Chapter 17: Family Fractures (Nico Valenti POV)
Chapter 17: Family Fractures (Nico Valenti POV)
I’m sitting in a greasy diner on the edge of town, the vinyl booth squeaking under me as I grip a coffee mug, waiting for Gia. Her call last night, sobbing, saying she didn’t mean for this to happen, has my head spinning. Joey’s blood on the pavement, the O’Connor insignia, Raf’s knife in the office, it’s all piling up, and I need answers. The diner smells like burnt toast and bacon, and a waitress drops a plate behind the counter, the crash making me flinch. I rub my keychain cross, the metal warm in my pocket, trying to keep my temper in check.
Gia slides into the booth across from me, her jacket damp from the drizzle outside. She grabs a sugar packet, tearing it open and dumping it into her coffee, avoiding my eyes. “You wanted to talk,” she says, stirring the spoon with a clink.
I slam my mug down, coffee sloshing over the rim. “What the hell did you mean, ‘you didn’t mean for this’?” I say, leaning forward. “Joey’s in the hospital, Gia. O’Connors are hitting us. Start talking.”
She sets the spoon down, her fingers twitching. “I was trying to protect us,” she says, her voice low. “The family’s falling apart, Nico. Antonio’s losing patience, and you’re… distracted.”
“Distracted?” I grab a napkin, wiping the spilled coffee, my hand shaking. “You mean Luca. Say it.”
She glances around, then leans in. “Fine. Luca. You think nobody notices? I’ve been talking to someone, an O’Connor contact, to keep things calm, to stop a full-on war.”
I freeze, my fingers crushing the napkin. “You’re working with O’Connors?” I say, my voice a growl. “Who, Gia? Tommy? Give me a name.”
She shakes her head, grabbing her coffee and taking a sip. “I can’t,” she says. “It’s not like that. I’m just passing info, keeping them off our backs.”
I stand, tossing the napkin onto the table. “You’re betraying us,” I say, loud enough that a guy at the counter glances over. “Joey’s bleeding out because of you.”
“That’s not true!” she snaps, standing too, her chair scraping the floor. “I didn’t tell them to hit Joey. I didn’t know about the stash house. Nico, I’m trying to save us.”
I rub my cross harder, torn between the sister I grew up with and the liar in front of me. “You’re done,” I say, pointing at her. “No more deals, no more secrets. I’m telling Antonio.”
She grabs my arm, her nails digging in. “Don’t,” she says, her voice breaking. “He’ll kill me, Nico. Please.”
I yank my arm free, grabbing my jacket from the booth. “You should’ve thought of that,” I say, tossing a few bucks on the table for the coffee. I storm out, the door jangling behind me, and kick a pebble on the sidewalk, watching it skitter into a puddle. The drizzle’s heavier now, soaking my cap, and I pull it lower, heading to my truck.
I climb in, slamming the door, and start the engine, the wipers swiping rain from the windshield. My phone buzzes, Marco, texting: Raf’s at the docks. Meet me there. I pocket it, deciding to swing by The Black Rose first to check on Luca. The drive’s quick, the streets slick, and a kid on a skateboard swerves past, nearly clipping my bumper. I park out front, unlocking the bar door and stepping inside.
Luca’s behind the counter, stacking crates, his sleeves rolled up. He glances up, setting a bottle down. “You look pissed,” he says, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. “What happened with Gia?”
I grab a stool, sitting heavily. “She’s been talking to an O’Connor,” I say, tossing my cap onto the bar. “Won’t say who. Claims she’s protecting the family.”
Luca stops wiping, his eyes narrowing. “You believe her?”
I rub my cross, shaking my head. “Don’t know,” I say. “She’s scared, but she’s lying about something.”
He nods, grabbing a broom and sweeping dirt from the floor. “What’s the plan?” he asks, pushing the bristles around a table.
“Meeting Marco at the docks,” I say, standing. “Raf’s there. I’m getting answers.”
Luca sets the broom aside, stepping closer. “Let me come,” he says, zipping his jacket.
“No,” I say, grabbing his shoulders. “You’re staying here. It’s safer.”
He pulls away, crossing his arms. “I’m not helpless, Nico,” he says, his voice sharp. “I can handle it.”
I sigh, pulling him into a quick hug. “I know,” I say, my lips brushing his forehead. “But I need you safe. Please.”
He nods, reluctant, and grabs a crate, restocking bottles. I help, stacking glasses, our hands brushing as we work. A delivery truck rumbles past, its brakes squealing, and I check my watch, 11:47 a.m. “I’ll be back before your shift ends,” I say, grabbing my cap.
“Be careful,” Luca says, tossing me a bottle of water. I catch it, smirking, and head out, locking the door behind me. The drive to the docks is tense, my fingers tapping the wheel, Gia’s words looping in my head. I park near a warehouse, spotting Marco by a stack of crates, lighting a cigarette.
“Raf’s inside,” Marco says, blowing smoke. “Acting jumpy. You ready?”
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my knife from my belt. We head in, the warehouse smelling of oil and salt, and I spot Raf by a forklift, checking a clipboard. I grab his arm, spinning him around. “We need to talk,” I say, my voice low.
He yanks free, tossing the clipboard onto a crate. “What now, Nico?” he says, his eyes darting to Marco.
“Receipts,” I say, pulling one from my pocket and holding it up. “Cash deposits. You know anything?”
Raf smirks, grabbing a cigarette from his pack. “You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he says, lighting it with a match. “Talk to your sister.”
I step closer, my knife glinting. “I’m talking to you,” I say. “Last chance.”
Marco grabs Raf’s shoulder, stopping him from walking away. “Answer him,” Marco says, his voice calm but hard.
Raf blows smoke, shrugging. “I don’t know nothing,” he says. “Check the books yourself.”
I shove the receipt back in my pocket, letting him go, for now. “I’m watching you,” I say, turning to Marco. “Let’s check the office here. Might be more.”
We head to a small room off the warehouse, flipping through files on a desk. I grab a ledger, scanning numbers, but nothing jumps out. Marco pockets a few papers, promising to dig deeper. I’m folding a receipt when my phone buzzes, a text from Luca: Bar’s fine. Miss you. I smile, texting back: Back soon.
I’m about to head out when I decide to swing by the bar again, make sure Luca’s okay. The drive’s quick, and I park out front, stepping inside.
(Luca Moretti POV)
I’m wiping tables at The Black Rose, the rag damp in my hand, humming a tune to stay calm. Nico’s off chasing Raf, and I’m stuck here, the plywood window making the bar feel like a trap. Two of Antonio’s men, big guys in leather jackets, are at a corner table, muttering over beers. I keep my head down, polishing a spot on the table, but their voices carry.
“Nico’s secret’s out,” one says, his voice low, a smirk in it. “Antonio knows.”
I freeze, my hand tightening on the rag, and glance over, pretending to stack coasters.