Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dumbledore says people find
it far easier to forgive other for
being wrong than being right.
J.K. Rowling
“Hit me,” Jax says, his voice raspy from all of his muffled moaning and groaning.
About an hour ago, he agreed to shut up if I took the nectarine out of his mouth. He’s kept his word, and we’ve been playing blackjack ever since. Of course, his hands and legs are still bound by Niccolaio’s heavy duty rope, which makes playing… interesting.
It means that I’ve been able to see all of his cards as I handle them on his behalf and deal the cards to the both of us. To even out the advantage, I should be playing with both of my cards up instead of just one, but I’ve never been one to fight fairly.
My lips curve upwards as I deal another card to Jax. It’s a bust, causing him to groan. I lean back a little in my seat, disgusted by the radius of his odious breath. I make a mental reminder to ask Niccolaio to bring Jax a toothbrush.
Behind me, the tablet rings, indicating a call from Mina.
Jax’s eyes widen, and he pleads, “No, no, no, n—,” as I shove the nectarine back into his mouth.
I help him out of the chair and onto the floor in his designated corner. Sometime within the last week since Niccolaio invited me to Lucy’s wedding as his date, I insisted that he lay sheets down for Jax, and for some reason, he actually agreed with me.
Now, there’s a makeshift bed down there for Jax. I push him onto it, face him toward the wall for some extra privacy and hurry back to the tablet. Pressing the bright green button, I accept the call, smiling brightly as soon as I see Mina’s beautiful face.
“Hi, Minka!”
“Hey, pretty girl.” I look at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“It was a half day,” she says dismissively. “Guess what!” She’s visibly jumping in her seat, unable to contain her excitement.
I think about the last time she was this excited and guess, “It was lasagna day in the cafeteria?”
“No.”
“Fried chicken?”
“No, they don’t have fried food at school anymore.”
“Right. I forgot… There was a food fight?”
She frowns and sighs. “No… Why are all your guesses about food?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Then, eat!”
I flush, remembering what happened in the kitchen yesterday. Niccolaio still hasn’t returned since then, and I’m not sure if I should be worried or angry. Either way, I haven’t been able to bring myself to step into the kitchen, the memory too fresh in my mind. But I am starving, and I need to eat sooner or later.
When I get up to eat, Mina shouts, “But not yet! Guess what!”
I sit back down. “Barbecue chicken pizz—”
“I get to play Juliet in the school play!”
I mash my teeth together, so my jaw doesn’t drop in shock. I’m not disillusioned. I realize that people can be cruel when it comes to kids in wheelchairs. Even theater teachers. And that’s why I know this may be a once in a lifetime opportunity given Mina’s condition.
“That’s… that’s amazing, Mina,” I say, and I mean it.
But inside, my heart is pounding, and my mind is running through a million possible scenarios that would allow me to attend her play without putting her in danger, all less likely than the last. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t mind hiding out in a safe house. In fact, I was thankful to be in this situation.
Growing up broke meant that, every second of every day, I wondered if I’d have a place to sleep, food to eat, and water to drink and clean myself with. It meant rationing a single scoop of peanut butter from the Dollar Store for breakfast and dinner so that Mina could have a decent, balanced meal.
Instant ramen was a luxury I was rarely able to afford, and the best meal I had each day was the free school lunches I more than qualified for. If there was food in the kitchen cupboards, I ate it all—even if it was expired, though that rarely happened, because I seldom had enough food to reach an expiration date.
But now?
If the pantry in the safe house isn’t fully stocked, one of the guards stops by to grocery shop for me and Niccolaio or drop off some takeout from restaurants that I would never be able to afford on my own. Heck, I haven’t even thought about a bill in weeks.
And the showers? I have to force myself to cut them short—not because I’m too broke to pay for the water bill, but because I care about the environment.
But I would give all of that up to go to Mina’s play.
There’s no way I’m missing out on this.
No matter what I have to do to get there.
“Can you go?” Mina asks me. “It’s three Saturdays from now! Please, please, please, please, please!”
I quickly do the math. By that time, I’ll have lived with Niccolaio for almost two months now. There has to be some progress by then.
“Of course, I will,” I promise.
Mina squeals in delight and quickly shouts her goodbye to me when one of her friends from the group home calls out her name in the background. After I hang up, there’s a large pit weighing heavily in my stomach. There’s no way I’m missing Mina’s play, but I have to consider the safety risks of attending.
“You’re not going out,” Niccolaio says from behind me.
I jump, startled. I didn’t even hear him come in, though that doesn’t surprise me, since he moves like a darn ghost. I didn’t hear him come in yesterday either, which led to things that must not be named. What does surprise me is that I haven’t seen him since he watched me come yesterday and left shortly after, and now that he’s here, he’s not even addressing what happened. I eye him up and down. He’s wearing another outfit, though, which tells me he went somewhere he could change.
Despite my curiosity, I don’t ask him where he went. I’m too focused on stifling the burn of my cheeks at the memory of what happened and the anger simmering inside me at being left without a word.
I’m usually never so bashful after a hookup. Then again, it doesn’t help that he left me sitting on the island, naked and wet, without even a goodbye. Plus, I’ve been with my fair share of men, but none of them have been like Niccolaio.
There’s always been an agenda for me, but yesterday was purely about pleasure.
My pleasure.
So, I suppose that makes this my first real morning after, as unconventional as it is. And that, along with my anger at being left, is why it takes some time for me to register his words, but when I finally do, my discomfiture and anger quickly turns into an all-encompassing fury. Who the heck does he think he is, bossing me around like that?
I scowl at him, and my voice is mocking when I say, “Oh, sorry, Dad. I must have missed it when you became my caretaker. Did you sign some adoption papers and everything? Am I grounded? Shall I call you Daddy, too?”
“Is that another fantasy of yours?” he asks, obviously referring to the student-teacher roleplay from yesterday. The edges of his lips tilt upward and his voice dips lower into a seductive lull. “You can call me Daddy whenever you want.”
I ignore his words and change the subject, because I pretty much asked for that. “You can’t tell me what to do. Don’t bother trying.”
He studies me, his intense eyes on my face, looking for I’m not sure what. “You’re free to do whatever you’d like. I’m not telling you what to do, Minka. I’m reminding you that your actions have risks and consequences.” When I open my mouth to speak, he cuts me off, “You know I’m right. What happens when you go to Mina, and you’re followed? Is it really worth it?”
He’s right, of course.
But that doesn’t mean I like what he’s saying.
Or that he’s the voice of reason right now.
I shouldn’t have made any promises to Mina, but this is huge. She’s auditioned for school plays several times before, but other than a few roles as an extra, she’s never had an opportunity like this.
If I’m not there for her when she needs me, then what’s the point of working so hard to be in her life?
But deep down, I know I can’t go.
Not unless something about our situation changes.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to reign in my anger. It doesn’t work. “Gosh. How socially inept are you? It’s not okay for you to give me unsolicited advice on my personal life without an invitation. Do you see me sifting through your life, demanding to know why there’s a hit out on you?”
He’s quiet for a moment, his brown eyes glaring at me before they’re overcome with a look of resignation. “I killed someone I loved.”
“What?” I say, taken by surprise. “I-I… How does this end?” I ask him, finally settling on an appropriate reaction to such a revelation—one where I ignore what he just said because I’m not quite ready for him to confide in me. “How do we end the hit on you?”
For the first time since I met him, he looks uncomfortable. “We can’t.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. There has to be a way.”
He sighs heavily, and I can almost picture the weight of the world on his shoulders. “There are two ways. One is impossible, and the other involves bloodshed.”
I think about it, a sick part of me entertaining the idea if it means I’d get to see Mina play Juliet. “Tell me about them.”
“The first way—the impossible way—is for the person who called the hit or someone higher than the person who called the hit to call it off.”
“Why is that impossible?”
“Because there’s no way the person who called the hit is going to call it off. And there’s no Andretti higher than the one who called the hit.”
My jaw drops. “How in the world did you piss off the head of the Andretti family? How do you even know the head of the Andretti family?”
From what I know about the Romano family, they’re a massive organization, and with massive organizations, the big fish don’t know the little fish. Just like I doubt the CEO of Starbucks knows all of his employees, I doubt the head of the Romano family knows all of his.
I don’t know much about the Andretti family, but I assume the same logic applies. And for some reason, I thought Niccolaio was small game. Yeah, he’s intimidating as heck and obviously wealthy enough to be at the top.
But at the same time… it just didn’t make sense in my head for him to be a big dog from the Andretti family. After all, he’s an Andretti in Romano territory. If he’s truly important, wouldn’t he be living in Andretti territory rather than on enemy turf?
“He’s my little brother.”
My jaw drops, and I reel at the information, which is a lot to take in. If the head of the Andretti family is Niccolaio’s little brother, then Niccolaio isn’t just affiliated with the mafia. He’s the mafia royalty. And something tells me that if whatever went down didn’t happen, I would be living with the head of the Andretti family. Not a disgraced heir-in-hiding. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that, so I push the thought aside and focus on the other ridiculous implication of his statement.
“Your little brother called a hit on you?!” I nearly shout. “Wait… If he’s your younger brother, shouldn’t you outrank him? Can’t you call off the hit yourself?”
He sighs and takes a seat beside me on the couch. “He called a hit on me, because he hasn’t forgiven me for killing my uncle.”
At his words, I’m speechless. I can’t even imagine hurting a hair on Mina’s head, but if push came to shove and I was threatened, I suppose I wouldn’t think twice about hurting either one of my “parents.”
He continues, “And because I killed my uncle, I was excommunicated, which means I forfeited my spot as the future capo bastone—the underboss—and, eventually, when my dad died, the capo famiglia—the boss.”
“And your brother took your place,” I finish and hesitate before adding, “Why did you kill your uncle?”
“Because Asher was going to do it, and it wouldn’t have been a merciful death.”
My heart weeps for Niccolaio. I couldn’t even imagine being put in a situation where I have to kill Mina to protect her from a horrible death. A part of me feels like I’d be too weak to do it.
“Why would Asher want to kill your uncle?” I ask.
“Retaliation. Four days before Asher came to Florida, my dad ordered a hit on Vincent Romano. It failed, and the Romano family sent Asher to retaliate.”
“Why did he order a hit on Vincent Romano?”
“Because the Romanos and Andrettis were—are—at war.”
“Why?”
He laughs loudly, startling me. “Honestly, I don’t know why we’re at war, but it’s always been that way. Been that way since before I was born, too. Sometimes anger is learned, and that’s all you know because it’s all you’ve been taught. That’s where Ranie, my brother, is at right now, and there’s no getting through to him in that state. That’s why I said that Ranie calling this off is impossible. There’s no way it’ll happen.”
“But you said there’s another way.” I hesitate when I see the somber expression on his face. “W-what is it?”
“The blood debt must be repaid.”
“What’s a blood debt?”
“Blood is currency in this world. If you take a certain amount of blood, you’ve gotta give it back. It was the only way that kept us from killing back then, when it was easy to get away with it with the law enforcement.”
“And how much blood did you take?”
“I killed some guy named Angelo. He wasn’t even an associate yet. They’re lowly ranked, ranked lower even than soldiers. And now, I guess, Naz.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. You just have to give two lives worth of blood back? I’ve already seen you shoot two people.”
“It’s not so simple. Angelo was a recruit. Nobody big. Not even fully an Andretti yet. His life doesn’t matter to anyone high up. The situation with Naz is complicated, because he’s a nobody, but his father was a somebody to my Dad.” He sighs. “But my dad is dead, and unless Ranieri is suddenly getting close to old ass men, it won’t matter. Plus, Naz was in Romano territory when that happened. That’s enough to escalate into an all-out mob war if a blood debt is called for that. Nobody will win if that happens, so that will go unretaliated.”
“So that leaves your Uncle Luca.”
“Yeah.”
“But the Romanos were in Andretti territory when he was killed.”
“But a Romano didn’t kill him. I did.”
“So, how do you pay that blood debt?”
“He was a caporegime for the Andretti family. For the blood debt to be repaid, another caporegime has to sacrifice his life.”
I gasp. “Like Vincent Romano.”
Niccolaio reluctantly nods. “Yes, but I would never let that happen. Neither would Asher for that matter.” His eyes meet mine. “There’s another way to pay the blood debt.”
“How?” I ask, though judging by his expression, I know I won’t like the answer.
“When a mafia heir is born, he is automatically and permanently given the title of caporegime. Regardless of excommunication.”
“What are you saying, Niccolaio?”
But I suspect I know what he’s implying. That he can pay the blood debt.
And as mad as I am at him right now, the blood drains from my face when he confirms it.
“If I die, the blood debt is repaid… If I die, all of this ends.”