Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One (3 page)

Marco was on the verge of exhaustion now, his feet dragging, arms threatening to drop altogether. Nico backed him into a corner and pummeled him with three quick jabs, then gave him enough room to stumble off the ropes before finishing him with a light kick to the chest.

Marco fell back, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Nico took off one of his gloves and removed his mouthguard while one of the trainers helped Marco up.

“Good fight,” Nico said, tapping the other man’s glove with his own. “You kept me on my toes.”

Marco took out his mouthguard.

“Thanks, boss.”

They stepped out of the ring. Nico grabbed his towel, stopping to say a few words to the men gathered in the gym, making a point to ask about their families. He’d learned this brand of personal attention from his father, who always said family came first. And he didn’t just mean blood family.

For Nico’s father, anyone working under the Vitale umbrella was family, and he’d spent much of his time attending weddings, funerals, and christenings, always leaving a thick envelope of cash as a gift.

When Nico had first started to learn the business, he’d asked his father why he bothered. He was the Boss. His people followed his orders because they wanted to be in the business—and if that wasn’t reason enough, because they might not see another sunrise if they didn’t. Nico’s father had used violence less than the Boston branch of the Syndicate, but it had still been on the table.

They’d been walking in Brooklyn at the time, meeting a bookmaker his father had suspected was skimming money. They had stopped in the street, and his father had pulled Nico to the side and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“In the wild, the weaker members of a pride or pack see to the day to day details, details that insure the survival of the group. Why do they do this while their leader sits by and watches?”

“Because the leader provides protection,” Nico had said, chafing at the simplistic description.

His father had nodded. “And in our world, how often do we have a chance to demonstrate a willingness to protect what is ours?”

Nico thought about it. “It depends.”

“It’s a rare circumstance in which one of our soldiers is repeatedly under threat, when we have a chance to prove our worth as head of the family.”

“But going to weddings...”

“Not protection,” his father agreed. “But we prowl the perimeter of our pride, stay on display. Both for the animals who might attack us when we’re not looking, and for those who require reassurance that we’re still vigilant on their behalf.”

Nico swiped bitterly at his face as he left the gym. All of his father’s strategy had been for nothing; his death had come at the hands of someone on the outside. The loyalty of the family hasn’t saved him. It hadn’t saved Nico’s mother either. Their murder made Nico want to rage.

“Nico.”

Luca caught up to him in the hall.

“What is it?” Nico stuffed the memories down as he headed for the stairs.

“Can I have a word?” Luca asked, tucking a large manilla envelope under one arm. “In private?”

“Can it wait?” Nico asked.

Luca shook his head. “I don’t recommend it.”

Nico fought against the weariness that seemed to lurk in his bones the past few months. He was tired. Tired of maintaining a constant wall of strength, of surveying the shadows for the next threat. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. There were supposed to be certain protections inherent in his position. An honor code that insured his safety as long as he followed the rules. The execution of his parents had proved that theory false, but Luca was a good man, probably Nico’s best. If he said he needed a word, it must be important.

“Walk with me to my office,” Nico said, starting up the stairs.

They made their way to the third floor and Nico’s private suite of rooms. There was an uptown office for MediaComm, the legal arm of the Vitale family holdings, but Nico had the brownstone renovated after his father’s death as a way to bring the family’s other enterprises under one roof. Consolidating the illegal part of the business under the guise of a private residence meant it was harder to get a search warrant, although not by much thanks to Homeland Security. They kept it clean, just in case. The little paper they used was immediately scanned and shredded, and their digital files were encrypted by some of the best coders in the world, constantly tested for vulnerability by two notoriously brilliant hackers, one of whom Nico had recruited from the FBI.

He’d taken heat from some of the other families for his “new age” way of doing business, had even been forced to defend the move with Raneiro, but in the end Nico had been right; the Vitale family was more efficient than ever, and his men—and a few women now—seemed to feel more like a cohesive unit.

The renovation had included a private office for Jenna, who managed his personal affairs, a digital lab for the increasingly important business of cyber theft, and the large gym. The basement was soundproof and held rooms for those occasions when they needed to detain someone—like Carlo Rossi’s daughter, who was down there now. But the third floor was all his, complete with an office, a bedroom, and a private bathroom. In some ways it felt more like home than his penthouse near Central Park. Here he could hear the sound of people hurrying up the stairs and down the halls, could feel the energy of the finely-tuned machine he was building.

His apartment was like a tomb. Silent and sterile.

He stepped into his office and stripped off his sweaty tank top, then grabbed a clean T-shirt from the second drawer in his desk. He would shower and clean up after his conversation with Luca.

“What’s up?” he finally asked.

Luca handed him the manila envelope. “We have a problem with Dante Santoro.”

Nico opened the envelope, skimming the report before he dropped it in the shredder. Then he turned his attention to the photos. He forced his face to remain impassive. The girl’s face was a mass of blue and purple bruises, her lip split, her nose at an angle that could only mean it had been broken. The rest of her body was more of the same.

Nico put the pictures back into the envelope.

“What does he say?” Nico asked.

Luca shrugged, but Nico could see the anger burning in the other man’s eyes. “Sex got rough, but it was consensual.”

“Is she asking for anything?”

“No, but she doesn’t have much. We might be able to offer help with medical bills and something for pain and suffering.”

“Is that what you recommend?” Nico asked.

Luca’s mouth twisted in disgust. “I recommend we take Dante out behind the woodshed and show him how it feels to fight a man.”

“That’s not off the table,” Nico said. He paused. “Has anything like this happened before?”

“A few bar fights, domestic claim from a girlfriend who later recanted, scrap with an off duty detective... but nothing like this, no.”

“Offer the girl cash, and plenty of it. Tell her Dante is being dealt with. He won’t hurt her again. Then you and Marco deal with Dante. Make it look good. I want the others to know I won’t stand for this.”

Luca nodded but made no move to leave.

“Is there something else?” Nico asked.

“Carlo’s daughter still isn’t eating,” he said.

Nico sat back in his chair. Kidnapping Carlo Rossi’s daughter had been a last resort. It was necessary, but that didn’t mean he liked it. And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone saying he’d starved her if she made it out alive.

“How many days?” Nico asked.

“Five,” Luca said. “Any word on the old man?”

Nico shook his head. “We put the word out, but nothing so far.”

“You don’t think the bastard would leave her to us, do you?” Luca asked.

“I don’t want to believe it, but it’s hard to say,” Nico said. “Word on the street is the son’s gay. Carlo hasn’t talked to him since he came out.”

“Not surprised. Half the goombahs in the northeast would still feel the same way,” Luca said. “Like it’s the fucking dark ages.”

Nico frowned but let the cursing go. He didn’t allow his soldiers to curse while on the job. It was part of the reorganization—the building of a modern, efficient army with the intellect and respect of a more elegant time. Call it the Broken Window theory of mob management. But he and Luca were alone. And they weren’t exactly boy scouts.

“Angelica is his only daughter,” Nico finally said. “He’d have to be the devil incarnate to leave her with us.”

“From what I’ve heard, that’s not as far-fetched as it sounds,” Luca said. “What should we do about her?”

Nico stood. “I’ll be down after I shower and change.”

6

She was almost elated. Now at least, something would happen. The knowledge that she probably wouldn’t like it was responsible for the knot in her stomach, and she spent the next couple of hours staring at the door, feeling slightly nauseous.

She forced herself to remain seated when she heard a key in the lock on the other side of the door. She wasn’t going to give the asshole—whoever he or she was—the satisfaction of knowing she was scared. But all of her big plans went out the window the moment the man swept into the room.

He was tall and powerfully built, his broad shoulders straining at the rich fabric of his designer suit. Everything about him was leonine, from the thick, dark hair combed back from his face, to the pronounced cheekbones over the strong set of his jaw. He moved quickly and gracefully toward her, not a shred of indecision in his gait.

But it was his eyes that made her stand, that forced her back against the wall.

They might have been brown, but the flecks of amber glowing from their depths made them look almost green. She had a flash of the black panthers she had loved at the zoo when she was little. Their unflinching gaze had been predatory, the raw power in their prowl both frightening and awe-inspiring. They had drawn her like a magnet.

Now, she had that same sensation. Like she was helpless in the face of him, forced to wait until he devoured her. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Like this man, whoever he was, had sucked all the oxygen out of the room with his mere presence.

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of her, and her breath came fast and heavy as he stared her down, eyes locked on hers.

Finally, he spoke. “Is there a problem?”

His voice was deep and sure, with the diction she recognized from her wealthy classmates at boarding school. The question threw her for a loop (who was she kidding? he threw her for a loop), and it took few seconds to summon the anger that had been her companion during her hunger strike.

“You bet your ass there is.” She pushed her chin into the air. “Your men drugged me, kidnapped me, and kept me prisoner. I’d say that’s a big fucking problem.”

“My men didn’t do any of that,” he said.

She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t that. “Then who did?”

“I did.” He leaned down, his face mere inches from hers, and she caught a whiff of something musky and elemental laced with soap. She had a sudden flash of herself naked, wrapped in his suit jacket, infused with his scent. She was trying to shake the image from her mind when he continued. “And that’s because nothing happens here without my approval. Nothing. Do you understand?”

He held her captive with his eyes, and she hoped he couldn’t see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Or that at least he would think it was fear. Because now that they were face to face, fear was a lot more palatable than the lust fighting for position in her body. And there was no denying the desire coursing through her veins. She felt it from the surface of her skin, only inches from the crisp wool of his suit, to the longing that beat like a drum at the center of her body.

She wanted to slap herself for nodding.

“Good,” he continued. “Because while you’re here, you will abide by the same rules as everyone else. Which means you will obey my every order without question. That includes eating. And if you don’t, I might have to bring your brother in to keep you company.”

His mention of David was like a slap to her face. “David…”

“Will be fine,” he finished. “And so will you, as long as you do as you’re told.”

“What’s the point of eating if you’re going to kill me anyway?” she finally asked.

He didn’t flinch. “As long as you’re quiet and cooperative, you’ll be set free as soon as I get what I want.”

So she’d been right. Ransom. “Why should I trust anything you say?”

He stood a little straighter, pulling back enough that she felt like she could breathe again. “Whether you trust me or not is of no concern to me, Angelica.” She was still recovering from his use of her name when he turned around and headed for the door. “But you do have my word.”

She was reeling from her contact with him, questions swarming her mind. He was almost out the door by the time she fought through the noise in her brain to find the one thing she was desperate to know.

“Who are you?”

He stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “I’m Nico Vitale,” he said. “And I can either be your greatest ally or your worst enemy. It’s up to you.”

7

Nico pulled on gray sweats and left his building before the sun came up. He jogged toward the river, keeping the pace light until he hit the Parkway.

He’d slept fitfully, his altercation with Carlo Rossi’s daughter running loops in in his mind. He didn’t know what he’d expected. He’d seen pictures of her in the planning stages of the kidnapping, but the photographs hadn’t done her justice. She was beautiful, with golden hair that fell in waves to her waist and green eyes he’d almost gotten lost in. But it was more than that, more even than the soft swell of her curves, a contrast to all the women in the city who honed themselves to lean, hard planes that offered little in the way of comfort.

It had been in her eyes; something familiar and lonely. It had connected to a hidden part of his psyche, and in the moment he’d stood in front of her, all he’d wanted was to banish it from her forever.

He pushed himself to pick up the pace, a kind of punishment for his lack of discipline. His hormones were obviously out of control. The girl was a very important pawn in a very important game of chess; his only hope of getting the security tape that would incriminate Carlo Rossi in the death of his parents. He could sleep with any girl in the city.