17. Chapter Seventeen

I lean down and kiss the back of her neck as I withdraw from her body. She’s panting, her hands still on the wall, her body glistening and slippery from the hot water sluicing down on us. Already, I’m thinking about another round, and when she pushes off the wall and turns around, my cock grazes her hip. She glances down at my sheathed cock, the tip of the condom filled with cum.

“Nico, how are you still hard?” Her voice is breathy.

I only shrug. “Because I’m not yet done with you, and your gawking isn’t helping either.”

“You’re going to make me late for work, and you know my Monday morning client needs a lot of work to get him settled.”

I don’t know who the hell the guy is, but an irrational possessiveness grips me. Sophie’s words, like a massage therapist’s hands, have the unique ability to shift from a soothing caress to a tough pummeling. Something tells me this chap gets the caressing.

“Sounds like some snot-nosed, high-maintenance Wall Street kid.”

“Nico Vitelli!” She snaps, her eyebrows drawing together in a clear sign of disapproval. “Besides, you couldn’t be more wrong about him. It shows you how you can’t just stereotype.”

“Noted. But doesn’t it get emotionally draining sometimes, though?” I think of my own experience with Maria. I’m pretty sure I’ve started getting some grey hairs since she came under my protection.

“It can be a little frustrating going around in circles, but no, I wouldn’t call it draining.”

“Yeah, I forgot. That’s your playground. Anyway, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Actually, Nico, I can squeeze in a lunchtime slot for you.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Why, that’s awfully accommodating of you, Dr. Kellan.”

“Well, it has been a while since you had therapy, Don Vitelli,” she deadpans. “We don’t want you spiraling out of control.”

“That’s very true.” My smile carries a teasing edge. “I do often find myself reeling, especially from the depth of your greed for my cock, Dr. Kellan.”

She gasps, a flush creeping up her cheeks, which only makes me chuckle in amusement. “You’re despicable,” she attempts to sound outraged, but her laughter bubbles up as she collapses against me.

The sound of Sophie’s unique laugh—the way she snickers—tugs at something deep within me, making me feel almost superhuman for making her do it. It’s a feeling that quickly morphs into wanting more, craving the many other sounds only she can make. And so it never ends.

In the past twenty nights, eighteen have been with Sophie. I kept expecting the thrill to fade, the attraction to cool, and the peculiar bond between us to weaken. This relentless desire for her, for all of her—body and mind—has only intensified.

I want to do more than fuck her. I want to hold her, shield her. I just want… more with her.

As our laughter slowly subsides, she glances up, her gaze locking with mine. In her golden eyes, I spot the flicker of a question—the same one I’ve seen lurking there every morning.

“What is this, Nico?” She finally asks, her voice is soft but firm as her fingers trail down my chest.

“What’s what?” I play for time, knowing full well she’s not prepared for my honesty. Ive never shied away from uncomfortable truths, unlike Sophie, who prefers to dance around them. And the truth is, this is turning into something more than it was ever meant to be.

“It’s just sex, right? A casual fling,” she presses, seeking clarity. “You can be honest, Nico. I can handle temporary. I grew up around plenty of it.”

“Does this not feel temporary to you?”

“Well, yes... and no. It’s a little confusing,” she admits, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“What’s confusing about it?”

“It’s like a never-ending one-night stand. We talk every day, you’re here every night, yet I’m kept at a distance from your real life. It’s as if I’m your dirty little secret. I don’t even know where you live—not that I need to, or want to,” she quickly adds.

“My dirty little secret,” the corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk. “I love the sound of that.”

“Nico, I’m being serious right now.”

“So am I, Sophie. Do you want to know about my world, my business, my family?”

She shrugs. “Not exactly, but seeing as you’re always dragging me into your mind, and I’m stuffed full of you half the time these days. I figure it’s a bit redundant to say no at this point.”

I flash her a smile. “I really, really like that visual.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes, “Of course you do.”

“Alright, Sophie, listen. Thing is, bringing you into my world before you’re ready either makes you my ultimate strength or my greatest weakness.”

“Meaning?”

“There are no half measures. No dipping your toe in or trying it on for size. If I bring you in, there’s no going back.”

“What do you mean, ‘there’s no going back’?”

“Sophie,” I begin, the gravity in my tone unmistakable. “Every moment of my life, I wear a target on my back. The second you’re tied to me, that target—it’s on you, too. Your life is going to change in ways you might not be ready for. If we go out, it means you’re coming home with me. And going out alone is off the table unless you’ve got bodyguards.”

The extra police security I’ve arranged for this street, the cameras, the night patrols—that would be nothing. She would need way more than those.

“You’d also become the focus of intense speculation by the media and blogs if they catch wind of you.”

I see a shadow of uncertainty flicker in her eyes as the weight of my words settles over her. “You’re right, that’s a little over the top. But these changes would be temporary, right? Just while we... navigate this casual fling?” Her question is tinged with a hope that puzzles me.

“Is casual what you want Sophie?” It’s the sensible option, but it’s not what either of us would be satisfied with.

She meets my gaze, silent, her hands pausing on my chest, right over the place I thought was an empty shell.

“I don’t know,” she confesses.

I look down at her vivid golden eyes, eyes that aren’t just sexy anymore. They’re wise and honest and can see far deeper than most people.

“Well, I do. You want me, Sophie—all of me.” I place a hand on the tiled wall beside her head, caging her with my body. My other hand lifts her chin, ensuring her gaze stays on mine. “You want me to take you to my home, fiammetta. You want me to make you mine.”

Her mouth parts in a sharp intake of breath. “Nico...”

“Shh, it’s okay.” My voice is a murmur of reassurance. “I want the same thing.”

“Nico! You can’t know that; it’s not even been two months since we met.”

I sigh, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, searching for the right words. “How long did it take you to know in your gut that I wouldn’t—I couldn’t hurt you?”

She sinks her teeth into her kiss-swollen bottom lip while she considers this, oblivious to the bolt of lust aimed straight at my cock. Fuck, I want her mouth. Now.

“I think I knew right from that first day you came to my house. When we went to Rafe’s funeral.” Sophie admits.

“Well then, I trust you’ll also figure this out soon enough.” Gently freeing her lip, I capture her mouth in a quick, hard kiss.

As she begins to melt into me, momentarily forgetting her rush to work, I pull away, ignoring the ache in my balls. “I’ll let you finish here, Sophie.”

Stepping out of the shower cubicle, I take care of the condom and leave her to finish her shower, knowing that if I don’t go now, not only would she be late, she’d be too hoarse to speak to her clients today.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I make my way to the bedroom to dry off and dress. I’m zipping up my pants when a knock at Sophie’s front door catches my attention. Since the shower is still running, I head down the hall.

Gertrude Willoughby, Sophie’s neighbor who twice last week came by hoping to collect George, flashes through my mind.

But it’s not the curly, white-haired sixty-five-year-old on the other side; it’s Dante.

I yank the door open, “The fuck are you doing here, Dante?”

“You’re needed,” he states, though his casual stance betrays no urgency. His shoulders are relaxed as he cranes his neck, attempting a peek inside.

“And you couldn’t have called?” I challenge.

He shrugs, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “And miss the chance to catch a glimpse of the witch?”

“Scusa?” I say, as my hands curl into fists, because what the fuck was that?

Dante smiles and shrugs again. “Hey, you going back to the same woman over and over again? Pretty sure only a spell could explain that, fratello.”

I give him a wry smile. “Very funny.”

“Nico?” Sophie calls, coming out of the bathroom. Without turning around, I can envision her there, her body glistening wet, wrapped in a towel that barely covers her from the upper swells of her breasts to just below the apex of her thighs.

“Whoa! Now I get it,” Dante says under his breath, and I have to fight the urge to cock back and deck him—a response that would alarm Sophie, who isn’t accustomed to our brand of loving.

“Tongue back in your mouth, Dante,” I warn him quietly, gritting my teeth

Since when did I give a flying fuck who caught a glimpse of my woman?

Then again, there’s never been a scenario of ‘my woman’ before. Before, it’s always been casual fucks. Temporary amusements.

“Oh, hi,” comes Sophie’s voice, now close behind me. She stops short upon noticing who’s at the door. Thankfully, I note shes wrapped in a robe rather than just a towel.

“Buongiorno, Signorina,” Dante says, turning his attention—and his charm—on Sophie. Fucking wonderful.

“You must be Dante,” she deduces, her smile warming. Despite never having met him, the resemblance between us is unmistakable.

He nods, clearly caught off guard. “Nico mentioned me?”

“Not exactly,” she counters smoothly, a playful glint in her eyes. “Vitelli men just have a knack for appearing at my doorstep.”

“We can’t seem to help ourselves,” Dante chuckles, and I really want to slug him, except that I see he’s going to great lengths to keep his gaze above her neckline.

Sophie laughs. “Well, this is already going smoother than my first encounter with your brother.”

“I more than make up for my brother’s lack of charm.” Then the psycho adds, “And I’m way more harmless.”

“All right, that’s enough of that bullshit. You came here for a reason, Dante?”

“Si,” he says, almost tentatively, looking warily back and forth between Sophie and me.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “Right. I’ll just go into the kitchen and stick my fingers in my ears. Is that far enough, or should I crank up some music too?”

Dante and I laugh, but as she turns to leave, I grab her arm and pull her back, just long enough to kiss her.

“I’ll just be a minute, fiammetta,” I say, and I don’t stop her this time as she heads for the bedroom rather than the kitchen.

It’s not until she closes the bedroom door behind her that I realize I’ve been watching her the whole time. Christ, this is getting out of hand. I turn back to see Dante, his face devoid of humor.

“You’ve got it so fucking bad, Don Vitelli,” Dante muses, shaking his head at me. “That can’t be healthy. Or safe. Or convenient considering Orlando De Luca.”

I could lie, but what’s the point? “Tell me about it,” I say, shaking my head to clear it. “But that’s a problem for another day. Why are you here, Dante?”

There’s an almost sinister glee in his smile. “You wanted to know as soon as we have the worm pinned down. We do. It’s tomorrow night.”

I’m more convinced than ever that Dante’s appearance at Sophie’s wasn’t just about relaying that message—I have a meeting with the Capos at the docks in approximately twenty minutes. He could have easily told me there. No, Dante showed up like this because he wants me to know that my movements are becoming too predictable.

“About fucking time,” I mutter in relief. If all goes well, after tomorrow night, I wouldn’t need to worry about being followed to Sophie’s neighborhood and her becoming a target.

I head toward my motorbike, my preferred ride to Sophie’s these days, as it’s much less conspicuous than my other cars, but I pause when Dante gestures toward his Escalade.

“Let me drive you, fratello.”

I’m on the verge of refusing, wanting the freedom my bike offers, yet in the last second, I relent, get into the front of his car and we drive off.

I’m glad to see traffic unusually light for a Monday morning. I hope it means Sophie will get to work on time.

Actually, it might be worth giving Sophie details of my traffic guy—the one I call when I want roads cleared of traffic. It’s going to come in handy for my woman, given her inability to travel above the speed limit or run a yellow light.

“So, Dante,” I begin, thinking this is as good a time as any to break the news to him. “Orlando De Luca—”

Dante jumps in, “—loves his daughter and will be pretty fucking pissed if you keep a mistress so early on. How do you plan to handle it?”

“I’ve been thinking you might step up and take one for the team.”

Dante pauses a heartbeat, considering this. “I suppose it could work with a haircut and contact lens. Although the size difference is going to be a problem, Nico. I’m significantly taller—”

“By an inch, you fucking beanstalk.”

We dissolve into laughter as Dante navigates the bustling city streets to head toward the less congested riverside.

“Anyway, the good news is that you won’t be needing a haircut or contacts after all…” I trail off as an uneasy sensation washes over me, raising the hairs at the back of my neck and wiping the smile off my face.

Subconsciously, I’d noticed them, but only now does it click—the motorcyclists zigzagging through traffic behind us.

“We’ve got company,” I announce, the weight of those words hinting at the trouble ahead.

Dante’s only acknowledgment is a quick glance in the rearview mirror, his calm belying the gravity of the situation. “How many?”

“Half a dozen, at least.”

“Romano’s men?”

“Who the fuck else would dare? Lose them.”

“Great. Just what we needed,” Dante’s voice drips with sarcasm, barely audible over the engine’s roar as he accelerates. “Can’t he just fucking die quietly tomorrow? Why make such a fuss today?”

As we approach a stop light, I notice Dante’s gaze lock onto an eighteen-wheeler across the intersection. His intent is clear—hes going to gun it.

“Dante,” I warn, my voice tinged with both dread and anticipation.

“Hold tight!” he calls out, a second before the force of acceleration pins me back. The world outside becomes a blur of screeching tires and the blaring protest of the truck’s horn. We swerve around the truck in a heart-stopping maneuver that, under anyone’s but Dante’s control, would likely have ended in the car wrapped around that eighteen-wheeler.

“You psycho,” I manage once my ears have stopped ringing. “This isn’t a Lambo, it’s a weighted armored vehicle! I said lose them, not kill us!”

Dantes expression is a smug smile, which, another time, should earn him my fist, “You’re welcome.”

“Rifle?” I ask instead.

“Floor panel, back seat. Glock’s in the glove compartment.”

Arming myself, I catch sight of our pursuers reemerging, all six of them. Yet, their formation is odd—spread out in a fan, almost like they’re escorting rather than giving chase. For the second time today I sense that something isn’t quite right.

“What, am I too fast for you, dimwits?” Dante taunts, eyeing them through the rearview mirror. “Must be the easiest sons of bitches to shake off.”

I freeze, about to tell him to slow down, when a barricade looms into view about four hundred yards ahead.

Four vans are parked nose to nose, with an almost two-foot gap between the pair in the middle. This seems laughably inadequate to deter a fast, heavy, armored vehicle like this one, which is exactly what sends a ripple of alarm through me.

“What a fucking joke that is. Looks like Romano’s running out of brains,” Dante muses, his tone dripping with disdain. “Even a mobility scooter would plow through that.”

“You’re right.” There’s a chance that’s a booby trap. A bomb in the worst-case scenario. The Escalade should withstand bombs to a certain degree. We could risk it.

An unexpected thought flashes through my mind. Sophie’s face. Her eyes, her quick wit and snarky mouth. She needs me alive and unhurt. Which is why I can’t take that risk. “U-turn. Now.” I grab the rifle.

“Nico, a daylight shootout in downtown Chicago—”

I cut him off, “Is more survivable than a fucking bomb.”

Without further debate, Dante yanks the wheel around, and the car’s tires screech in loud protest against the pavement.

I crack open the window beside me just enough to provide a clear shot. My first bullet sends a rider tumbling, his motorcycle careening out of control.

Realizing the game has changed, they scatter, becoming nimbler and more unpredictable, retaliating with a hail of bullets aimed at our tires. Dante weaves through the onslaught, but his voice comes out low and tense. “We can’t keep this up, fratello.” He nods to the other cars that have started pulling over and the omnipresent street cameras.

“Lower Lower Wacker,” I suggest, referring to the network of underground roads as a plan forms amidst the chaos. Dante nods in understanding and speeds through the streets until we descend into the shadowy underbelly of the city. The change is abrupt, and the darkness of the underground street envelops us. The Escalade’s engine’s growl becomes amplified, bouncing off the concrete like a beast roaring in its lair.

Our pursuers follow us into the darkness, their headlights slicing through the shadows like spotlights. But in this underground maze, Dante’s driving turns predatory, his familiarity with the terrain giving us the upper hand.

Dante’s aggressive driving forces two cyclists to crash against the concrete walls while my steady aim deals with another pair. The last one proves the most resilient, even managing to hit one of our tires.

“Figlio di puttana!” Dante swears, beyond pissed off, as the second tire blows. Without warning, he slams on the brakes, executes an emergency stop that could give an elephant whiplash, and then flings open his door. The rider, caught off guard, crashes into the side of the car. The impact sends the rider tumbling but also shears the door clean off its hinges.

Dante grabs his M-16, steps out of the car and finishes the job. He returns, his expression as stormy as ever.

“Are you satisfied now?” I ask, taking in the doorless state of his Escalade.

“He was an asshole. And what the fuck was I supposed to do? Let him take out all of my tires?” Dante’s retort is sharp, laced with irritation.

“And that makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?” I rub my neck, already dreading the inevitable stiffness. “Fucking lethal driving, though, I have to say.”

“You’re welcome,” Dante replies, a smirk playing on his lips that mirrors my own.

“Well, it’s a wrap then. Let’s get the hell out of here.” The last thing we need is more ‘escorts’ now that we’re a door and two tires down.

This ambush, this brazen attempt on my life, crystallizes everything. Any lingering hesitation about dealing with Romano and his insurgents evaporates; there’s no room for mercy. He dies tomorrow, or I will, eventually.

We burst out into the bright, peaceful rush of Lake Shore Drive, a contrast to the carnage we left behind.

“I should’ve known Romano would try something like this,” I say, the adrenaline of the chase now giving way to a cold anger. “He must know his days are numbered and he’s getting desperate.”

Dante nods grimly, his eyes back on the road. “Desperation leads to mistakes. He’ll be paying for this one very soon.”

Arriving at the docks, we find the remaining Capos standing outside the white brick warehouse instead of waiting inside. Their anxiety is palpable in their drawn faces and Salvatore’s pacing. We’re over fifteen minutes late, which is unusual for me.

Their concern turns to horror the moment they see the state of the Escalade. Weapons are drawn in an instant as they brace for the worst.

“At ease fellas, it’s all good,” my voice cuts through the tension as I climb out of the car. “Right, Dante?” I say with a nonchalance that belies the morning’s events.

Dante slips out, then nods to his war-torn car—a patchwork of bullet holes, cracked glass, and mangled metal, not to mention its proudly missing door. “Si, we got into a little lover’s tiff on the way over here. Made a bit of a mess, too, I’m afraid.” He points to his cell phone. “I’ll call a cleanup crew now.”

The Capos’ shock gives way to reluctant amusement, and their weapons lower as they take in the full extent of the “little tiff.”

“We can’t be here—not with all this morning’s excitement hanging over the city,” I announce, quickly dispersing the men. “Head on to your businesses, then catch some rest. We reconvene at the mansion tonight at ten. I expect everyone to be on their A-game. And for the avoidance of doubt, nothing has changed; the moon rises red tomorrow night for Romano.”