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

by Parker S. Huntington

  The floorplan is open, with the custom closet, kitchen, bedroom and living room all in one room. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but it’s enough for two people and a captive, which Nick tells me is all the place needs to fit, since his guards will be covering another empty safe house to deflect attention from us.

  And honestly, the place is really, really nice…

  But that’s not the problem.

  The problem is there’s only one bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Speak when you are angry

  and you will make the best

  speech you will ever regret.

  Ambrose Bierce

  Even though Nick lets me take the bed while he takes the small couch, his presence still bothers me enough to affect my sleep. Tossing and turning all night, I barely sleep, and when I finally do, my eyes are only closed for a few hours before I’m waking up again, courtesy of a groaning Jax.

  “Can you shut him the heck up?” I politely ask Nick, who’s laying on the couch, playing Angry Birds on his phone while Jax’s musical of groans is getting louder by the second.

  I take one of the extra pillows on the bed and throw it at the couch. It bounces off Nick’s head and onto the floor. He grabs it and tucks it under his head, using it as a pillow, which makes me realize that last night, he slept without a blanket and a pillow.

  Now, I feel even guiltier because Nick barely fits on the couch. His long legs hang over the edge, and the width of his strong body barely fits this narrow couch. In fact, there’s more of his body off of the couch than on it.

  I remind myself that it doesn’t matter if he sleeps uncomfortably, because 1) I’m not supposed to like him, 2) I don’t like him and 3) I’ll never like him. But… I can’t help the twinge of guilt that envelops my body, so I endeavor not to argue too much with him this morning to make up for it.

  “I tried. The man,” Nick says, emphasizing the word in a way that makes me suspect that he thinks the term is hardly appropriate, “can moan his way through anything.”

  I sigh and get up. The clock on the wall reads twelve past six in the morning, which basically means that I have a long day ahead of me. And I don’t want to spend it listening to Jax complaining all day. So, I enter the kitchen, grab a nice-sized nectarine from the fruit bowl and walk over to Jax.

  He eyes me warily and with good reason.

  I lift the nectarine in front of his face and say in a tone I would use on a toddler, “This is to stay in your mouth until you can prove to me that you can be quiet. Okay?”

  He shakes his head furiously, but I don’t care. Behind me, Nick lets out a sexy laugh that sends a series of chills up and down my spine. I ignore the feeling and continue on with my plan, shoving the nectarine into Jax’s reluctant mouth while being careful not to actually touch the guy.

  I turn to Nick. “He smells.”

  Nick gets up and grabs a bottle on the floor behind him. It’s Febreeze. I roll my eyes as I watch him spray it all over Jax, and now the disgusting stench smells like a disgusting stench mixed with Febreeze.

  I walk towards the bathroom, and over my shoulder, I say, “I’m going to shower. You know, how normal people get clean.”

  I close the door before I can hear Nick’s response. After stripping out of my clothes and throwing them into a hamper in the bathroom, I wait for the water to warm up before getting in the marble shower.

  Not even five minutes later, I hear the door opening. Alarmed, I peak my head out of the curtain, only to find Nick with a toothbrush in hand. Facing the mirror, he’s not even looking at me and is acting as if being in the bathroom while I’m naked is no big deal.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  If I was the cursing type, I would have said, what the fucking fuck do you fucking think you’re fucking doing? But I haven’t cursed since I made a promise to mold myself into the model parent after Mina was taken away. Plus, I don’t think four variations of “fuck” are enough to express my alarm. I need at least a baker’s dozen.

  “I’m hungry,” he says.

  My eyes widen in disbelief. “Okay… go eat.”

  “I need to brush my teeth first, and who knows how long you’ll take in here. I didn’t want to wait.”

  I roll my eyes but close the curtain and try to shower. But I can’t. All I can think of is how naked I am and how close to me he is. My nipples harden at the thought, and goosebumps rise all over my flesh despite the heat of the water.

  I eye the shower curtain, knowing that neither of us can see through it, but needing to check nevertheless. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to focus on the proximity between Nick and my naked body, and I let my hands drift lower down my body until my fingers brush against my clit. Startled, I jolt at the sensation, not use to ever enjoying touching myself. It usually feels awkward and uncomfortable, but this… This was magic.

  From the other side of the curtain, I hear Nick mutter something that sounds like “everything okay?” with a mouth full of toothpaste.

  “Yep! Dropped the soap,” I lie and force myself to behave.

  I stand under the showerhead, waiting for him to leave and trying to focus on anything other than how embarrassingly affected I am from being naked in his proximity, even though there’s nothing remotely sexual about this situation aside from the naughty thoughts I shouldn’t be entertaining.

  A few minutes later, I hear Nick turn on the sink and spit toothpaste out of his mouth. I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t.

  Instead, he says, “How are you feeling?”

  Still behind the curtain, I answer, “This is hardly the appropriate place to be having this conversation.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” There’s amusement in his tone. “So you can touch yourself in peace?”

  My jaw drops and cheeks heat in embarrassment. “I wasn’t—” I begin to protest before cutting myself off, deciding that he’d see past any lie I’d tell anyway. I sigh. “I don’t care. Do what you want,” I say, because I don’t want him to think his presence here is bothering me, even though it is getting me hot and bothered. And apparently, we’re both already too aware of that. I hope to distract from what just happened by answering his other question, “I’m feeling… as good as I can feel given the circumstances.”

  After a few seconds of silence, he says, all traces of humor gone from his voice, “I’m sorry that you couldn’t see Mina.”

  And darn it, his genuine tone has the anger and embarrassment in me receding.

  I don’t reply to that, because there’s nothing I can say to it. While playing the blame game is fruitless, I still feel as if he’s partially to blame for this mess. And it’s not okay that I couldn’t see Mina, but I don’t want to talk about it.

  I am, however, willing to talk about some aspects of yesterday. “What happened to the guy you killed yesterday?”

  I’m not sure if he’ll answer my questions, since I’m pretty sure whatever happened yesterday isn’t legal, but I wait anyway. It’s not like I’ll tell anyone. I’m not innocent in all of this. When I brought in the groceries yesterday, I was contaminating the crime scene. I don’t even have to be a law student to realize that.

  He surprises me by answering me truthfully. “There was a cleaning crew that came to deal with it while we were asleep.”

  “Won’t people ask questions when they realize he’s missing?”

  “Probably,” he says, which should concern me, but the indifference in his tone eases my worries of getting caught. “But he’s not from around here, so it won’t be the first place the police will look. And that’s if they are alerted.”

  He sounds so certain that they won’t be alerted that I let it go.

  “You said yesterday that you know him… How?”

  He sighs. “I go by Nick now, but I was born Niccolaio Cristiano Andretti.”

  I still at his words.

  He’s an Andretti?!

  I did some mafia re
search after I got on Asher’s bad side over the school year. There are whole websites dedicated to the five American syndicates, kind of like a Wikipedia for the mob. And in every single post that mentions the Romano and Andretti families together, there’s always mention of the longstanding feud between the two families. A longstanding and bloody feud.

  The Andrettis and Romanos are like the Capulets and Montagues, only dangerous. I don’t know why they hate each other, but I do know that the hatred is strong. And an Andretti being in Romano territory should be tantamount to war…

  Yet, Niccolaio isn’t just in Romano territory. He’s embedded in it. From what I’ve seen and gathered, he’s friends with Asher, and he mentioned that Vincent Romano helped acquire this safe house for us.

  There’s a story behind this, and even though I’m dying to know, I don’t ask, because I don’t allow myself to stroke the flame of my curiosity regarding Niccolaio. I suspect that getting to know Niccolaio won’t help keep my lust at bay.

  And his name. I knew that Nick doesn’t suit him. It’s too plain and ordinary, but Niccolaio Cristiano Andretti… It’s exotic and sexy and everything that I’ve come to realize Nick Niccolaio is.

  He continues, “I lived in Andretti territory until I was twenty and had to leave. While I lived in Florida, I was friends with this guy named Ignazio. Naz. He’s the one I shot yesterday. Anyway, his dad was a friend of my dad, so we pretty much grew up together. A few years before I left Florida, Naz accidentally shot a civilian and got sent to Maryland, a border territory state.

  “When I left Florida, I lived in Maryland for a little, and while I was there, I was working at a club. I was outside taking a break when I saw Naz. He and a friend of his had their guns out, and they were going to shoot Asher.”

  When I gasp, he ignores it and continues, “He was going to kill Asher, but if he did that, the people with Asher would have killed him… So, I stepped in. I killed Naz’s friend, because I didn’t want him to risk getting a shot at Asher while I took care of Naz. Naz never forgave me for that.”

  He lowers his voice, and I think he says, “And other things,” but at that low volume, I can’t hear him over the sound of the showerhead.

  “You saved Asher Black,” I say, wonder in my voice.

  My words hang silently and boldly in the air, and we let them simmer in the stillness as I try to absorb the profundity of my statement. He saved Asher Black, one of the most powerful men in the world, let alone this city.

  That’s huge.

  After a few more minutes of silence, I take a deep breath before asking the real question I’ve been wanting to ask, “Why are people trying to kill you?”

  “There’s a hit out on me.”

  “A hit?!” The disbelief in my voice is clear.

  “Five million dollars.”

  And for a disgusting second, my mind wonders what I can do with five million dollars.

  I can find a home.

  I can hire a lawyer.

  I can file for custody of Mina.

  Five million dollars would solve all of my problems, except I can’t kill this man.

  I may not be the best person in the world, but I’m certainly not a killer. Not only can I not hurt this man, but I also don’t want to.

  I’ve finally found a line I’d draw in what I thought was an infinite list of things I’d do for Mina… and I hate Niccolaio for being it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When angry, count four.

  When very angry, swear.

  Mark Twain

  Even though I feel bad about Niccolaio sleeping on the couch, I don’t do anything about it. I hate to highlight any of his good attributes, but I have to admit that he’s gentlemanly enough to insist that I sleep anywhere other than the bed.

  And I’m not about to invite him to join me.

  But it’s only been seven days of hiding out, and my resolve is already wavering. I’m not sure how I feel about this. After all, Jax sleeps slouched against the wall, and I don’t feel an ounce of guilt about that.

  At the same time, Jax shot a bullet at me. Well, it was at Niccolaio, but with his terrible aim, I ended up in its projectile. So, I have a good reason not to feel guilty about Jax’s treatment. On the other hand, if Niccolaio hadn’t followed me out of John’s brownstone, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

  But… I also wouldn’t have a place to stay while I study for my LSATs.

  My brain continues to go back and forth between the reasons to and not to allow Niccolaio on the bed when the man in question enters the warehouse, casually whistling an unfamiliar tune. My giant LSAT practice book is on the bed in front of me, and I quickly flip to the next page to hide the list I’ve drawn in the margins:

  To (Literally) Sleep with Niccolaio or Not To?

  Pros

  Cons

  1. I’ll stop feeling guilty about him sleeping on the bed.

  2. He saved me from bullets (twice), is giving me a place to live, and has been a complete gentleman.

  3. I’d end up jumping his bones.

  1. He’s the reason I can’t visit Mina.

  2. He was the reason I needed saving from bullets (twice), is the reason I’m living in a safe house and blackmailed me into revealing my past.

  3. I’d end up jumping his bones.

  I stare purposefully at the new LSAT practice page in front of me, but the words end up blurring together. I closed the book with a resigned sigh, since I haven’t glanced at it once in the past three hours anyway.

  Instead, I’ve been stuck in my head, juggling my confusion about whether I like or dislike Niccolaio and my anger and frustration at not being able to see Mina. My worry for Mina has been lodged in the back of my mind for the past week, but today it’s at the forefront of my concern.

  I was supposed to visit Mina today, but for the second week in a row, I couldn’t. The worst part is I haven’t been able to tell her why I can’t visit her. I just left, like a ghost. Like her mother, her father, and now me. She’s either out of her mind in worry, feeling abandoned, or both.

  And that’s killing me.

  It’s that thought that reinforces my resolve to stay angry at Niccolaio. Plus, it’s better for everyone if I keep my distance emotionally.

  So, when Niccolaio approaches me and opens his mouth to speak, I cut him off with an appropriate amount of attitude, “What do you want? I’m studying.”

  “I ha—”

  I lift up my book, shake it and interrupt, “Studying.”

  “Minka,” he says, firmly this time.

  The demanding way he says my name sends shivers down my spine.

  I make a production of sighing, pushing away my book, and crossing my arms. I arch a perfectly shaped brow. “Yes?”

  “I have something for you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh,” he mocks, a smirk on his face.

  I roll my eyes and accept the small box he hands me. Inside of it is a tablet from Black Enterprises.

  “What’s this for?” I ask, my eyes widening as I open the box.

  “Turn it on.”

  I narrow my eyes at him in suspicion before cautiously pressing the “on” button. Niccolaio takes a seat next to me on the bed. I let him grab the tablet from me as soon as it powers on. He presses something on the screen, and a few moments later, Mina’s beautiful face appears on the screen.

  My jaw drops. “Mina?!” I turn to Niccolaio. “How?!”

  Mina answers for him, her voice an excited screech, “I got a tablet, Minka! A tablet! Can you believe it?”

  “No,” I answer honestly, because I can’t believe it.

  Tablets are a luxurious expense Mina’s group home can’t afford. I’ve thought of saving up to buy her one before, so we could video chat, but that idea was vetoed immediately by Erica. Apparently, it would be cruel for only one child to have one and not the rest.

  While I agreed with Erica that
it would be cruel, I hated that it meant I couldn’t talk to Mina on a daily basis. Yet, Mina has a tablet right now, and I know the group home wouldn’t approve of it, which brings me to my earlier question.

  “How?” I ask Niccolaio again.

  Mina happily interjects, “He got us all tablets! Everyone!”

  “All of them?!” My eyes widen, and the stare I give Niccolaio is equal parts disbelief and confusion.

  I should be grateful.

  Actually, I am grateful.

  But I’m also confused.

  Why would he do this for me and Mina?

  He shrugs casually, as if he’s playing it off. “It’s not a big deal. Asher’s company donated them.”

  “It is a big deal. This wouldn’t have happened without you,” I insist. Remembering our situation, I put the video chat on mute and say, “What about the hit on you? Don’t the people after you know that you’re connected to Asher Black? Isn’t it risky for Asher to suddenly donate a bunch of tablets to a random group home?”

  “It would be,” Niccolaio agrees, and I tense. “That’s why he donated tablets to every group home in the city.”

  My jaw drops. “What?! Every single one?! That must have cost him a fortune! Why would he do that?”

  Niccolaio shrugs and doesn’t answer me. And even though I want to know, I don’t press him. I’m too happy to care. So, when the urge to hug Niccolaio grips me by the throat, I don’t fight it. I lean forward and wrap my arms tightly around his broad torso, soaking myself in the seductive scent of sandalwood, musk and Niccolaio.

  “I don’t know how you got Asher to do this, but thank you,” I whisper into his ear.

  Even though I should let go, I keep myself pressed against Niccolaio. After a few awkward seconds, he wraps his arms around my body, returning the hug. It occurs to me that this is the first hug I’ve ever received from anyone other than Mina and Mrs. Rosario.

  I don’t care that it’s in front of Jax, who is staring at us from the other side of the room with a brand new nectarine lodge into his mouth.