15. Chapter Fifteen

The morning sun shines in through the slats in the blinds and casts a warm glow across Sophie’s bare back. She’s lying on her side, and I can see a tiny starburst-like scar on her shoulder. I stand at the side of the bed, fully dressed and tracing my fingers over the pearly flesh, wondering where it came from.

She makes a quiet, contented sound, but her eyes remain closed as I work my way from her shoulder down the outer curve of her breast and across her abdomen to where her tattoo disappears beneath the sheet hiding her hip.

I’ve never done this—never watched a woman sleep, never wondered about her scars or the meaning behind her tattoos. Or lingered around after sex. I should be at the docks— I check my watch—in thirty minutes. My men would already be waiting by now. But first, I need to get a proper look at her tattoo.

It’s an elaborate thick vine dotted with tiny moonflowers that stretch from the generous curve of her left hip across her flat belly and stops just short of her breasts.

I trace the vine back up over her ribs, grazing the outer curve of her breast, and she stirs. And when I cup her breast in my hand and catch her nipple lightly between my fingers, she moans quietly and shifts more, but still, her eyes remain closed.

Driven by an insane need to see all of her, I move to the end of the bed and lean over, slowly sliding my hands up her thighs and taking the bedsheet with me as I go. She’s silky soft beneath my fingers, her muscles relaxed and pliant.

She moans, a quiet, breathy sound, and her plump lips part.

“Buongiorno, fiammetta,” I say as my fingers reach the apex of her thighs, and I spread them open. She’s smooth and dusky pink, and her scent makes my mouth water.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs. She hasn’t opened her eyes, but her fingers are clasping the bedsheet beneath her lightly.

“I’m looking at you.” I close the distance between us and drag my tongue along her slit.

She lets out a breathy moan, “Nico, that’s way more than looking.”

“Is it?” I tongue her again, this time sliding all the way up to her clit.

Her body jerks like she’s gotten a shock, but the look on her face is anything but pained.

“How about now?” I ask with a wicked grin, then return to my task, lapping at her clit with featherlight strokes.

She only shakes her head, and her hips start to writhe, fingers gripping the bedsheet tighter.

I force her thighs open wider and slide two fingers inside her while I keep up my gentle assault on her sensitive bundle of nerves. She’s so tight, and her walls are already slick, ready for me.

She reaches for me, running her pink-tipped fingers over my shoulders and up the back of my neck. And then her hands move higher, sliding over her own abdomen up to her tits. She cups them in her hands, catching her nipples between her fingers just like I’d done.

Christ, what a sight.

I suck her clit into my mouth as my fingers pump into her wet heat. Her breathy moans grow louder as I use my free hand to force her thighs wide open, stretching her further until every bit of tension orbits around her core.

My tongue flutters against her clit harder and faster, turning her moans into garbled cries of my name and her thighs quivering with the need to orgasm. I finger-fuck her harder, scraping against the swollen patch on her front walls that drives her insane. Without warning, her pussy clamps down around my fingers and her back arches clear off the bed in a sudden and explosive climax. Her scream fills the room, feeding my own arousal.

She moans contentedly as her orgasm subsides, and she drops her hands to her sides like they’ve become heavy weights. I withdraw my fingers from her, and her already flushed cheeks turn red when I slowly lick my fingers clean.

“Nico,” she whispers, trying and failing to look away from the sight. The way she bites her lips almost makes me free my raging hard cock and feed it to her.

“Yes, fiammetta?” I remove my handkerchief from my jacket and wipe my hand and face dry, feeling like a fucking deity.

“You’re dressed.”

“I need to be somewhere in fifteen minutes. A crucial meeting.”

“Oh my God!” She freezes. “What time is it?” She twists around, disorientated, searching for a timepiece.

I suppress a smile of pure masculine pride and point to the large digital clock sitting on her bedside table. Despite wildly glancing about her room, she somehow kept missing it.

“Shit! It’s seven thirty!” She leaps out of bed and straight for the bathroom.

“When is your first session today?” I call after her.

“Eight-thirty.”

“That’s plenty of time!”

“For you, maybe. You drive like a maniac.”

“Actually, now that you mention it, I’ve been meaning to say something about your driving, Sophie.”

She pokes her head out of the bathroom, a toothbrush stuck in her mouth, a single eyebrow arched high. “What about it?” she mumbles around the brush.

“It’s…” I trail off when I catch the glare in her eyes and the stubborn set of her shoulders. “Very safe, actually,” I finish, deciding not to mention that my eighty-four-year-old grandmother in Sicily drives faster and smoother than her. I suspect her driving is a sore point, especially growing up around the kind of men she did.

“Whatever,” she grumbles like she already knows I meant to say something else.

I smile wickedly as the thought of Sophie giving Dante a lift, occurs to me. That ought to teach the little shit a lesson in patience—if it doesn’t kill him first.

“What’s funny?” Sophie asks, eyes narrowed at me.

“Nothing. Can you ride a motorbike, though?”

“Duh,” she rolls her eyes and returns to the bathroom sink to rinse off.

Well, then, that more than makes up for her shitty driving. Maybe she could consider riding to work then. I catch myself already making plans to give her one of my Harleys, then I spin on my heels and head out of her bedroom.

“Later, Sophie,” I call.

“Sure,” I hear her call back.

I’m about to pull open her front door when she comes streaking out of the bedroom, a towel around her breasts. I pause, wondering what she’s up to.

She simply comes to me, reaches up, and curls her hand around my nape while she stands on tip-toe. “Thank you, Nico.” She plants a kiss on my jaw and immediately darts back to her bedroom.

I stand there for a full minute wondering what that was about, but more than that, wondering why I found that simple gesture almost as hot as spending the entire night with her.

I’m about to get into my Lambo when I see a brown sedan slide slowly away. Something about that raises the hairs on my nape. I’ve seen that car before—the day Sophie and I left for Harmony.

Neighbors?I wonder, although the car has never pulled out of any of Sophie’s neighbors’ driveways but always seems parked on the curb. I squint at the license plates, then take another look around her house.

It’s a row of four unremarkable terrace bungalows. Hardly a target for opportunistic thieves unless Ms. Willoughby is sitting on a hidden fortune or some pricey jewels, which seems doubtful. However, I can’t make the same assumption about her two other neighbors.

Damn, Ive got to figure out who her neighbors are ASAP. If there’s no rest for the wicked, then I must be one evil son of a bitch.

I’m about to call Pietro to have the plates checked out when my phone vibrates.

It’s Maria calling. What does she want this time? She doesn’t appear to be as fond of the secluded island as I had hoped, though it remains the safest option for her for the time being.

The moment I answer, Maria’s urgent voice comes through. “We need to leave this place. It’s not safe.”

Concerned, I immediately ask, “What happened, Maria?”

“It’s not safe here!” she replies, her voice rising in pitch with every word.

“Maria, calm down. Did something happen?” I switch on the ignition and back out of Sophie’s driveway.

“No, but it just doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think moving to the smaller place was a good idea after all.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t feel safe, Maria?” I ask again, my patient starting to wear thin.

“It just doesn’t, so we’re going to leave,” Her words are coming faster, as if someone put her on fast-forward. “I have our things packed up. We’re just going to a motel—”

“You’re not going to do a fucking thing, do you understand me?” I snap, my voice stern and cold.

“But I—” Maria starts to argue.

“Maria, you’re going to calm the fuck down and look after that child for me. I’ll get someone to check out your security, okay,” I warn. “You don’t do anything or go anywhere until they get there. Capito?”

Silence.

“God damn it, tell me you understand, Maria.”

She sighs, long and heavy. “Fine.”

“I’m sending someone to right now—”

“I want Pietro,” she interjects, “Can you send Pietro?”

I huff out a laugh. “Pietro is busy handling business here, but he has very competent men—”

“No. It’s Pietro I trust. Either him or you. No one else.”

My patience snaps, and I state in a voice that brooks no argument. “Well, it’s either you get Pietro’s man, or I send you a very pissed-off Dante.” I already know what she’ll choose.

Silence. Then a big huff. “Okay, fine, send Pietro’s man.”

That’s what I fucking thought.“Sit tight, alright? If anything changes, call me back.” I hang up before she makes another demand.

Maria has always been anxious, but since I moved her to Cozumel, she’s been completely unmanageable. At this point, I’m beginning to feel like her dad—heck, like Victoria’s granddad.

I dial Pietro as the heavy Michigan Avenue traffic gives way to the less congested streets leading to the docks. He’s the only one of my Capos who knows that Maria and Victoria are under my protection.

“I need Maria’s home and set-up checked for any breaches,” I say as soon as he answers.

“Again?”

I sigh. “I know.”

Pietro personally had her moved to another location in Cozumel last week. Maria had complained about the house being too big and making echoes, so I asked him to move her to a smaller place.

“Is there something wrong with the house this time?” Pietro asks.

“She’s worked herself up to a lather about something. She won’t tell me exactly what, but I figure she might tell your man.”

“Nico. The woman is grieving. She’s lonely and paranoid. Of course, she’s going to see threats everywhere.”

“You’re right. But she also needs to be reassured again and again that she’s going to be fine. Let your man stick around for a few days”

“Will do, Nico.”

“Grazie. By the way, have these plates checked out for me, will you?” I repeat the numbers although something tells me the plates won’t lead anywhere.

I disconnect the call as I speed toward the docks.

I survey the ten men arrayed in a wide semicircle around the metal desk I’m propped against in the otherwise empty warehouse. Every one of them is a vital cog in the extensive network of businesses and families that make up the Outfit, each also responsible for defending it by any means necessary.

“Romano’s audacity has reached new heights,” I say to them. “We’re all aware of the Leo situation. What I’m going to say next is something I never thought I’d be saying to you, but desperate times are upon us, so here goes,” I shift, looking straight at each of them as I continue to speak.

“Let Leo’s fate be a lesson in stupidity. Remind your soldiers: there’s no greener pasture elsewhere. A rat remains a rat, no matter the side of the fence. Anyone wants to get out of this life, buy your own fucking body bag and lie in it. Don’t bring your families into it. Understood?”

Solemn nods of assent come from each of the men.

“Great. Now, onto our strategy. What do we have?”

Dante steps forward. “It’s confirmed: Romano’s aligning with the Mexicans. Our best chance to eliminate him is now before he becomes—frankly—too powerful for us to handle.”

Pietro clears his throat. “But why is Romano so fixated on trafficking that he’d risk everything to side with the Cartel?”

Enzo, the rail-thin Capo who took over Leo’s position in arms dealing, pipes up, “Pietro, you’re overlooking the narcotics. Romano is after a slice of the Cartel’s drug trade, which means diving into their trafficking operations.”

True. Narcotics have sustained the Romano family for generations. My father’s sudden decision to purge the Outfit of narcotics stripped Romano of his family honor and livelihood, and led to his rebellion.

I step in, eager to conclude, “Anyway, it’s time to settle this once and for all. Dante is right; we don’t have time. Romano’s soldier had the drop on me when he took out Leo. It’s only a matter of time before Romano starts regretting that the fucker didn’t aim a little to the left.”

“He’s probably regretting it already, fratello,” Dante quips, prompting laughter from the room.

“Salvatore?” I summon the youngest Capo. He still has a small bandage over his right ear, but otherwise, he looks impeccable in his suit. His skills in tech and espionage is crucial for our planning.

“Sì, Signore?”

“You and Dante should come up with a road map in the next two weeks. I want Romano in a place where we can swiftly put him in the ground along with his Capos, in the shortest possible time. A place that will have no innocent civilians.

“Done.” Salvatore smiles, I can tell he’s already excited at the prospect.

After wrapping up other matters, I signal for the men to disband.

Orlando De Luca approaches as the men leave, his agility belying his robust build. Though in his early fifties, he looks about a decade younger.

“Don Vitelli,” he greets with a respectful nod. His ever-present toothpick is nowhere to be found today.

“Signor De Luca,” I return the greeting. “How’s Alina?” I make myself ask, cringing inwardly because I don’t really give a fuck.

Dante leers at me from behind De Luca. I owe that little shit a nice butt kick just for that stupid look.

“Alina is… as strong-willed as you can imagine. Children nowadays think they know more than you. What can you do as a father except to guide and love them?”

My fake smile falters. Something about De Luca’s tone concerns me. That’s the first time he mentions Alina being strong-willed. Orlando is a seasoned Capo who knows how to choose his words. He knows that such traits aren’t touted in talks of arranged marriages.

“Is everything alright, Orlando?”

Orlando cocks his head to the side, indicating he wants a private audience.

“Fratellinogive us five minutes, will you?” I catch Dante’s gaze.

As soon as Dante leaves, Orlando starts to speak in very cautious tones, as though he’s trying his best not to offend his young, hot-tempered boss. I initially thought the problem was that Alina wasn’t interested or ready to get married.

It turns out that Alina is eager to be married, just not to me. She wants Dante, much to Orlando’s dismay. And to my intense relief.

“Once again, I am terribly sorry, Don Vitelli. But it’s just a minor setback. I will talk to her.” Orlando promises.

“There’s no need for that,” I reply. “We agreed on a Vitelli, and a Vitelli you shall get. Besides, we must respect the wishes of our daughters, don’t we, Signor De Luca?” I continue, noting the intense relief on Orlando’s face. “As for Dante, how could he refuse? Even Aphrodite herself should be envious of Alina’s beauty and grace.” I flash him a genuine smile, stretching out my left hand to him.

“Don Vitelli. You are indeed an honorable man. I am indebted to you.” He bows low, kissing the signet ring on my outstretched hand.

Orlando leaves as both a loving father and a satisfied and loyal Capo, while I’m suddenly free of my obligation. And Dante, well, he’s now landed himself a wife. It’s a win-win-win situation.

I just need to find a way to break the good news to him.

“De Luca looks happy as a clam.” Dante returns to my side, leaning against the metal desk.

“He’s getting what he wants: A Vitelli son-in-law, and I have his loyalty.”

Dante folds his arms, his thumb stroking his jawline thoughtfully. “Since he’s going to be family, maybe you could convince him to leave the smuggling and counterfeiting business and move to Voltex.”

Voltex is the recently acquired lithium-ion plant and one of the fully legitimate Outfit businesses.

“And kick him out of a job? No can do, Dante. I’m not about to groom another rebellion.”

“I don’t see what he’d have to fucking complain about. He’ll be handling one of the most profitable businesses on God’s green earth. In addition to being your father-in-law.”

Yours, actually, I think to myself. Dante has no qualms about handling the dark, violent edges of our lives without qualms. Yet deep down, he wants something better. In a way, he reminds me of Sophie. Although, to be honest, every fucking thing seems to remind me of Sophie these days.

“Dante,” I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You forget what men like Orlando De Luca are made of. He needs the darkness, the depravity. It’s like putting a saltwater fish in fresh water and wondering why it can’t appreciate the cleaner environment.”

“Are you saying you would not have banned Romano’s narcotics like Father did?”

I shrug, turning the question back to him. “Would you have, Dante?”

“Hell fucking yes! Left to me, we would be legitimizing all Outfit businesses. And I know you want to kick out the illegal businesses too, Nico.”

I smile, loving Dante’s fire. “You’re right, I do. But remember, the Outfit isn’t just you and me. It’s those other men and their families. So instead of forcing them to do what you want, we need to get them to see that they want the same things.”

“I don’t have patience for that!”

I laugh, ruffling his long wavy mane, something he’s hated since we were boys. “I know. You’d rather drop the proverbial horse’s head on their beds.”

“Get off me,” he elbows my side, and I respond with a hard shove to his head, which sends him stumbling a few steps before he catches himself, springing back toward me with a punch that I easily dodge.

“What happened to your reflexes, fratello?” I taunt. “Too many nights drowning in red wine?” Red wine is my euphemism for the woman who broke his heart a while back.

“Asshole!” Lightning fast, his fist catches me swiftly on the jaw before I can duck, snapping my head sideways. Dante has an inch on me in height, but I’ve always been faster with my hands.

Must be the rage driving his reflexes today. Why is he still so angry, though? It’s been, what, two years? Maybe Alina is just what he needs to forget this woman.

I put my hands up in surrender, then go to hug him. “Okay fine. I’m sorry.” He shoves me, but then pulls me in. Within seconds, we’re both laughing again.

I start to broach the marriage topic, but before I can open my mouth, he deflects and instead asks, “Nico, that MC club up in San Diego County.” He hesitates, then continues, “That federal agent.”

I straighten instantly, losing the goofy brother and adopting the Don persona. It’s a change that usually throws Dante off any topic I’m unwilling to discuss with him. This time though, he doesn’t relent.

“You said it was a problem you couldn’t deal with, Nico. And you still won’t let me or anyone else sort it out.”

“Dante—”

“Does it have anything to do with that woman you spared?”

I cut him a look and see that his smirk is back. I sigh, suddenly weary of acting like I’m not in trouble where Sophie is concerned. “The MC club and federal agent—they’re her family.”

“That Cade Quinn is her family?” Dante looks like he’s eaten something bad.

Believe me, I hate him too.

“He’s her adoptive brother or something crazy like that. The bottom line is I can’t hurt him.” I say into the silence.

Dante huffs a sigh of disbelief. “Just as you said, Nico, it’s not about what you want. It’s what the Outfit wants. I don’t suppose the rest of the Capos would agree for you to spare Quinn, too.”

I shoot him a vicious look. “What, are you planning to tell them?”

“Don’t be a fucking dumbass, Nico,” Dante shoots back.

Instantly, Sophie’s face flashes before me. It used to be only Dante who could speak to me like this and get away with it. Now, it seems both Sophie and Dante get to do it.

They’d both get on like a house on fire, actually.

The thought slips in from nowhere, warming me before I catch myself and mentally stamp it out.

“Nico,” Dante sighs again, his voice almost pleading. “We’re heading for a war in the next few weeks. You don’t want this Quinn guy running loose and fucking things up. You’re already on his radar.”

Don’t I know it? I hate this helplessness, this feeling like my hands are tied.

“Quinn wouldn’t dare kick against me, Dante,” I say without real conviction. “It’s the fucking Outfit. A century-old establishment that has survived—thrived despite thousands of men like him.”

“And it’s survived because it consistently eliminated threats like him. Look, I have the drop on the guy—”

“For the last time, Dante,” I growl. “You do not touch that man.”

Dante stares at me for a full minute like I’ve lost my mind, and then his face smoothes into his signature smirk, his own mask, so to speak.

“Si, Don Vitelli,” he inclines his head but not in mockery. Quite the opposite I think. Something like genuine respect. But I may be wrong.

What the fuck do I know these days?

I nod, clapping him on the shoulders. “Keep Salvatore in line, fratellino. He’s easily excited… distracted.”

“I know fratello. Will do.”

I leave Dante staring after me, wondering what the hell that look was about.