Page 233 of Vicious Intentions
“He’s waiting for your call, Matteo. Don’t leave him waiting in vain.”
Not needing to be told twice, I punch in my brother’s phone number and hit call, Niccolò’s voice answering immediately.
“Hello?”
Fuck.
Tears sting my eyes at the sound of my brother’s voice.
“Matteo? Is this you?” Niccolò all but whispers, the sound of a door slamming shut behind him.
“Yeah, brother. It’s me.”
“Thank fucking Christ!” he bellows, relief lacing every word. “How are you? How is Anna? Are you alright? Do you need anything? Money? Papers? Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Even through tears, I can’t help but laugh. A laugh that comes straight from the gut. Niccolò was never one for too many words, and now here he is using a whole dictionary’s worth of them.
“I missed you too, Nico. I’ve missed all of you,” I admit, wiping the tears from my face. “Anna and I are good. We’re better than good,” I say in the hopes of easing whatever fears he might have. “Just wish you were here.”
“Me too. I wish I was there too. But…”
“No need to explain,” I wave him off even though he can’t see me. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now.”
“Marcello and I both. It’s not easy taking the throne when some people still wish you were their predecessor.”
“People are stupid. You’ll make a far better boss than I ever could.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fucking trying. You left some big shoes to fill.”
“If there’s any man up for the job, it’s you,” I smile.
“Yeah, okay,” he mutters, visibly uncomfortable with my praise.
“I am happy that you and Marcello seem to have become a united front. Does that mean—”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “The war was over the second you and Anna died. It was the excuse we both needed to make a truce. Marcello made it clear he had no interest in New York, which worked in our favor. We’ve even worked together on a few deals. The Romano twins have also shown interest in helping us out with some IT shit that went straight over my head when they told me about it. But they’re supposed to be some kind of geniuses, so what do I know?”
I nod as he continues venting about his current woes, but the last thing I want to think about is the Cosa Nostra. I have more pressing matters I need answers to.
“And Mom? How is she?”
Niccolò goes silent for a moment.
“I haven’t told her yet, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just…not the right time yet.”
I don’t say anything to that, mostly because I understand his reluctance to tell our mother that I’m alive. For people to continue believing I’m dead, the people who love me have to look like they’re grieving. And I’m not sure my mother is that great an actress, especially with the way her fractured mind likes to play tricks on her.
“But she’s okay. Lucid. Well… lucid adjacent,” Niccolò adds, as if sensing where my head is at. “When I’m sure everyone has moved on, she’ll be the first person I tell. She’ll be the only person I tell.”
“What about Rafe?” My brows furrow at his remark. “How is our baby brother? Is he okay?”
Again, the line goes silent, causing my hackles to rise.
“Nico?”
“Rafe is good. I should end the call now. It’s been almost three minutes. Can’t risk anyone finding out about you.”
“Okay,” I reply, though my heart feels like it’s splintering apart.
