Nico

by Sarah Castille

  She filled in the details while Chris sipped her fluorescent-green protein shake.

  “Maybe I should call the telecom company that called last week. They wanted us to hack into their rival’s network to see what they were up to. I explained to them that we’re good guys—white-hat hackers—and that we only hack to help businesses tighten their security. I said if they wanted to get involved in corporate espionage they needed to find themselves some black-hat hackers, or if they thought their rival was up to no good, a gray-hat hacking group would do. They weren’t very happy. I’ll bet if you gave them a call, we could land that contract.”

  “We’re not that desperate,” Mia said. “Once we cross that line, there’s no going back.” Chris didn’t know that some of their contracts were for Mafia-run businesses, albeit they were legitimate, but she understood Mia wasn’t interested in taking on any black-hat work. “Plus, we still haven’t heard about that proposal we sent in to the FBI. The RFP they sent out had a one-year time frame for them to consider the offers and that time is almost up. Fingers crossed they choose us.”

  “So what are we going to do about Casino Italia?” Jules asked. “That’s a week of work lost.”

  Mia tucked the outfit away in her bag. “I went through all their systems, and checked their security. The only thing that wasn’t completed was the final penetration test. I’ll write a report and send the bill.” Her lips quivered when she remembered Nico’s shocked look when she stormed out of his office. She would give anything to be there when that cocky bastard opened the bill.

  After all, it was what she had promised she would do. And in their world, honor was everything.

  *

  “Don Toscani.”

  Bile rose in Nico’s throat as he bent to kiss his uncle’s pinkie ring, the symbol of his power as boss of the Toscani crime family. He pressed his lips to the cold cluster of diamonds, and shuddered back the urge to rip the band off Santo’s finger. That ring was Nico’s ring—his father’s legacy, handed down from oldest son to oldest son for generations. Every time he touched it, he felt the knife of his uncle’s betrayal stab deeper in his heart.

  Santo was three hundred pounds of ruthless, greedy bastard. He slicked his salt and pepper hair back with fistfuls of gel and only wore tracksuits over wife beater vests, with a heavy gold cross on a chain around his thick neck.

  “Frankie.” Santo spared a nod for Nico’s closest friend and the top-ranking member of his crew. Although officially a Toscani family enforcer, who answered to Santo, Frankie De Lucchi had taken on the role of Nico’s bodyguard when Nico became a capo—captain. Santo called on Frankie occasionally to deal with difficult situations, but usually his son, Tony, handled the jobs no one else wanted to do.

  Frankie joined Luca, another friend and Nico’s right hand man, at the back of the room near the door.

  Usually Nico’s most trusted associate, Big Joe, would stand guard in the outer hallway during Nico’s weekly meeting with the don, but Nico had given him a pass today to deal with a work emergency. Big Joe was a good earner and had a legitimate business that he ran on the side.

  “How is the casino business these days?” Santo gestured for Nico to sit beside his consigliere—trusted family advisor, Charles “Charlie Nails” Russo, on the other side of his huge, intricately carved wooden desk. Santo’s office was designed to impress, with bookshelves filled with books he had never read, and statues and paintings chosen for cost rather than aesthetics. The room smelled heavily of cigar smoke from the Cubans he smoked on a regular basis. Nico’s throat burned with each inhale, but he had long ago learned never to show any weakness, especially in front of the man who would take any opportunity to show Nico was not fit to lead.

  “It’s earning.” That’s all Santo cared about. That was all anyone in the mob cared about. A good earner was worth his weight in gold, and the hefty kickbacks Nico paid to Santo kept his uncle from sending out his enforcers to whack Nico in his sleep.

  Nico’s father had been all about respect, honor, and ensuring the continuation of the institution, the survival of the family. He had protected the people in his territory even as he squeezed them for cash. Santo didn’t give a damn about anyone except himself and his son, Tony, now his underboss and seated to Nico’s left.

  “Good.” Santo reached for a cigar, expertly flicking his wrist to show off his gold Rolex. Santo was all about appearances. His mansion, in a guard-gated luxury Summerlin community, with spectacular views of the Strip was surrounded by a ten-foot-high electric fence. He had bought it from a movie star shortly after his self-appointment as boss of the Las Vegas faction of the New York Toscani family had been made official. He never resisted an opportunity to tell his guests about the famous people who had graced its marble halls, partied in the three swimming pools or played tennis on the regulation court nestled in the trees at the far end of his two acres of property.

  Someone knocked on the study door, and Santo motioned for a pause in the conversation. A woman entered, carrying a tray of espresso and biscotti.

  “Your espresso, Mr. Toscani.” She placed the tray on a side table and served Santo, Charlie Nails, and Tony. “Anything for you, sir? She turned to Nico just as Tony rose from his seat.

  “Stupido cagna! The espresso is cold. I warned you about that already.” Tony backhanded the woman so hard she stumbled, and Nico caught her as she fell.

  She gave him a grateful smile beneath her tears, and Nico helped her to her feet and put the tray in her hands.

  “Go.”

  Nico was appalled, but not surprised by Tony’s behavior. He had earned the nickname “Tony Crackers,” not for a love of snacks, but because everyone thought he was crazy. Nico had known him since they were children, and even then it was clear something was wrong with his cousin. Tony had been caught torturing animals at a young age, graduating from insects to rodents and then to the family pets. Clever enough to hide his psychopathic tendencies from teachers and social workers, he’d made it through school and then dropped out to join the family business where he enforced his will with violence instead of words. He was known to be unstable, flying into rages for the smallest of reasons, and his crew was one of the bloodiest in the city.

  Although tempted, Nico kept his views about Tony’s abusive behavior to himself. This was not his house. The woman was not his servant. He could not disrespect his cousin and uncle by interfering in their private affairs. And no doubt, she would already be walking out the door as dozens had before.

  “Where’s the money?” Tony, his father’s look-alike in clothes and demeanor, but one hundred pounds lighter and without the gray hair, held out his hand. Nico passed over an envelope stuffed with money—a percentage of the money his associates and soldiers kicked up to him from the loan sharking, gambling, protection and other rackets they ran under the protection of the family name. Anyone who failed to pay up, or was discovered running an undisclosed business, would find himself in a car going for a ride to the ocean, wearing a pair of cement shoes.

  Charlie Nails frowned at Tony’s lack of tact, but Tony had made it clear when he was appointed as underboss that he didn’t give a damn what the old man thought of him. Charlie Nails had held the role of consigliere for Nico’s father, and then for Santo after him. The consigliere was a supposed to be a close, trusted friend and confidant, an elder statesman of the family, but his support of Santo made him a traitor in Nico’s eyes.

  “Is this everything?” Tony thumbed through the envelope. “This is half of what you brought us last month.” He shared a glance with Charlie Nails and smirked. “I thought you fancied yourself an old-style mobster. In the old days, the casinos were a license to print money. This is hardly enough to pay our staff.”

  Nico steeled himself to show an outer calm as he raged inside. “That’s just the casino money.” He reached into the pocket of his double-breasted suit jacket, and pulled out a second envelope. “This is from the other businesses and the pay up from my crew.”r />
  Santo’s eyes narrowed when Nico tossed the second envelope on the table. Although not a clever man, like Nico’s father had been, Santo had a sixth sense for when he was being ripped off. “Is that everything?”

  No, of course it wasn’t everything. Despite the risk, Nico had several businesses on the side, including a nice little condo racket in which the main condo developers in the city exclusively hired interior designers controlled by Nico’s associates, giving Nico a share of every condo development. His connection with the steelworkers’ union had also given him a line into the rapidly developing construction of new casinos from a wave of foreign billionaires looking for a place to park their money.

  Unlike his uncle, who had taken the family into the drug trade against Cosa Nostra rules, Nico was all about real estate. The online scams and Internet fraud that many of his associates claimed were the new wave of business were of no interest to him, nor were any rackets where he had to enforce his will through violence. Although he would mete out punishment if it was due, attracting the attention of the police and FBI was not the way he wanted to do business. Nico liked to talk to the people he did business with, he liked to make connections, and his casino was the perfect place to wine and dine potential partners before comping them a few evenings in the high-stakes room, and taking even more of their money.

  “That’s it.” Nico moved to leave and Santo held up a hand.

  “Since you’re here and you are family, I want you to be the first to know. Tony’s getting married.”

  Tony Crackers married? What kind of woman would agree to marry a man with a reputation for brutal violence?

  “Congratulations, cugino.” He shook his Tony’s hand. “Who’s the lucky woman?”

  “Mia Cordano.” Tony gave him a sly smile. “I heard you were with her the other night. I didn’t know you were so close to the Toscanis.”

  Nico understood the implied threat, but he didn’t address it because he was still trying to process the information. Political marriages were very common in the upper level of the Mafia, but usually the women involved in the arranged marriages were of a type—docile, submissive, fully indoctrinated in the Cosa Nostra culture, and willing to help the family through an alliance that would benefit both sides. He couldn’t see an assertive, intelligent, sophisticated businesswoman like Mia Cordano marrying a violent, uneducated criminal like Tony Crackers unless she was forced to do it—and although some women were pressured by the families into marriages, how did one force a woman who so expertly wielded a knife?

  “Vito hired her to do cybersecurity work for the casino.”

  Santo sucked on his cigar, blew a ring of smoke. “You should keep better track of what your employees are doing, especially when we are involved in a faida with her family of your making.”

  “You don’t support the faida?” Nico scowled. “What man of honor would not want to avenge his brother after he was shot in the back by a coward who didn’t even have permission from the New York bosses for the hit?”

  “Don’t disrespect your uncle,” Charlie Nails warned. “He has his reasons for doing what he does and they are not your concern.”

  Nico shot him a scathing look. Aside from some minor gambling and loan sharking, Charlie Nails, a lawyer, ran a legitimate law firm and helped the family out with legal issues as well as liaising with important “bought” figures such as politicians or judges. He had been a trusted and close friend of Nico’s father, but Nico had no tolerance for a man who would sell his loyalty to the highest bidder.

  Santo raised a hand to silence Charlie Nails. “He should know that his actions have led to this marriage. Don Cordano has eyes on his daughter. When he found out she had been seen with you, Nico, he called me with concerns about her safety. He accused us of disregarding the rules regarding the sanctity of women and children in the faida.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. She was there for business. Her safety was never in question.”

  Santo waved a dismissive hand. “Both sides have lost many soldiers in this senseless war. Don Cordano fears for the life of his son, Dante, as I fear for the life of my Tony. We shared our concerns and discussed a truce. As a show of good faith, he offered one of his daughters in marriage to the Toscani family. It was not an opportunity I was prepared to pass up. The Cordanos have a solid foothold in the drug trade. Marriage will bring us together. Don Cordano thinks to gain strength through the union, but Dante is weak, not worthy to lead. Once Dante and the don are out of the way, Tony will have a claim to lead by marriage and he will take over as boss. Together, he and I will push aside the other Cosa Nostra families and take control of the city.”

  Nico pulled his pen from his pocket and spun it around his thumb as he struggled to hide his anger. His father had intended to pass the pen down to Nico when he became a made man, just as his father had done for him. But he hadn’t lived to see the day. Nico had only started carrying the pen after he was made, and he intended to pass it on to his son.

  “My father has not yet been avenged,” he spat out. “And what of all the soldiers and capos who will lose their lives? You dragged this family into the drug trade against Cosa Nostra rules. Everything my father tried to do for the family, you have undone. But this … betrayal of the other Cosa Nostra families, a full-out war for control of the city … How many will be left standing at the end?”

  Charlie Nails, quiet until that moment, ran a hand through his silvery hair. “I have to agree, Santo. Not just because of Nico’s father, Maximo, but because our involvement with the drug trade has already brought us to the attention of the FBI. When Maximo was boss, we were able to fly under the radar. If we expand our drug operation, and the bodies start to pile up, they are going to come down hard on us. Even if our men don’t get whacked in the civil war you propose, they’ll wind up in jail.”

  “Cazzo!” Even more volatile than usual, Tony reached for the weapon holstered at his side, and Santo held up a hand.

  “Stand down. Charlie Nails is old and slow, and Nico is maybe upset that you have stolen his woman. But he understands that this is a sacrifice that must be made for la famiglia.”

  Nico’s stomach tightened at the thought of his crazy cousin married to Mia, the girl he’d once held, trembling in his arms, who had become a beautiful woman who stirred a longing in him he had long thought dead. Did her father, Don Cordano, understand the risk? The danger she was in? “Did she agree to this?”

  Santo laughed. “Don Cordano assures me she will do her duty to her family. That’s all we care about. Just as Tony will do his duty to ours to ensure the Toscanis are never without a boss of the pure Toscani bloodline. We are meeting them at Vincenzo’s Trattoria on Thursday night to finalize everything, and they will be wed as soon as we can get it arranged.”

  “She’s a fucking hot piece of tail.” Tony made a lewd pumping gesture with his fist. “Not gonna be hard to knock her up and keep the Toscani line going.”

  The implication was clear. Santo was never going to step down. He had just declared Tony his successor to head the family, and if Tony had a son, Nico would lose control of the family forever. Not only that, once Santo allied with the Cordanos, he would no longer need the kickbacks from Nico’s vast commercial operations. He would no longer need Nico—the illegitimate son of the man killed by the very family he now sought as any ally.

  Which meant in the next few days, Don Toscani’s associates would be taking Nico for a ride from which he would never come back, and Mia would be left to the mercy of a cruel, vicious man and a family who saw her as nothing but a means to an end. He wouldn’t wish that fate on any woman, but especially not the woman he had connected with so long ago—a woman who made him feel felt worthy in the way a bastard son had never hoped to be.

  “The pure Toscani line.” Tony repeated his father’s cruel words, as if reading Nico’s thoughts.

  “If we’re done here…” Nico didn’t wait for a response. He stood, and gave the barest nod of respect
to Charlie Nails and his uncle. He had learned as a child not to rise to Tony’s bait, but he could not tolerate any disrespect of his dead mother. A quick exit was the only alternative to a fight that would likely end with one of them dead. His mother had been the love of his father’s life, but they had never been able to marry. To honor his family, Nico’s father had gone through with a political marriage, just as Nico would do in the coming months. Nico could only hope his new wife would bear him sons so that no son of his goomah—mistress—would bear the stigma he did.

  “We’ll announce the wedding after church at Nonna Maria’s house this Sunday,” Santo called after him. “You can be the best man.”

  THREE

  Benito “Benny” Romano parked his white Chrysler 300 outside a small rundown bungalow at the edge of Sunrise, a small community on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Across the street, a drug deal was going down between two boys, no more than fourteen, and a dealer who was only a year or two older. A mangy dog lay on the grass in front of the house, and a beaten-up pick-up truck was parked in the driveway.

  Fuck. Gabe was here. He was never here on Tuesdays. Had he lost another fucking job?

  He closed and locked the door and made his way through the overgrown weeds and up the sidewalk, stopping to move Daisy’s broken tricycle and pick up Mr. Tickles who had been abandoned in the dirt. Christ. He gave Ginger enough money every month to afford a decent place for her and their daughter, Daisy, in a nice area of town. But, of course, with Gabe around, she’d have other plans for that money.

  “Daddy!” The screen door banged open, and Daisy flew into his arms, her long blond hair a tangled mess, and her six-year-old hands sticky with sweets.