1. Niccolo “Nic” Nardone

1

NICCOLO “NIC” NARDONE

“ Y ou’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I’ve been summoned to my father’s office away from a crucial meeting with our West Side lieutenants for this? "You want me to escort your child bride back to New York?"

"Watch your tone, boy," my father snarls. "This is business. Bella's part of the deal. You'll fly out tomorrow, collect her, and bring her straight back. No detours, no complications. Understood?"

I have a recurring wish that I can reach across my father’s desk and strangle him. For a moment, I relish in what it would feel like to actually follow through.

“I’m not your errand boy.” I'm forty years old, for Christ's sake, with a law degree and years of experience running our operations. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."

My father’s eyes flash dangerously. I suspect he’d like to reach across his desk and strangle me too. "Are you questioning my orders, Niccolo?"

"I'm questioning the allocation of our resources. We're in the middle of delicate negotiations with the West Side crew. My presence there is crucial."

"Your presence is crucial where I say it is." He jabs his cigar in my direction. "Or have you forgotten who runs this family?"

"Of course not.” How could I? My father is the epitome of narcissism. He always makes sure everyone knows he’s the center of the universe. “But think about it logically. Sending me to Chicago for a simple pickup is like using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut. It's wasteful."

My father leans back, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe I want to make an impression on the Rinellas. Show them we take this arrangement seriously."

“In that case, you should go?”

“You are a fucking disgrace, Niccolo, do you know that?”

I nod. “You’ve told me so since I was a kid.” Never mind that I’ve kept his ass and many of his men’s asses out of jail and doubled our empire since I officially joined the family business fifteen years ago. Before that, I did low-level jobs for the family which helped me learn how the business ran at the street level, where it wasted or lost money, and where it could reap the biggest rewards with the lowest risk. Not that my father cares, because again, he thinks he’s the smartest man in the world.

He launches into a tirade about respect and family loyalty, which I’ve heard a million times. I ignore it, instead considering how this whole situation reeks of desperation. A feeble attempt by an aging Don to cling to power and virility. He’s a seventy-year-old man who’s arranged to marry a nineteen-year-old girl. It makes me sick to think of it.

I also know that I’m not selected for this role because of my power or influence in the family. It isn’t an honor to be tasked with this errand. It’s a punishment. It’s a reminder by him that I’m a peon like everyone else around him. I’ve spent years building influence and connections and loyalty in the organization, and for what? To be sent on glorified babysitting duty.

The injustice of it all burns in my chest. I’m the future of this family, whether my father wants to admit it or not. I know it. His underbosses know it. The soldiers and associates know it. Except for a few hardcore loyalists who suckle at my father’s teat like fucking leeches, many in the organization would like to see me usurp Don Gino Nardone and take his place. I’m getting closer and closer to doing so.

“What’s such a big deal about this marriage, anyway? Rinella is a poser. He thinks he’s more important than he is. He needs another family’s help to protect his docks.” I’d been relieved when I’d learned that Vincenzo’s eldest daughter, who had been arranged to marry my dad, had instead married into another family three years ago. And now this.

"She's nineteen. Barely older than Gia. How can you even consider this?" I’m unable to keep the disgust from my voice. My half-sister, Gia, is only twenty-three. I’d watched as my father married her off to that fucker Aldo Cantore at eighteen. He was old enough to be her father and just as brutal to her as my father is to his women. It was satisfying to kill him. If only I could have bragged about it.

“My personal affairs are none of your concern."

"They are when they involve the family business," I shoot back. “You're a sick, perverted bastard, you know that?” At some point, my father will simply kill me, but I’m not going to keep my thoughts about him to myself.

I’m surprised when he gives me a smug smile instead of a veiled threat. "Ah, Niccolo. Perhaps if you appreciated women more, you wouldn't be so quick to judge. When was the last time you fucked a woman?”

Fucking hell. "My personal life has nothing to do with this. This is about your making reckless decisions that could jeopardize everything we've built."

“We’ve?” He raises an eyebrow. “This is my business?—”

“Which you inherited from four generations of Nardone men. Just like I’ll inherit from you.”

“We’ll see.” There’s the veiled threat. “This alliance with the Rinellas will only strengthen and expand our business, giving me a leg into the Chicago Outfit. And if I get a beautiful, young, virgin wife out of the deal, well, that's just a bonus."

I can only glare at him.

"Who knows, Niccolo? If you're a good boy and do as you're told, maybe I'll let you have a taste of her once I've broken her in."

“You’re sick.”

He shrugs. “I know the Gentlemen’s Society will certainly be interested in the offer.”

Again, I imagine strangling my father and his Gentlemen’s Society, a more palatable name for a group that indulges in orgies, often with women who don’t have any say about their participation.

The casual cruelty in his voice makes my stomach lurch. I’m no saint, but I’m not a man who abuses women. The idea of delivering an innocent girl into the hands of a monster is untenable. I won’t be complicit in his sexual perversions.

“No. I won’t go. Find someone else to fetch your child bride. I won't have her blood on my hands."

I think back to the string of wives and mistresses, each one younger than the last. How they'd arrived thinking they’d be treated like Mafia queens, only to wither under my father’s cruel manipulations. The way he'd parade them around like trophies, share them with his friends, then discard them when he grew bored. I suspect most are dead, although they’re officially listed as missing or having run off.

I recall overhearing him once, bragging to his cronies about "training" his latest conquest. The casual way he spoke about breaking a woman's will, as if it were nothing more than breaking in a new pair of shoes.

Even his relationship with me, his own son, has been nothing but a series of manipulations. The constant undermining, the impossible expectations, the deliberate sabotage of my efforts to prove myself. It's all part of his narcissistic need to be the center of attention, to ensure no one threatens his position at the top.

He sighs, like a father tired of arguing with his son. “You know you’ll do this, or Gia and those brats of hers will suffer.”

“You fucking bastard.”

“That’s your problem, Niccolo. You care. How can you think you’ll ever be a successful Don if you can be manipulated so easily? Caring makes you weak and vulnerable.”

"She has nothing to do with any of it."

"Oh, but she does," Gino counters, already knowing that he’s won. "Everything and everyone in this family is a potential asset, my boy. You'd do well to remember that."

"Fine," I spit out. "I'll go to Chicago. I'll bring the Rinella girl back. Just leave Gia alone."

Gino's smile widens, triumphant. "I knew you'd see reason. Take her to Gia. She’s going to keep her until the wedding.” Gino waves a dismissive hand. "Now get out of my sight. And Niccolo? Don't fuck this up."

I leave my father's office, my mind reeling from the confrontation. I hate that I’m not strong enough to defy him wholly. That I’m not brave enough to kill him.

He’s right in that Gia and her twins are my weak spot. It’s probably why I’ve never wanted to get married, at least not for love. Love makes you vulnerable in more ways than one.

But I’ll die before I let anyone hurt my sister and her kids. So I drive over to her place to check in and let her know I’ll be out of town tomorrow.

I’ve set her and the kids up in a nice townhome not far from Central Park. She works from home as a paralegal for the legitimate part of my law practice. I stop by a nearby pizza place to grab a pie and then to her home.

As I approach the front door, I hear the high-pitched squeals of the four-year-old twins inside.

Gia answers my knock, her face lighting up. "Nic! What a surprise!"

I manage a smile, pushing aside the dark thoughts swirling in my head. "Hey. I brought pizza."

She ushers me inside, and I’m immediately ambushed by two pint-sized tornadoes.

"Uncle Nic!" Daniella and Dario latch onto my legs.

“Goodness, all of a sudden, my legs feel like lead weights,” I say, trying to walk with them hanging off me.

“We’re not lead,” Daniella corrects me.

I set the pizza pie on the kitchen counter and then scoop them up, one in each arm. “No, you’re munchkins!"

Gia watches us with a fond smile. "They've been asking about you all week. You're overdue for a visit."

I set the twins down, ruffling their hair. "Sorry about that. Things have been… busy."

Her smile fades slightly, picking up on my mood. "Everything okay?"

I sighed. “Same old bullsh—ah… crap. I have to go to Chicago tomorrow."

Gia pulls a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and tells the kids to go wash their hands. I suspect it’s to get them out of earshot so they don’t hear family business. "Chicago? What for?"

I hesitate, not wanting to burden her with our father’s debauched lifestyle. Then again, she’s supposed to house Bella. “I have to pick up his newly betrothed.”

She makes a face that suggests she feels sick inside. It’s exactly how I feel.

“He wants her to stay with you until the wedding.”

She shakes her head. “Why does he even pretend? Like it will make a difference that he waits to hurt them until he’s married to them?”

“He’s fucking sadist.” I blow out a breath. “If you want, I can make other arrangements for her.”

“Yeah, can you give her a fake identity and send her to Timbuktu so she doesn’t have to marry him?”

I wish I could.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I know there’s nothing you can do. Of course, I’ll host her and do what I can to make her comfortable."

"Thank you. And Gia? Be careful around him while I'm gone, okay?" These are the times I miss my best friend, Max. Like me, he was tasked by Gia’s mother, my stepmother, to watch over her. In fact, he’s Gia’s godfather. But my father sent him to Las Vegas five years ago to run that part of our business. I haven’t found anyone I trust more to watch out for Gia and the kids when I’m away.

She nods. “I have no plans to be in his path.” She tilts her head. “The holidays are upon us. Will you join us for Thanksgiving? The kids have convinced me to get a Christmas tree to decorate that night.”

I laugh. “It will die before Christmas.”

“I’ll buy a fake one. It’ll be fun.”

I nod. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

I forget about my fucked-up father and the task I need to do for him tomorrow. Instead, I enjoy pizza with my sister and her kids, savoring these moments when we feel like a real family. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the heinous act of bringing an innocent nineteen-year-old girl into a house of horrors.