Page 95 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Niccolaio doesn’t come home by the time I’ve fallen asleep. But sometime in the night, I wake up to the sound of pounding. There’s rain pouring down on the roof of the warehouse, but in addition to that sound, I think I hear another.
I jump out of bed, wary to investigate. When I exit the bedroom, I follow the sound to an open door at the end of the hall. There’s exercise equipment set up everywhere in it, but when my gaze lands in the center of the room, I stop, startled by the mess in here.
There’s some sort of sand pouring out of a disfigured black leather thing in the center of the room. Beside it stands a shirtless Niccolaio, a knife in one hand and in the other a clenched fist.
I eye him warily. “What’s this?”
“A punching bag.”
“Doesn’t look like one.”
“I was mad.”
I hesitate. “At who?”
“Myself.”
Again, I hesitate. I’m not used to comforting anyone but Mina, but lately, she hasn’t needed much comfort. In fact, I think she’s been pretty happy for a while now. So, I’m wary when I take a few steps forward, towards Niccolaio, trudging on only because I hate seeing him like this. So angry. Raw. Defeated.
“What happened?” I ask.
He stops slicing the bag and drops the knife on the floor, but his back is still facing me, the tan muscles rigid. “Vincent Romano has cancer,” he says, his voice defeated.
“What?”
“Vincent Romano has cancer, and I just tortured him. I punched him. I accused him of leaking our safe house, but it wasn’t Vincent. It was John. FUCK!” he shouts before his voice dips into a broken whisper, “I’m a monster, Minka. You’re better off without me.”
“I— Joh—” I struggle with what to say, overloaded by the information he sent my way.
With the lives we’ve lived, we both always assume the worst. It’s been programmed into us. It sucks, but it’s the way life made us. I refuse to believe Niccolaio is a bad person. Not given what I’ve seen of him.
For a while, words evade me, but finally, I settle on what I mean the most. “You’re not a monster, Niccolaio. You’re a good person. You’ve defended me. You jumped in front of a bullet for me. Twic—”
“If you think I’m a good person when I’m defending you, then I’m doing it wrong.”
“You know what? Exactly. Defending me tonight… You’re doing it right. What happened tonight… You were just reacting to me being in danger. You can’t hate yourself for that. You’re not a monster, Niccolaio.”
I approach him and hesitantly put a hand on his bare back, shivering at the contact, until he shrugs me off. Instinctively, I take a few steps back, as if the distance will protect my heart from the sudden stab of pain at his dismissal.
Finally—finally—he looks me in the eyes… and says, “You’re better off without me.”
And then he takes off, not once looking back. He doesn’t even slow. I reach out to touch him, but he slips past me, angling his body away from me, so it doesn’t brush mine as he passes.
And I don’t know why he’s fighting me. Fighting this. Us. But it hurts.
It hurts so darn much.
I’m grateful when Mina calls me, happy for any distraction from Niccolaio. After our discussion earlier, he entered one of the bedrooms in the warehouse and hasn’t left since. I couldn’t go back to sleep, and the whole day passed by with an agonizing slowness. Now, it’s nighttime, and I still haven’t seen him leave the room.
And I may or may not have been lurking in the halls every few minutes.
Mina happens to be catching me during one of those times. I press answer for the video call and head down the hall towards the office, where the WiFi connection is strongest. I stay in the hall, though, uncomfortable with the idea of entering Niccolaio’s office uninvited.
“Hey, Minka!”
“What’s up, kiddo?”
“I’m twelve,” she reminds me.
