Secret Baby For The Italian Mafia Don

Part 4

NICO POV:

I feel like a kid playing with the chemicals he finds under the kitchen sink.
Ava steals my keys and storms off into the night, and I realize I kind of
want the girl behind the wheel of a 3,000-pound sports car with a top speed
of over 200 miles per hour—just to see what'll happen when those elements
combine.
Ava threatens to send my car careening into the ocean or a brick wall more
than once. Revenge for her phone. It's a useless threat. Unlike mine, her
crazy has limits, and I know there are lines she won't cross.
Like a good little girl, she drives us straight back to the familiar gated
community where her brother is doubtlessly pacing the floor, anxious for
her safe return.
"Keep the brights on," I tell her as she approaches the gate.
"Why?" she asks.
I don't answer, but she keeps them on, blinding the two guards posted up
along a gate stretched across the road.
Two such gates stand between us and our destination, each manned with a
guard. This first gate opens to the private, walled community that both my
close and distant relatives alike call home. Those who have stayed close to
the Mori family, keeping in the business, occupy the houses running along
either side of the lane. The walls and the gates keep out prying eyes and
troublesome people—like us, it seems.
They aren't even trying to be sly about it.
And at the end of the street, beyond the second gate, waits our destination.
The main house. The mansion where I grew up, and the heart of our
family's power.
One of the guards approaches the door. The beam of his flashlight passes
over Ava first, then lingers on me. I smile at him, see past the glare to the
caution in his eyes. He's been warned. He's not just going to let us through.
I can already see it in his expression.
He reaches for the radio on his vest to call it in.
"Oh, that won't be necessary," I tell him. "I have an invitation."
I pop open the glovebox, where a .380 drops down to greet me. An old
friend. I take the pistol, grab a fistful of Ava's hair, and pull her head back
to press the barrel right against her temple.
The girl goes still, frozen in my clutches, held at a sharp angle that twists
her at the waist. The car lurches momentarily as her foot feathers the brake,
but she holds the car still. The engine rumbles in the silence. The moment
suspends, slow and heavy, as we all regard the new balance of power. The
guard's hand hovers just near the button on his vest.
"Nico..." Ava says softly, warning me through her gritted teeth. "You better
think before you do something stupid."
"I'm not waiting for anyone to let me into my own home," I tell her lowly.
My eyes shift to the guard, who stands stupid and motionless, a deer caught
between a wolf and a ravine. No good choices. "Open the gate."
His jaw works, eyes uncertain.
Ava sounds calm enough, but I feel the tension in her body, the quiet
seething of her breaths. I wonder what she's thinking behind that cold mask
—is she calculating her odds of getting out of this alive? Wondering if I'll
really paint the inside of the car with her brains if they don't cooperate?
Does that even matter to her?
Or are those breaths heavy for a different reason?
With her profile illuminated in the flashlight's beam, I see those eyes.
Cryptic and fearless, pupils dilated into two bright green rims. She glares at
me out of the corner of her eyes, under those long lashes.
Finally, the guard slowly presses the radio button and mutters, "Let 'em
through." Before us, the wrought iron gate rolls back.
I let Ava go, and the car inches ahead slowly. I keep the gun on her in case
someone decides to try anything clever, watching our angles as we ease our
way up the road.
"You're out of your fucking mind," she says, as if coming to that conclusion
for the first time all over again.
"I'm a man of principle, Ava. You don't ask for permission to go where you
rightfully belong. And you can drop the shocked, angry little charade—we
both know you didn't really mind."
Those thick lips open and close, no words coming out. Her grip tightens on
the steering wheel. "This is it," she says firmly. "You saved me, and now
you've used me and put me in danger again. We're even now. Agreed?"
"Oh, so you're making deals now?"
"Do you agree?" she repeats. She turns to look at me, not caring that it
shifts the barrel from her temple to right between her eyes.
"...Sure, sweetheart." I smile. "Call it even if you want."
It doesn't change anything. She can look at me like she's done with me all
she wants—but I'm not done with her.
The second gate stands open for us.
"See, now this is more like it, Ava. The real red-carpet treatment."
I forgot a lot of things while I was locked up, but I never forgot this place.
Even in the dark, I know its every window, the slope of the rising roofs high
above our heads. Men are already on the front steps, bulky silhouettes
outlined against the warm glow from the inside of the house.
The headlights fall over them and illuminate Salvatore Mori. My younger
brother.
He's flanked on either side by three men, each of them armed.
Without any consideration at all for the gun in my lap, Ava pops open her
door.
We both get out of the car. For the first time in too long, I stand in the
shadow of the house—and I feel right at home. My eyes are dragged from
the sight down to Marcel, who breaks their choirboy formation and comes
storming toward his little sister.
He pulls Ava in, takes one look at her busted lip, and then rounds on me like
a wild dog.
"You son of a bitch!"
Salvatore tries to call him back, but Marcel doesn't listen. The two of us
march up to each other. I'm ready for it. Let him put those pretty-boy
cheekbones right where I can smash them in.
Ava darts in between us.
"Stop it!" she yells furiously, pushing her brother back by his chest over
and over again as we try to get to each other. "He saved me, Marcel! He
saved me! Knock it off!"
"He put a gun to your head!"
"Is that such a bad thing if she was really into it?" I ask.
Marcel's eyes flash with fury, but it's Ava who rounds on me now, pushing
me back too.
"Shut up," she snarls at me, desperate to get the two of us apart. Probably
because she knows if I get my hands on her brother, there won't be anything
left. Marcel is no wimp, but he's far from a cage fighter. It'd be all too easy.
We're both still trying to close in, single-minded, but he won't push Ava out
of the way.
"Get your little boyfriend under control, Sal," I say, "before he gets himself
hurt."
Marcel glares at me, the anger pulsing in his neck. The silence dares him to
do something, to make that move I see him thinking about.
"Ava, go inside," he orders.
She digs her feet in, holding her ground. "I'm not going anywhere with you
two about to tear into each other."
"Ava, this is business, get inside."
Her stance is solid, shoulders tense. She's not moving unless Marcel carries
her away. I'd tear him apart if he tried. There's only one thing that finally
draws my eyes off the girl.
Salvatore descends the steps.
His men approach with him, but they stay back, a respectful ring forming
around us. Silence falls over the group. Even Marcel takes a half-step back,
gives up the fight as Salvatore comes face to face with me. I break the
tension with a low whistle before somebody chokes on it.
Salvatore has changed since I last saw him. He's gotten bigger, all muscle
He's styled like a boss now. An expensive haircut and a clean shave. He
doesn't look anything like the criminal thug he used to be when I knew him,
when all little Salvatore was good for was kicking in doors.
He really tore me down and climbed right up over me. Switched our places
like a goddamn magic trick.
His face is unreadable, his posture looming and commanding. I bet he
practices that look in the mirror. So calm and composed, when deep down,
he's fucking clueless. The question is right there in everybody's eyes.
How am I here?
The truth bristles in the air like the heat of a shotgun, no one willing to own
up to it.
"No hug, little brother?" I ask him.
"Not so little anymore, Nico."
"I can see that. You've done a lot of...compensating while I've been gone.
It's cute. Really, this is all just so...cute."
My eyes trail over the men arranged there, each of them bristling, on edge.
Marcel looks half-tempted to shoot me dead on the spot. More honest than
the rest of them. If only he had the balls to try.
"So what is it, Sal?" I press. "You gonna turn me away? Not going to
welcome me back into my own home?"
The tension bristles in the air.
"I wouldn't do that, Nico."
Salvatore steps forward and extends his hand.
"Welcome home," he says, without smiling.
I let the gesture hang for a long moment. Let the awkwardness really rub all
over everybody, like salt in a wound. We finally shake. It's a brief, tense
gesture, the hatred seething in the tension of his grip.
But outwardly, he's oh-so diplomatic. Like reading from a goddamn script.
I know he doesn't want me here. This has ruined his night, his day, his
bright and sunny future. I am the clouds coming in for the storm.
"We should talk inside."
"Sal..." Marcel mutters, eyeing me distrustfully.
"What's the matter, Marcel?" I ask softly. "We're all friends here. Come on.
Let's move this happy reunion indoors." I clap him on the shoulder and step
past him. Over my shoulder, I see him standing there, contemplating
beating me into the dirt. I grin at him and head inside.
I'm flanked on either side. They almost make it look natural, but I've been
in prison, and I know a guard detail when I see it. Even if it looks like any
ordinary high-end office, they're marching me to an interrogation room.
This is not a friendly meeting, but only Marcel is willing to show outright
disrespect.
His position as Sal's lapdog has really gotten to his head.
I sit down on the wrong side of the desk. Salvatore takes his place behind it.
The men who escorted us in stay outside, posting up outside the doorway, at
attention like good little soldiers. The meeting whittles down—just me, Sal,
Marcel...
My gaze lingers on the doorway, waiting. Ava slips inside after us, and she
doesn't leave even when Marcel tries to shoo her away again. She holds her
ground and posts up by the doorway. I wonder why she's staying, our gazes
meeting as we try to read each other.
Really, I don't know if she'd try to save me or if she'd urge them to put a
bullet in my head. My tongue runs under my teeth as I think about it. I kind
of want to find out.
"We got word that you'd been seen at the fighting ring," Salvatore says,
drawing my attention back to him. "I thought it was a mistake, at first.
Some trick. Why didn't you inform the family that you were being
released?"
"You know I love to make an entrance." I smile.
Salvatore folds his hands, holding his silence as he waits for more
information. My laugh bubbles softly in the silence.
"Alright, let's just get the bullshit out of the way and address what
everybody is thinking. You're wondering if I'm here to put an end to this
little power trip you've been enjoying for the past few years. Answer's no.
You've been in charge. You've handled business out here, and I took care of
what was asked of me while I was inside. I'm not here to fuck up a good
thing. I respect this family too much for that."
"...But," Salvatore fills in for me.
My gaze slides to Marcel. He knows it's coming before the words are even
out of my mouth.
"But I want the position I'm owed, and there's someone sitting in my chair
who doesn't belong there."
An uncomfortable silence bristles in the room. I can see Salvatore putting
all his words in a row, working up his rejection.
"Marcel has been instrumental to the family. His position is a reward for
years of invaluable service. It's not something easily traded away—"
"Oh, I'm not trading," I interrupt. "No, no, I'm taking."
Marcel glowers at my calm, unfettered smile. It takes a special kind of
hatred to unravel a man like Marcel. A man who always plays by the book
but uses it to his advantage. Who knows all the rules of the game just so he
can use them against you. But even he sits there, struggling to remain
neutral.
"I'm more interested in what happened tonight," Marcel says. "Before we
start discussing what you think you're owed, we need to understand the
situation. Rumor has it, you were scheduled for a fight tonight—"
"The family is talking, Marcel," I interrupt him smoothly. "If you want to
make yourself useful, why don't you get me a drink?"
A half-beat of uncertainty shifts through the room.
Marcel turns his eyes to Salvatore in disbelief. Suddenly, no one seems sure
of the pecking order. Who listens to who. The ranks are in shambles, and
it's that frayed string that I'm gonna take in my grasp, pulling and pulling,
until the whole goddamn sweater unravels itself.
I might not be able to be top dog anymore, but second best is damn close.
And if something ever happened to Sal, well...the family would have a
blood relative to weather them through that terrible, terrible tragedy.
At the bar cart, glasses clink. The three of us glance over to see Ava filling
up a glass of scotch. She brings it to me and slams it on the desk, spilling a
little over the edge. She gives me a pointed glower as she steps past, a silent
warning. Back off him.
"Well, at least someone's catching on quick," I mutter, taking a sip. "So," I
continue, sitting back, "the way I see it, this can go one of two ways. Either
I can challenge you." I gesture to Sal. "And we can really make this messy.
Or I take the position of underboss, and Marcel fucks back off to legal
counsel or accounting or whatever paper pushing he does best."
"Don't be delusional. The family won't support a claim against Salvatore,"
Marcel scoffs.
"Oh, I still have a few friends out there, Marcel. Would I be sitting here if I
didn't? Slipped right past you, didn't it?"
"The family tried, Nico—" Salvatore begins. It launches me to my feet, my
hand slamming down on the desk between us.
"Don't lie to me!" I snarl over the bullshit he's trying to spew. Marcel is on
his feet in an instant, but Salvatore remains still and stoic, his calm
demeanor like steel wool against a wound. "You didn't do a goddamn thing!
You left me there, and while I was gone, you traded all the power out of the
hands of the real family. Your own blood. Or maybe you were afraid they'd
still be loyal to me—"
"Amazing how much perspective you get behind bars," Salvatore cuts in.
"As if you have any idea what decisions I've made or why. I've always
done what was best for this family."
I pace in front of the desk, no longer able to sit still. Rage makes me
restless, fills every limb. I know Salvatore had a hand in locking me up. He
must have. And now he doesn't even have the dignity to admit it.
"What's it going to be, Sal?" I ask him. "I'm back, and I'm here to stay. You
want to know why I was at that fighting ring? Because as of tonight, there's
a lot of money on my name down there in that fighting pit. I made sure of
that before I waltzed back in here. You can't just bury me in the backyard
like a dog. Not without pissing off a lot of your fat-wallet friends who are
looking to make money on my fights."
He stares me down, the silence creaking in the old house around us.
"Oh, and while I was there," I continue, rounding on Marcel now, "I went
out of my way, took time out of my busy schedule, to save your little sister
from being torn apart by a bunch of drunk thugs. And honestly, I'm not
feeling very appreciated. Don't you have something to say to me, Marcel?"
He stares me down, his silence heavy. His eyes shift to Ava, questioning.
"It's true," she confirms, avoiding his gaze.
He utters his thanks like it tears him apart to say it, like it's made of barbed
wire and razor blades.
I grin at just how much this man fucking hates me.
"I'm not going to fight you, Nico," Salvatore says. "I know what you're
owed, and I wouldn't deny you that. We'll see what arrangement we can
come to. Let's let it sit for a night. Get you settled back into the house
properly. We can figure out the rest tomorrow."
"At a formal meeting of the family," I say. "The actual family."
Salvatore and Marcel exchange glances.
Softly, overhead, a baby starts to cry. My eyes trail toward the ceiling. We
all realize it in the same moment. A grin pulls at the corner of my lips. I'd
heard that Salvatore has a wife and kid now. A proper little heir. Our gazes
meet again, and for the first time, I see a hint of worry there in the shadows
of those guarded eyes.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" I ask, soft and low.
"Absolutely not," Sal says, more a growl than a sentence, for the first time
showing a hint of his real self under all that decorum. "You go anywhere
near my child, and I won't bury you like a dog, I'll feed you to them. Now
go, Nico. Before I decide not to be so generous with you."
I grin.
There he is.
There's the man that's been able to captain this ship the whole time. I knew
he'd be in there somewhere under that sharp suit.
Maybe Salvatore and I can have a second start after all. A new age for the
family. A promising tomorrow. When I leave the office, I overhear the low
order given—keep an eye on him. As if they have to worry about that.
I pass by Ava, giving her a wink.
I'm finally home, and they're not getting rid of me that easily.
If Salvatore wanted me gone, he should have found a more permanent solution all those years ago.

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