Page 14 of The Mafia's Bride
Red lights stream over his face, highlighting the aged lines in his cheeks.
“I won’t tell her anything, if you’d actually quit.”
“Eh, you’re too good to her.” He waves me off, a slight smirk on his face.
“She’s my aunt. Obviously.” I come up next to him, holding my hands behind my back.
There’s a pause as the bass changes tempo, turning slower, seductive. Couples start to pair off beneath us, looking for secluded spots tohook up, driven to find a reprieve with the music. It’s the same every night.
“Pushing the pills?”
“Of course.” The nightclub is only one aspect of the business. This is how we get the drugs out. Just one avenue in a machine that Nico started years ago.
“Good.” He turns, tapping my cheek. He gestures to the empty chair. “What he’d give you?”
“I’ll need to confirm,” I reply, easing back. “But it seems like there’s a third player in this. Someone who knows about our schedule. Our shipment dates. Our codes. They’re tipping off the rivals, letting them or the cops get to our stuff during transit.”
“But not who?”
I shake my head. “No, Zio.”
“Someone on the inside.” He huffs, twin spot of red highlighting his cheeks.
Before he says anything, I hold up a hand. “Easy, Zio. I’m on it.”
He sputters, coughing as he tries to contain his anger. Anger at his empire being taken down by someone he trusted on the inside; someone we both trusted. I grab my handkerchief from my pocket and press it to his face, letting him cough blood into it.
The coughs are getting harder, wetter. He doesn’t have long. But I can’t think like that.
If I do, I’ll never recover.
“Find the bastard, Lex.” He wheezes, easing into the couch. His small frame seems so much frailer than moments ago. I lean down, adjusting the pillows behind him, doing anything to comfort him. “We can’t let anything derail this union. It’s important.”
“Important, how?”
Zio clears his throat, avoiding my eyes. “It just is. Promise me, Lex.”
“I’ll find him, I promise.”
It takesanother twenty minutes for Nico’s breathing to calm down enough before he’s able to get back to his car. He allows me to assist him into the backseat, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he can’t make the stairs anymore. Maybe sooner than I think.
It’s an odd reversal, me helping him walk.
I remember those early days in a hazy fog of too much pain and uncertainty, Nico helping me into his home after a long plane ride to Boston. My legs were badly damaged, still sore, my body freshly healed and aching.
I needed help to walk and Nico allowed me to lean against him. When we got to the door, he held me back.
“From this moment going forward, piccolo, you’re a De Luca.” He looked down at me, eyes unreadable. “We do not show weakness. Not to others. Stand up straight, and walk into this home like the strong young man I know you are.”
And I did just that.
It wasn’t long after that, when Nico began teaching me the ways of his family—our family.
I was to be strong, detached. Never show a weakness and to always follow his commands. He gave me everything, so I would make him proud.
I finish my rounds, making sure all my men are exchanging products. Most of the men are owned—with a debt—but some are family. In this world, loyalty is bought or owned; it’s the only way we survive.
Rounding the corner, I stop dead, taken back by the sight of two women, fumbling against the back stairwell.
