Chapter 11: Betrayal’s Sting (Nico Valenti POV)
Chapter 11: Betrayal’s Sting (Nico Valenti POV)
I’m standing in the doorway of The Black Rose, my hand still on my knife as Luca pulls the door open. Gia’s there, her hair damp from the fog, clutching a crumpled photo in her fist. My stomach drops when I see it, me and Luca, kissing in the backroom, caught like a snapshot of a crime. I snatch it from her, my fingers crushing the edges, and hold it up. “Where’d you get this?” I demand, my voice sharp enough to cut.
Gia steps inside, brushing past Luca, her boots tracking mud on the floor. “Found it behind the bar,” she says, crossing her arms. “Someone left it there, Nico. People are talking. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I slam my fist on the nearest table, coasters scattering across the wood. Luca flinches, grabbing a rag from the counter and gripping it tight. I step closer to Gia, waving the photo in her face. “You think showing up with this is helping?”
She doesn’t back down, her eyes narrowing. “You’re the one screwing this up,” she snaps. “You’re distracted, and Antonio’s noticing. You want to lose everything for him?” She jerks her chin at Luca, who’s wiping the counter now, his movements quick, like he’s trying to stay out of it.
I grab her arm, pulling her toward the kitchen, away from Luca. “Don’t you dare put this on him,” I hiss, shoving the photo into my pocket. “You’ve been sniffing around us since day one. What’s your game, Gia?”
She yanks her arm free, grabbing a glass from the sink and filling it with water. “My game?” she says, taking a sip. “I’m your sister, Nico. I’m trying to keep you alive. You think the family’s gonna let this slide?”
I rip the photo out again, storming to the sink. I grab a matchbook from a drawer, strike a match, and hold it to the corner of the picture. The flames curl the edges, blackening our faces, and I drop it into the sink, watching it burn. The smoke stings my nose, and I turn on the faucet, dousing the ashes. “No one’s letting anything slide,” I say, turning to her. “You’re done meddling.”
Gia sets her glass down hard, water sloshing over the rim. “You’re blind,” she says, grabbing her jacket from a chair. “Keep playing house, and see what happens.” She heads for the door, her boots thudding, and slams it behind her.
I lean on the counter, rubbing my keychain cross between my fingers, the metal warm from my grip. Luca steps over, his rag still in hand, and touches my arm. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft.
I shake my head, pulling him into a tight hug, my chin resting on his head. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my hands gripping his jacket. “She shouldn’t have that. Shouldn’t be in our business.”
He hugs me back, his fingers curling into my shirt. “It’s not your fault,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “But… what if she’s right? What if people know?”
I grab his shoulders, holding his gaze. “Let ‘em know,” I say. “I’m not hiding you.”
He smiles, small but real, and tucks a curl behind his ear. I let go, grabbing a broom from the corner to sweep up the mud Gia tracked in. Luca picks up the coasters, stacking them neatly on the table, and we work in quiet, the bar’s hum of the fridge filling the space.
I’m dumping the dustpan into a trash can when Luca grabs a mop, starting on a sticky spot by the bar. “What’s next?” he asks, pushing the mop back and forth. “With Gia, I mean.”
I lean the broom against the wall, wiping my hands on my jeans. “I’m watching her,” I say. “She’s hiding something. That ledger she brought, it’s got holes. I’m meeting Marco tonight to dig into it.”
He nods, wringing out the mop, water splashing into a bucket. “Want me to come?”
“No,” I say, too quick. I soften my tone, stepping closer. “You’re safer here. I’ll be back before your shift ends.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, hanging the mop on a rack. I grab a crate of bottles from the storeroom, helping him restock the bar. We move fast, stacking whiskey and vodka, our hands brushing as we pass bottles. A delivery truck rumbles outside, its brakes squealing, and I check my watch, 4:17 p.m.
“Let’s eat before I go,” I say, grabbing my phone to order a pizza. Luca pulls two stools to the bar, and we sit, waiting for the delivery. He grabs a pen from the counter, doodling on a napkin, little swirls and lines, a habit when he’s thinking.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at the napkin.
He shrugs, pushing it toward me. “Just messing around. Used to draw a lot back home.”
I look at it, the lines forming a rough sketch of a tree. “It’s good,” I say, sliding it back. “You should do more.”
He smiles, folding the napkin and tucking it into his pocket. The pizza arrives, and I pay the delivery guy, setting the box on the bar. We eat straight from it, cheese stretching as we pull slices apart. Luca wipes sauce from his chin, laughing when I flick a crust at him. It’s normal, easy, and for a minute, I forget the photo, Gia, all of it.
We finish eating, and I grab a rag, wiping down the bar while Luca stacks the pizza box with others by the trash. “You sure you’re good here alone?” I ask, tossing the rag into the sink.
“Yeah,” he says, grabbing a notebook to check inventory. “I’ll lock up tight. Go do your thing with Marco.”
I nod, pulling him into another hug, quick but firm. “Stay sharp,” I say, grabbing my jacket from a hook. I’m halfway to the door when Luca calls after me.
“Nico,” he says, holding up a bottle of soda. “Take this. You didn’t drink anything.”
I smirk, grabbing it and twisting the cap off. “Thanks,” I say, taking a sip before heading out. The fog’s thicker now, clinging to the street, and I zip my jacket up, my boots crunching gravel as I walk to my truck. I’m unlocking the door when I hear a faint clatter, a cat knocking over a can in the alley. I shake it off, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
I’m pulling onto the street, the soda bottle in the cupholder, when I decide to swing by the Valenti gym first, see if Raf’s there. I need answers, about the ledger, the cash Luca saw him pass, everything. I’m turning the corner, the wipers swiping fog from the windshield, when a loud explosion rumbles through the air, shaking the truck’s windows. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t need to check it to know, a Valenti stash house across town just went up in flames.