Chapter 25: Dangerous Games (Nico Valenti POV)
Chapter 25: Dangerous Games (Nico Valenti POV)
I’m crouched behind a pile of fish crates at slip 17, the pier’s rotten wood creaking under my boots, the air thick with salt and diesel. My gun’s heavy in my hand, and my thumb’s grinding my cross keychain, the metal warm from my grip. Luca’s ahead, his hood up, weaving through stacks of lobster traps toward Gia’s meeting spot, a battered fishing boat tied to the dock’s far end, its name, Rusty Dawn, peeling off the hull. Her text to Luca, Meet me at the pier. Alone, screamed trap, and I’m not letting him face her without me.
I pull my phone, texting Marco: At slip 17. Luca’s meeting Gia. Secure the perimeter. His reply’s instant: Got two guys on the warehouse side. O’Connor crew spotted earlier, stay sharp. I pocket it, easing forward, sticking to the shadows of a rusted crane. Luca’s climbing onto the boat now, his sneakers thudding on the deck, and Gia’s voice cuts through the slap of waves, raw and desperate. “Leave Nico, Luca,” she says, her words sharp enough to slice. “He’s dragging you into a war you can’t win.”
My pulse spikes, rage curling in my chest, but I hold still, listening. Luca’s voice is steady, defiant. “You’re wrong,” he says. “You’re the one feeding Sean O’Connor our moves.”
I inch closer, ducking behind a coil of rope, and catch sight of them, Gia pacing the deck, her jacket unzipped, Luca standing tall, his hand twitching near his pocket where his knife’s tucked. “I’m saving you,” Gia snaps, grabbing his sleeve. “Nico’s chained to Antonio. He’ll let you burn to save himself.”
I’m done hiding. I step onto the boat, the deck groaning under my weight, my gun raised but pointed down. “Get your hands off him,” I say, my voice a low growl, my cap pulled low.
Gia whips around, her eyes flashing, then narrowing. “You’re spying on us?” she says, stepping toward me, her boots scuffing the deck. “You’re gonna get him killed, Nico!”
Luca jumps between us, his hands raised, tucking a curl behind his ear. “Enough!” he says, his voice sharp but steady. “Gia, tell us what you’re doing with Sean. No more lies.”
I ease my gun lower, but my fist’s balled tight, itching to swing. “She’s been calling him,” I say, pulling a folded printout from my pocket, Marco’s trace of her burner, dates and times all linking to O’Connor’s number. “You’re selling Valenti routes. Sal’s blood’s on you.”
Gia snatches the printout, her hands trembling as she scans it, then tosses it onto a crate. “You think you’ve got me figured out?” she says, her voice cracking. “I’m keeping Sean off your back. He’s got Raf by the throat, dirt that could sink him.”
“Bullshit,” I say, stepping closer, my boots inches from hers. “You’re trading our lives for your own skin.”
Luca grabs my arm, his grip firm, his eyes pleading. “Nico, hear her out,” he says, then turns to Gia. “What dirt? What’s Raf doing?”
She kicks a loose board, her jaw tight, and grabs a cigarette from her pocket, lighting it with a flick of her lighter. “Raf’s been skimming cash,” she says, exhaling smoke. “Moving it to an O’Connor account to cover his gambling debts. I told Sean I’d keep him updated on Raf, but only to buy you two time.”
I pull the receipt Luca found at the bar, $50,000 deposit to an O’Connor front, and hold it up. “This?” I say, my voice low, sharp. “You knew Raf was laundering our money?”
She nods, flicking ash into the water. “I found out last week. Sean’s demanding it back tonight, or he’s coming for you both.”
Luca steps closer to her, his hand brushing her jacket pocket, quick and subtle, checking for anything, another phone, a note. He pulls back, shaking his head at me, nothing found. “Why not tell us?” he asks her, his voice softer now. “Why go behind our backs?”
“Because you’re too loyal to him,” Gia says, pointing at me, her cigarette glowing. “Nico’s blind to Antonio’s leash. I’m trying to cut you free.”
I’m about to snap back when a dock worker, greasy coveralls, name tag reading Pete, shuffles past, eyeing us. I slip him a twenty, leaning close. “Anyone else on this pier?” I ask, my voice low.
He pockets the cash, scratching his beard. “Saw a big guy, scar on his neck, by the warehouse ten minutes ago,” he says, then hurries off, his toolbox clanking.
My phone buzzes, Marco: O’Connor thug headed your way. Matches Raf’s gambling slips, scar on neck. I shove it in my pocket, grabbing Luca’s arm. “We’re out,” I say, pulling him toward the dock.
Gia lunges, grabbing my sleeve, her cigarette falling, hissing out in a puddle. “Nico, don’t do this,” she says, her voice breaking. “Sean’s not playing.”
I yank free, my patience gone. “Neither am I,” I say, pushing Luca ahead. But before we hit the dock, a figure steps into the light at the pier’s end, big, scar snaking down his neck, the same O’Connor thug from Raf’s betting slips, his gun drawn, aimed straight at us.