Page 67 of Vicious Intentions
“I did,” Niccolò says flatly.
“Can I ask why?”
“Because…” Niccolò pauses as he turns left onto our street. “Rafe needs to learn who the real villain in this family is.”
“If he doesn’t know by now, then I doubt he ever will,” I grumble.
“Give him time, Matteo. He’ll come around eventually.”
I doubt it. Since I stripped him of his toys and left him with nothing but work, Raffaele has barely spoken to me for almost half a year. Still, I don’t think it’s the grunt work, the long hours, or even the privileges I took away from him that made him hate me more. It was taking Romano’s daughter away that really broke the camel’s back. No matter how much Niccolò tried to explain that what he did was reckless, Raffaele still refused to see reason. He should know better than to go to Chicago behind our backs. Not only was it a betrayal, but he also put his life at risk.
To him, I will always be the villain of his story. In his eyes, my father will never compare.
When Niccolò parks the car at the curb of our building instead of pulling into the garage, my brow lifts in question.
“Can’t go home yet,” he says, as if his statement would explain everything.
Then I realize that he wasn’t joking when he said he needed to hit something.
“Anywhere but the Cage, okay?” I warn.
Niccolò exhales through his nose, then gives a reluctant nod.
The Cage is an underground fight club in New York. Everyone who is anyone in our world goes there to bet on blood. When you enter the Cage, only one man walks out on his own two feet. The other leaves in a body bag.
I know those kinds of high stakes give Niccolò a certain thrill, but I don’t like that he puts himself in that kind of danger when it isn’t necessary. If I lost him to a fucking Cage fight… I don’t even want to think about it.
I get out of the car and watch Niccolò drive away, hoping he didn’t just lie to my face. He always keeps things close to the vest, but I know the whole talk about arranged marriages spooked him a little. I don’t dare tell him that it isn’t the worst idea for him. With his inability to talk to a woman, much less connect with them on an emotional level, maybe an arranged marriage is the way to go. But I know my brother. I’ll need him to get comfortable with the idea before I broach the subject again.
With my thoughts still on my brother, I take the elevator up to the penthouse and nod to the two soldiers standing guard at the door.
“Evening, boss,” they say simultaneously.
I don’t correct them since most of my father’s men have grown accustomed to calling me that. Though I appreciate the respect behind it, I’m not the boss yet. My father still lives, and as long as air fills his lungs, I have yet to inherit the title, even if I am the one doing the work.
“Buonasera, figlio mio. You’re home early tonight,” my mother sings when she hears me walk through the door, coming out of the kitchen with a dishcloth in her hands. “What brought on this surprise?”
My heart expands at the sight of her cheerful mood. The light in her eyes is evidence of her having a good day. Days like these have been more frequent lately. Ever since I kicked that motherfucker out of this house, she’s been more herself. Becauseof it, I never got around to hiring a nurse. I know it might be wishful thinking, but what if all she ever needed was to live in a place where she felt safe?
Then memories of the summers she used to spend with us in this very house come back to me. There were days she wouldn’t even get out of bed, or was so out of it that she seemed completely catatonic. No. She might be on a good streak, but her broken mind is far from repaired.
“Maybe I wanted to spend some quality time with my mom.” I offer her a genuine smile. “Have you had dinner yet?” Her blue eyes shine with glee.
“I just took a tray of cannoli out of the oven not two minutes ago.”
“Perfect,” I say, taking off my coat, draping it over the couch, and rolling up my sleeves. “I’ll make us a salad. Shall we?” I ask, offering her my arm.
My mother hums in delight as she hooks her arm through mine, and I lead us back to the kitchen.
After we finish our meal, we sit on the couch and watch one of the romantic comedies she likes. It’s not how I usually spend a Friday night, but it’s not unpleasant either. A quiet night at home might be good for me. I’ve been so tense lately, so on edge, that switching off my brain, even if only for a few hours, might be exactly what the doctor ordered. And watching a chick flick with my mom is the very definition of that.
When the movie credits begin to roll, I glance over at my mother and find her fast asleep. Without making a sound, I cover her with a blanket and turn off the television.
Rather than going to bed myself, I head upstairs to my office to get some work done. But instead of logging onto my computer, I sit in my chair, spin it around, and stare out at the New York skyline.
I fucking love this city. Everything I do is to make sure it’s allowed to flourish and thrive. Something it cannot do if it continues chained to Chicago.
Moretti and Vitale were right. It’s time to move past what could have been and start focusing on what can be. A plan will form. One that will hurt Romano in a way he never sees coming. The same way he hurt us when he killed Carlo.
