Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Art became my everything.
And now it’s all I have left again.
I lift my face to the sunless sky and suck in a mind-clearing breath and smile to myself because whatever happens, I know I am going to be okay.
My life is an adventure full of friends, art, and cocktails.
And I will never let another knock take my confidence away from me again.
5
Nico
“This might be more trouble than it’s worth,” my brother says as we step out of the Escalade and start walking toward the back door of The Olive Grove, one of the best restaurants in the city.
The renowned food magazine Finest Eats calls it bold and innovative, with a menu that never fails to deliver. Apparently, they’re booked out eleven weeks in advance.
I check the door, and it’s unlocked.
For an old Mafia boss, Vincent Isle Ciccula’s office is surprisingly easy to access.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Massimo questions me, his brow furrowed with concern.
“More than I fucking want to breathe,” I say, tapping into the rage that has kept me focused on my goal for the past ten years. “It kills two birds with one stone. I avoid the nightmare of marrying Bianca Bamcorda, and I get to break Vincent Isle Ciccula’s heart. So yeah, I’m fucking sure I want to do this.”
I reach for the door, but Massimo stops me. “You haven’t seen him in ten years.”
“So?”
“You have a lot of anger toward this man. I just don’t want you fucking shooting him because your emotions get the better of you.”
“You know me better than that, brother. My emotions never get the better of me.”
“Only because you don’t have any,” Massimo quips, opening the door and letting me walk in first. “Just don’t murder him, okay? Not today.”
“Scouts honor,” I deadpan.
“Like you were ever a Scout,” he mumbles as he follows me into the club's back entrance.
Behind us, two of my most trusted men follow, ready to bring hell with them if this meeting goes south.
We’re met by one of Vincent’s bodyguards who leads us through the kitchen to an office where the man who led my mother to suicide sits behind a desk. Two bodyguards stand in the corners of the room behind him. Seated in a chair across the room, Alberto Giabelli sits like a man who has no care in the world. But I know Alberto. Any sign of trouble and he’ll have his firearm out of his shoulder holster quicker than Cool Hand Luke in a gunfight.
I ignore the older mobster and fix my gaze on the man I plan to destroy.
Massimo was right to be worried.
Being face-to-face with Vincent makes me want to put a bullet in him.
But I manage to control the pain and anger. It’s something I’ve gotten good at in the past decade.
Vincent doesn’t stand. He remains seated, his hands confidently folded in front of him on the desk. “And so the De Kysa cub finally shows his face. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Outwardly, I maintain my poker face, but inside, I’m bristling at him calling me a cub. He’s right to distinguish that I am different from my father. I’m far more ruthless, and if he calls me cub again, it’s only fair to show him just how ruthless that is.
“Still a slave to the Macallan, I see,” I say, nodding to the glass of amber liquid on the desk in front of him. Beside it is a bottle of the thirty-year-old single malt scotch. I know it well. Woody, smoky, and fucking delicious. Worth every penny of the thousand-dollar price tag.
Vincent offers me an empty smile with dead eyes. “Old habits die slowly.”
“I suppose they do.”
The atmosphere in the room is tight.
“I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss what scotch I like to drink. I hear you’re the head of the De Kysa now that your father has stepped down.” His tone is condescending. He thinks he has the upper hand, but he’s going to find out just how wrong he is.
I decide to toy with him a little.
Payback for his condescending tone.
“Oh, I’m not here to walk down memory lane. I’ve come here for my money.”
Vincent laughs at me, giving me another reason on the long list of reasons I should shoot him.
“And what money is that?”
“Two hundred million.”
He laughs at me again. “For what?”
“The money you borrowed against your portfolio for the Lexington deal.”
The blood drains from Vincent’s face as the pieces tumble into place in his brain.
He’s not laughing now.
“How the fuck do you know about that?” His voice is low and threatening.
I scoff and adjust the cuffs of my shirtsleeves. “You borrowed two hundred million dollars from Bramco & Stokes Financial. Bramco & Stokes Financial is owned by Sky Raker Corporation, and Sky Raker Corporation is owned by…?” I lift my eyebrows as if I’m encouraging a five-year-old to respond.