Hunted

Chapter 5

Four men from Palermo showed up at Nico's downtown home, rough-looking, heavily armed men he vaguely recognized as Spadaro Clan members. His father's soldiers.

"We left discreetly," the ringleader, Nero, assured him. The older man stared up to meet Nico's gaze, his dark skin and bald head seeming to glow in the afternoon sunlight, as well as the heavy red and gold ring on his pinky finger. "Our orders are to remain at your side until the threat has been neutralized."

Nico's lip twitched, but he otherwise hid his surprise. He hadn't told Max about the threat. The number hadn't returned any hits, either, though Nico was sure that Max, smart as he was, had figured out something was amiss. "Someone's been watching the club," Nico informed him. He left out the part in which he'd specifically been targeted.

"Is the target one of your high-profile members?"

"I assure you I'm working to figure that out. In the meantime, I want the club cased, including the surrounding areas. Eyes up high, if possible. If you find anything suspicious, I want it reported back to me, no matter how insignificant it seems."

Nero nodded, seeming to make a mental note. "Do you want a guard on your person at all times?"

"No. I can take care of myself."

Nero and his men headed for the shiny black SUVs they'd parked in front of his gate to do what they're told.

Nico's shoulders dropped as he returned to his second-floor master bedroom where Gabriel waited, his lithe, sweaty body stretched out atop the comforter so the ceiling fan cooled off his skin. At his arrival, Gabriel looked up, his dark gaze droopy from exhaustion, yet the smile pulling at the edges of his lips conveyed pure satisfaction. "Who was that?"

"Friends," Nico answered, slipping off his bathrobe, hoping he was right. Trusting the men his father surrounded himself with proved difficult. Most of them were criminals, having been gang members or mafia all their lives. They knew no civility, no morality. They were backstabbers who treated human life as carelessly as butchers in a slaughterhouse. Only God and their padrino received their fealty. Only their famigghia, those both sanguine and affinity, knew their mercy. He only hoped their affiliation with Max, and their obeisance to Vincenzo, extended to him.

"Oh?" Gabriel asked, prompting for more. "I didn't know you had any friends. Tell me about them."

"You should get ready for work."

Gabriel chuckled. "I should take a sick day since my boss has been using me so roughly these last few days. I wonder what has him stressed."

Nico thought about the person who'd threatened him, and how eerily silent they'd gone after sending that picture. Over a week had passed and no demands were sent, no attempts made on his life. Only the static quiet that made Nico so uncomfortable, he thought he'd go insane. No amount of sex or alcohol could put him at ease, either. They were just temporary balms. At night, when he tried to sleep, unimaginable scenarios played out in his mind. He was worried, not only for himself, but for the club's employees and the members, who could potentially be in the line of fire. "We might have to close the club down for a little while," Nico said absentmindedly as he walked into his bathroom, into the large walk-in closet.

The bed sheets rustled, and he imagined Gabriel sitting up, his lips turned downward, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Why?" he called from the bedroom.

Before Nico could answer his companion, his cellphone rang. It was Vincenzo.

"Nico, my son."

Nico closed his eyes at Vincenzo's deep, thickly accented voice in his ear. His chest tingled at these calls as his father usually wanted to scold him, order him to do something unsavory, or worse, try to convince him to officially join the family business. Nico put his phone on speaker. "I'm here."