Page 46 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
twenty years old
Naz pulls a shiny Smith and Wesson out from the waistband of his jeans, while the other guy pulls out a Colt with the outline of a snake etched into the base.
Turning to the guy beside him, Naz says, “Watch and learn, man. Watch and learn. They’ll be begging me to come back to Florida after this. I’ll be a fucking legend, dude.”
Man, don’t fucking do it, Naz, I beg in my head, still hidden from view.
And he does it.
I watch as he eyes the guy beside him and gives him a smirk before lifting his gun in Asher’s direction. Already, three Romano men have joined Asher and another is exiting the car. If Naz does this, he’ll die.
He thinks he can take on this many men, because he’s seen me do it.
But he isn’t me, and he doesn’t know what Asher is capable of. Up until a month ago, Asher was virtually an unknown entity in the mafia world. He came out of nowhere, and if Naz has even a semblance of a brain in his head, that should tell him all he needs to know about Asher. But of course, it would be asking too much to ask Naz to think things through.
So before I can second guess myself, I pull the gun I used to kill Uncle Luca out of the holster hidden underneath my hoodie. I shoot to kill the guy beside Naz, then I shoot Naz’s hand, the one holding the gun.
Asher turns to us, and the guys behind him pull out their weapons.
But Asher holds up a fist when he sees me, and his companions lower their guns.
“Niccolaio?!” Naz exclaims, clutching his injured hand tightly. His eyes are trained on mine, equal parts vehemence and disbelief in them.
If I look closely, I suspect I’d see the betrayal in them, too, which is why I don’t look too closely. Instead, I quickly reassess the situation and make a decision. The gun lays on the ground beside Naz. I ignore him, reach down and grab his Smith and Wesson and his friend’s Colt, too. I pocket them both in the waistband of my pants, keeping my gun in my right hand but loosely at my side.
Asher approaches us. When he looks at the dead guy on the ground, I shake my head, indicating that he’s no longer alive. Asher nods and turns his attention on Naz, who—like the idiot he is—is trying to get up.
I use my left foot and push Naz back down, knowing if he gets up, he’ll only make things worse for himself.
“Fucking traitor scum. You don’t deserve the Andretti name,” Naz spits out.
I don’t say anything, because I was expecting the insults the moment Naz spit out my name like it was an incurable disease. Instead of rising to the bait, I keep my mouth shut and wait to see what Asher will do.
He gives me a look that brings me back to the night I killed Uncle Luca, when he gave me that same look. We had just escaped the compound after Ranieri took one look at me exiting Uncle Luca’s room with Asher and ran into his bedroom for a weapon.
I had no doubt that he called Dad after that, and we were now targets in Andretti territory. I had to get out of there, and I didn’t know what to do. Asher stared at me, gave me this odd look like I surprised him, and then he just left.
And I was on my own.
Now, a month later, I can’t exactly say that I’ve been doing very well on my own.
But I’m alive, and that’s gotta count for something.
From beneath my foot, Naz snarls, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Niccolaio? Ya know, I didn’t believe them when they said you killed Luca. But I should have known you were scum. Do you know who this man is? Asher fucking Black. How much is he paying you?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “First you take Luca’s life, and now you save his life?”
Asher arches his brow as if to say, yeah, why’d you save my life?
But the truth is, I didn’t save Asher’s life.
I saved Naz’s.
The ungrateful shit just doesn’t realize it.
But if I let him kill Asher, Asher’s men would have mowed him down. He was out numbered, and there was a good reason why Naz had been sent to the border. He isn’t like me or Asher. He’s like one of those five pound Chihuahas that thinks that he’s a German Shepherd or some shit. The only reason he’s under the protection of the Andretti family is because his dad is cool with mine.
Other than that, he’s pretty much good for nothing. But still, once upon a time, he was my friend. And for some reason, that still matters to me, so I did what I can. I saved him, and in doing so, I happened to save Asher.
Now, I’m standing silently, waiting to see what the consequences of that are. I know Asher will piece together why I did this—if he hasn’t already. It’s just a matter of time. And once he does, I wonder what he’ll do to me.
