Niccolaio Andretti: A Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 2)

by Parker S. Huntington

The cock of my gun is unmistakable.

  If I could, I’d end this—whatever this is—without bloodshed. I really would. But I’m not naïve. I recognize inevitability, and this is it. Someone is going to die to day. There are too many weapons, too much history, and too much anger lurking around in this house to get around the inevitability of death.

  The first thing that strikes me as odd is that there are only four men in front of me. Uncle Luca has upwards of thirty defending the compound. Either there are more of these men roaming around the estate, or these men are highly trained, at least better trained than ours.

  Either way, the odds are grim for Ranie and me.

  The youngest one steps forward, calm despite the weapon pointed at his face. Tall, with eerily blue eyes and dark hair the same shade as mine, he’s maybe a few years my junior. But he looks older, like he’s seen his fair share of life, and it’s aged him greatly.

  It’s the maturity I see in his eyes that has me more wary of him than his three companions, who are at least twice his age and equally formidable in build. I watch carefully as he takes the lead, taking another step closer to me.

  I shake my head, indicating for him to stop. Another step closer, and he would have been close enough to disarm me. I have no doubt he would have tried, too. It’s what I would do if I was in his position.

  He pauses, and I see a fleeting look of understanding cross his eyes. That was a test, and now he knows that I won’t be fooled. That the threat I pose isn’t just physical but also intellectual. There’s a moment of silence, where I wait for him to bargain. That’s also what I would do if I had a gun pointed at my head.

  And unfortunately, there’s a lot for him to bargain with.

  After all, my little brother is sleeping in the room behind him. If that wasn’t the case, I would have waited. I would have called in back up and waited for more Andretti soldiers to arrive. But I didn’t have the time for that.

  If I killed these men earlier, hidden safely behind the corner, there still could have been a threat. There might still be more of them. Maybe even already in Ranie’s room. How would I know?

  I’m in a bind, and I made a choice.

  These men? They were about to breach Ranie’s room, and I stopped them.

  Perhaps at the expense of my life.

  But for my little brother, I would risk everything.

  At least this way, I have the option to bargain for Ranie’s life. To have them call off whoever else may be here with them and stop this before Ranie gets hurt.

  “You can’t shoot all of us before one of us greets you with a bullet,” the leader says.

  “I know.”

  But I can get off a warning shot, loud enough to wake Ranie and give him the slightest chance of escaping. Perhaps even loud enough to alert any remaining Andretti guards. It’s not my preferred method of dealing with this, but it’s one of the better options.

  That’s why I took the silencer off of the barrel of my gun.

  I wait for this guy to realize this—if he hasn’t already.

  He nods his head. “This is a suicide mission.”

  “It is.”

  “You’re Niccolaio Andretti.”

  “I am.”

  “And your brother is sleeping in the room behind me.”

  I nod, because there’s no point in lying. “He is.”

  “He’s only fourteen.”

  It’s a test. To see if I’m trustworthy.

  Unfortunately, I have to be.

  “Eighteen,” I reply, forcing my jaw not to clench.

  Fourteen would make Ranie untouchable, too young to kill according to the unspoken mafia code of honor. But eighteen makes Ranie a man. It makes Ranie fair game. But I gather this guy already knows this. He knows Ranie’s age, and he tested me.

  Again, it’s what I would do.

  When he nods, my suspicions are confirmed. “Still, I would rather not kill him.”

  The words are welcome. They relieve me greatly, but I don’t relax my stance. I don’t lower the gun. I keep my weapon level with his head, my arm much steadier, much calmer than my heart.

  “And what would you like in return?”

  “Your uncle.”

  I stare at him for a moment, understanding his dilemma. Uncle Luca sleeps behind a door guarded by top of the line technology. His room is essentially a safe, and very few have access to it. Ranie happens to be one of them.

  But I happen to be one of them, too.

  “What would you have done if you hadn’t seen me?” Or gotten Ranie, I add in my head, the thought too unthinkable to say aloud.

  “Drill into it.”

  “He would hear that. He would be ready.”

  “So would we.”

  I take in the four of them again, dressed in black, bulky bullet proof gear and laden with weapons. I even spot several grenades attached to two of the men. They look like they’re prepared for war.

  Like they’re prepared to die for what they want.

  “You’re Romanos?” I ask, but it’s more like a statement.

  Because if nothing else, the Romanos are part hardcore and part bat shit crazy. Rumor has it that the bat shit crazy is inherited from the men and the women pass down the hardcore, but if that’s the case, I’d hate to meet a Romano woman. The men pose enough of a threat.

  “We are.”

  Trust. He’s building trust. I gave him mine by revealing Ranie’s age. He gave me his by revealing his affiliation. Trust is great in theory, but I know better. It’s usually the prelude to betrayal.

  Treachery.

  Duplicity.

  None of those are particularly helpful in this situation, but I have no other choice. I build the bridge and pray to the powers that be that he doesn’t stomp on it. Or blow it up like a good Romano soldier would.

  “I do this, and Ranie lives?”

  “Yes. You will, too.”

  My eyes widen slightly at the revelation before I tamper my reaction. I didn’t even consider that I’d get out of this alive. It’s a generous offer, made perfect by the reassurance of Ranie’s safety.

  “How do I know you won’t kill me when it’s done? Or Ranie?”

  “Trust.”

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  He nods. “These three will leave. I’ll give them my weapons, too.”

  One of the three behind him opens his mouth, but he’s silenced by a slight shake of the leader’s head. It’s swift but overwhelmingly full of authority.

  He speaks again, “You’ll have a gun on me. It’ll just be me and you. If anything appears off, you can shoot me and save your brother.”

  “What’s to stop me from taking the gun and shooting you?”

  Behind him, all of his companions tense, but I had to ask the question. I could tell that he was waiting for it, and it was a welcome olive branch of trust between the two of us. We both knew I was thinking the question, and by verbalizing that thought, I showed honesty, which can only help in this situation. Even if my particular brand of honesty happens to involve premeditative murder.

  He smirks. “If you shoot me and save your brother, you two will be the new targets. Right now, it’s Luca Andretti. If I don’t return, my men will tell the Romano caporegimes what happened. You’ll be marked for death.” He pauses dramatically. “Your brother will be marked for death.”

  I don’t even have to consider it before I nod. It’s a fair offer, fairer than anyone in this household, with the exception of Ranie, deserves. Uncle Luca’s life for Ranie’s. I’ll take it. Hell, if given the choice, I think Uncle Luca would trade his life for Ranie’s, too. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

  I’m the one who’s here right now.

  I’m the one who has to make this decision, and I’m choosing Ranie.

  Always.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Asher?” one of the older guys asks the leader.

  A flash of irrit
ation, of condescension, flits across the guy’s—Asher’s—face. He doesn’t say anything. He wordlessly takes off his bullet proof gear and the weapons he has on him, even the small knife he has hidden at his ankle. He hands his things to his men, and after a moment, the three guys retreat.

  When they’re gone, I silently lead Asher a few rooms down, where Uncle Luca’s room is. I ignore the burden of my betrayal, which lays heavy against my heart, and focus myself on my objective—saving Ranieri. And somewhere between this second and the last, I’ve shut myself off from the world, tampering my emotions along with my hope.

  I know with absolute certainty that after I open this door nothing in my life will ever be the same again.

  Taking a deep breath, I enter the 16-digit passcode and place my palm on the scanner. When the steel door opens with a soft and ominous swish, we’re greeted by the sound of Uncle Luca’s light snoring.

  Perhaps it’s the impending death or maybe even the weight of the guilt on my conscience, but the sound sends an unrelenting barrage of memories my way.

  Drawing on Uncle Luca’s face with a five-year-old Ranie, Uncle Luca snores drowning out our innocent giggles.

  Crawling into Uncle Luca’s bed at the tender age of five, because my father was less welcoming, and even my mother believed that men don’t cry. Apparently, five year olds were considered to be men.

  Clutching Uncle Luca’s hand as Ranie and I watched our mother’s body get lowered into the ground, her body too riddled with bullet holes for an open casket viewing earlier that day, which was a common occurrence in this lifestyle.

  I force myself to tamper down the stem of memories, unwilling to weaken my resolve. Ranie first. Ironically, it was Uncle Luca himself who first taught me that. With time, I eventually grew into the role of the protector, but before that happened, it was Uncle Luca who had taught me all I knew about love, family and loyalty.

  The same Uncle Luca that Asher is approaching, a gleam of darkness and vengeance in his eyes that has my stomach rolling with unease. And I suspect that, however Asher plans on killing Uncle Luca, it will be slow, and it will be painful.

  And Uncle Luca doesn’t deserve that.

  So, without a moment of hesitation, I raise my gun and pull the trigger.

  After the initial boom, there’s a moment of silence, where Asher’s eyes widen and we stare at one another. I break the eye contact by turning around, forcibly resisting the urge to vomit. I don’t look at Uncle Luca’s dead body. I don’t think I can stomach it.

  Instead, I exit the room with Asher close at my heels.

  And there, standing alone in the hallway, bleary eyed and disoriented from sleep, is Ranie. He looks between me and Asher, confused. But then, he does a double take, and I know what he sees.

  He sees me.

  He sees Asher.

  He sees a gun.

  And it’s in my hands.

  Chapter Nine

  Anger is an acid

  that can do more harm

  to the vessel in which it

  is stored than anything

  on which it is poured.

  Baptist Beacon

  present

  Time has been slipping past me for a while now. A few weeks ago, I was taking midterms. Now, I’ve just taken my last final and am a week away from graduating. A week away from participating in my commencement ceremony.

  A week away from being kicked out of Vaserley Hall.

  I need to find a new place to live and quickly. My best bet? John’s brownstone. I’ve been staying there almost every night anyways. He texts me almost every day, and I’m being honest when I say I’m making progress.

  I catch him staring at me when he thinks I’m not looking. There’s always a distinct look of longing in his gaze, and it’s not just my hope or vanity talking. It’s there, and it’s strong. Our future together is beginning to feel more and more inevitable, and that only rekindles my hope for me and Mina.

  Another month or so, and I’ll have a ring on my finger.

  I can feel it.

  I thank the Uber driver and exit the car, bounding slowly up the stairwell to John’s home. I open the door with my spare key, and once I’m in the entry hallway, I lean against the interior of the front door and take a few minutes to breathe, my heart pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ear.

  Even though I’m confident about where we are in our relationship, asking to move in this early is a big step.

  It’s risky, but I don’t have much of a choice.

  Nella and Lauren, my only two friends from college (and ever), are leaving New York City. Nella is moving back to Arizona, and Lauren is moving back to Canada. Obviously, I can’t go with them.

  Wherever Mina is, I am.

  And that happens to be in one of the most expensive cities in the world.

  Go figure.

  I straighten my shoulders, fix my hair, and walk up the dark hardwood steps to John’s brownstone, adding a sultry sway to my hips as soon as I reach the top of the stairwell. I’m dressed for this mission in heels and skinny jeans, which I know will drive John crazy.

  You’ve got this. This is going to happen. You’re going to walk in there, and you’re going to suggest you move in. He’ll say yes, and the next step after that is marriage. Easy. You’ve got this, Minka. For Mina.

  But even with the mental pep talk, I can’t help but second guess myself. I’ve never asked anyone if I could move in before. It’s not often that I’m out of my element, but I certainly am here. I’m not even sure if enough time has passed in our relationship. It’s only been about two months, which is a long time to me. But John is so much older than I am, and two months might be nothing to him. Merely a blip in his radar. So much is riding on this, and I’m starting to feel insecure, uncertain if this will work.

  And as I silently open the door to John’s bedroom and see a redheaded woman bouncing quietly on John’s cock, I know for certain this won’t work.

  My eyes widen as I take in the sight before me.

  Middle aged.

  Green eyes.

  Freckled face.

  Dark red hair.

  Full lips.

  And a generous chest.

  This girl is me.

  An older version of me, but me nevertheless.

  Except she isn’t, because John doesn’t have sex with me without a condom on. He doesn’t close his eyes and clench his fists when he’s inside of me. He doesn’t reverently whisper the word “baby” over and over again in my ear.

  This version of John before me is foreign. He’s worshipping this woman. He’s savoring the feel and taste of her, entering her slowly and clutching her body against his like any inch of space between their bodies is an inch too many. And I swear, that look on his face—one that is so unfamiliar to me—might just be love.

  I recognize this for what it is immediately.

  I’m the replacement.

  I’m the woman John calls when he can’t have this woman. Whatever history these two have, I’m nothing in comparison. She’s the woman he wants when he’s with me. She’s the reason why he likes me, and she’s the reason why he doesn’t.

  And I know, without a doubt, that I’ll never get a ring on my left finger.

  Not when that ring belongs on her.

  My first thought is Mina.

  Oh, God, Mina.

  I’m homeless after this week. I have nowhere to live. A million questions fly through my head. What will this mean for Mina? What will this mean for us? How will I get my baby sister back if I can’t find neither a job nor a place to live?

  I feel like I’ve failed my sister, and all the stupid hope I’ve gathered from my last visit with her extinguishes under the suffocating weight of my incompetence.

  But my second thought is good for John.

  Because as much as I hate him for this, I can’t hate him for feeling something for someone else.

  I can hate him for
destroying my chances of earning custody of Mina. I can hate him for leading me on. I can hate him for screwing another woman behind my back.

  Or was I behind her back?

  I don’t know.

  But either way, I can’t hate him for loving her.

  The wistful looks he would send my way while we were together, I mistook for infatuation. Now, I know better. They weren’t for me. He wanted her, and he settled for me. That’s where those looks came from.

  I was stupid and arrogant and naïve, thinking that I could waltz into his life and it would be so simple. He’s lived far longer than I have, and that affords him more credit than I’ve ever given him.

  And the only thing left to do now is move on.

  I’ve been in the room for less than sixty seconds, and they’ve been too wrapped up in one another to notice me. So, I slowly back out of the door, focusing my efforts on remaining quiet. On keeping my steps light and my heartbreak silent.

  Because if I think of anything else, if I focus on the direness of my situation, the frustration that I’ve struggled to hold at bay for the last four years will overwhelm me.

  However, as I slip past the kitchen and notice that woman’s phone on the counter, wrapped in a bright neon green case, the same ridiculous shade of neon green Mina insists is her favorite color, I can’t stop the frustration that engulfs me.

  But as soon as it comes, it’s gone.

  Because it’s hard to feel anger right now when all my body can process is sadness.

  Chapter Ten

  The weak can never

  forgive. Forgiveness is

  the attribute of the

  strong.

  Mahatma Gandhi

  eighteen years old

  Aaron is an awful kisser.

  That’s what’s on my mind as I exit the musty elevator into the bleak hallway of my apartment building, where Mina and I have been living since my biological parents abandoned me. Sometimes the woman who birthed us is there. Sometimes she isn’t. But what never changes is me and Mina.