slice of pizza off my chest.
Just as I started to walk away, a guy I wasn’t familiar with walked over and motioned for me to stay still. His black hair fell into his eyes, and his uniform tie was pulled loose with his collar unbuttoned—a violation of the dress code. Whoever he was, he wasn’t interested in fitting in.
He reached over and yanked a kid up out of his seat at the end of the table, fist wrapped in the kid’s collar. “You fucking touch her again … any of you,” he said, slowly glancing at the others at the table, “and I will make you wish you’d never been born. Understood?” His voice was an angry warning without a hint of doubt or restraint.
“You can’t just threaten us,” spat Brooke, seated at the table with the boy who’d tripped me.
The guy let go of his target, slowly turning to Brooke. “Are you going to stop me, Brooke?” he asked in an eerily quiet voice. “Maybe ask your daddy, the politician, to go after me? Or maybe James here, whose dad sits in front of a news camera every night at six. Maybe he’ll have his dadd
y report me on the news? The thing is, Brooke, I don’t give a shit about that stuff. I don’t care who your parents are or what they do for a living, but I do know that I’ve always come out of a fight on top. So, if you want to take it outside and settle things the traditional way, I’m more than happy. Otherwise, leave. Her. The. Fuck. Alone.” Not waiting for a response, he ushered me toward the table where I normally sat before dropping his backpack on the bench. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I had no idea what was going on, but I was more than happy to accept his help. I sat at the table trying to ignore all the stares and prying eyes while I waited for the stranger to come back. When he did, he put a single tray down between us piled with pizza and two apples. Normally, we were only allowed one slice at a time, but clearly, the rules didn’t apply to him.
“Eat,” he said before taking a large bite of pizza.
I picked up a slice but paused before taking a bite. “I’m a little embarrassed. You stuck your neck out for me, and I don’t even know your name.”
“Michael,” he said while chewing, then smirked as his eyes lit with amusement. “Guy looked like he was gonna piss himself.”
I couldn’t help the relieved laughter that bubbled up from deep inside me. “You’re pretty intimidating. I’m surprised I haven’t noticed you around here. You don’t exactly blend in.”
“I just started at the semester break. You may not have noticed me, but I’ve seen how they’ve been treating you lately. You piss in someone’s cornflakes?”
“It might be easier to take if I had done something—at least then I’d know it was my own fault—but no. Brooke started it, and I seem to have become everyone’s favorite pastime.”
“It started when the guy you were always with moved away, right?” He asked the question casually, unaware of the stab of pain his words caused.
My gaze dropped to the table, and I lowered the pizza, suddenly uninterested in eating. “Yeah, that was Nico.”
Michael’s chewing slowed, his eyes narrowing. “Something happen to him?”
“Not exactly. He left, and we didn’t part on good terms. It’s been hard on me.”
“Well, I can’t help with that, but I can keep those dickheads off your back.”
I offered him a small smile, suddenly exhausted from the ebbing adrenaline. We finished our lunch together, getting to know one another, and slipped into an easy friendship.
Each day, he joined me for lunch and talked to me in the halls. Like me, he didn’t seem to have other friends. It wasn’t at all the same as what I shared with Nico, but it helped to dull the pain. I was sure Michael sensed I was a little broken, but he never brought it up. He was my buoy in the middle of the storm, and I clung to him for dear life.
Chapter 17
Nico
Now
The thrill of reuniting with Sofia was doused in a bucket of ice water when I woke alone the next morning. I quickly dressed and went in search for her but found her mother instead. Carlotta hid her surprise at seeing me, informing me that Sofia had stepped out. I excused myself with what little pride I had left and slunk from the house.
Talk about awkward.
At least it hadn’t been Enzo. I had known I was taking a chance by staying the night with his daughter right under his roof, but there was no way I was letting her slip away from me. When I told her what had happened, her protective barrier visibly crumbled. I had unguarded access to my Sofia, the girl who had loved me unconditionally, and I wasn’t wasting the opportunity.
Being with Sofia was as perfect as I’d always imagined. I only wished she’d stayed with me the entire night. Clearly, we still had some work to do.
What the fuck happened? Why did she run from me?
After returning home to shower and change, I sat in my car outside the meet location and racked my brain about what had gone wrong. Had she been upset, and I was too lust-crazed to notice? How could she welcome me inside her when she’d never been with anyone else, then leave without a word? The way I’d broken things off with her had been horrific, but if that was the issue, why did she have sex with me at all?
None of it made any sense, and it was pissing me off. I wanted more than anything to find her and demand answers, but we had our meeting with the Russians, and I couldn’t miss it. Despite my oath, Sofia would always come first. However, I wouldn’t break my promise to the family unless it was necessary. There would be plenty of time for answers.
The other thing that had gnawed at me all morning was Sofia’s safety. If I didn’t know where she’d run off to, I couldn’t keep her safe. When I finally got my hands on her, we’d have more than one topic to discuss. I was pleased to have been included in our meeting with the Russians, but considering everything else I had going on, I was also anxious to get it over with so I could sort out the rest of my shit.
I’d received a text an hour before from Enzo telling me the location and time for the meet. The address took me to a run-down part of Brooklyn where the old brick buildings had seen their day. Wealthy investors hadn’t yet seized the properties to revitalize the area, so the neighborhood remained much as it had been for decades.
I didn’t have to wait long before Gabe’s car pulled up followed by a second vehicle. He and Enzo stepped from his black Lincoln Town Car along with two soldiers, and four more exited from the other car. I joined them, shaking hands with Gabe and Enzo and nodding to the others—all of us equally stoic. Meets were supposed to be violence-free, but there were never any guarantees.
As we greeted one another, a large metal garage door slid open. A single soldier stood at the entry, inviting us inside. The building housed a typical mechanic’s garage that I would have bet was a chop shop. The little garage tucked away in Brooklyn would be the perfect place to take stolen cars and refurbish them to be sold on the black market.
We were led to the back of the building and down a hallway past a series of offices to a small conference room. Three men were seated at an oval table along with half a dozen soldiers at their backs. As we filed into the room, the three men slowly stood, and we all eyed each other warily.
“Gabe,” greeted the man in the middle in a heavy Russian accent. “And this must be the elusive Enzo Genovese. We appreciate you joining us today.” It wasn’t surprising the man was able to pick out Enzo. He was the oldest among us, implying higher rank, but he also had a commanding air that left no question about his powerful station.
“I appreciate you giving us the opportunity to discuss business and hopefully work through this little mess.”
“Yes, of course. These things happen. Please, have a seat.”
With our soldiers standing at our backs, we joined the Russians at the glass-topped conference table. The room was saturated with the stale odor of foreign cigarettes—no Marlboro Lights for the bratva. Between the vodka and tobacco, it was a miracle any of them lived past fifty. Their faces were weathered and harsh, hands dotted with old tattoos, and their teeth were stained a putrid yellow. These men were old-school bratva—the equivalent of our Italian Zips who came over from Sicily. They had yet to enter the modern age, still living under the archaic rules of the past.
The leader, Boris “Biba” Mikhailov, leaned back confidently in his chair. “I understand you have a traitor on your hands.”
“Yes,” conceded Enzo. “My underboss Sal has betrayed me and injured my reputation with a number of my associates, such as yourself. He’s on the run, but we’ll find him.”
Biba tsked, shaking his head. “Is not good for business to have such a trusted comrade turn on you. It does not instill … confidence in your operation.”
The blatant disrespect made me wish I could hop over the table and teach Biba some manners. Ever the businessman, Enzo didn’t even look fazed by the Russian’s slight.
“That is a matter I’m working to correct. I understand Sal entered an arrangement with you on behalf of the Lucciano family. I’m here to see what we can do to keep our end of that barg
ain.”
“Da, da. We have a shipment of guns that has yet to be paid for. Five hundred K.” He lifted a brow in challenge.
“It was my understanding the amount owed was two fifty.”
“There have been … complications in holding the shipment past the scheduled delivery date. The price has gone up.” His eyes sparked with amusement, and several of his soldiers behind him smirked. Every man in that room knew his excuse was bullshit—there were no complications. The Russians just wanted to milk us for every dollar they could get.
Enzo’s jaw flexed almost imperceptibly. “Alright, but I need to find a buyer. If you can give me until the end of the week, we have a deal.”
Biba gave a contemplative frown, glancing at his cohort beside him. “Da, this will work.”
Simultaneously, both groups rose from the table. Enzo reached out, extending his hand to Biba. “It’s good doing business with you, Boris.”
“Always a pleasure, my friend.” He pulled away, still holding Enzo’s gaze. “I hope you are aware, Sal’s betrayal was a slight to us as well. I have men searching for him—if we find him before you, he is ours to make a lesson of. It cannot be known that someone has screwed the bratva and walked away.” Biba’s eyes were suddenly crystal clear, a deadly promise in his harsh stare.
“I would expect nothing less. All I ask is, should you find him first, you let me know so I can call off my own search.”
The Russian’s lips pulled back in a wide grin for the first time. “Of course, then we agree. Before you go, we must toast.” One of the soldiers magically appeared with a full bottle of vodka and a stack of shot glasses. Crazy fucking Russians—not even fazed by the fact that it was ten in the morning.
Biba poured healthy portions of the clear liquid into each glass. “You’ll like this. It’s Beluga, some of the finest from Mother Russia.” He kept the bottle in one hand, then lifted his glass in the other, and we all followed suit. “To continued friendships and common goals,” he said with a crazy gleam in his eye. Sal was dead no matter who found him, but if it was the Russians, he was going to wish for death long before it came.
Never Truth Amazon Page 14