Page 103 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
“You live next door to me.”
“And how often do you ever see me leave the brownstone?’
He sighs. Resigned. “Rarely.”
“Exactly. You fucked up. I wouldn’t have come after you. I don’t give a shit about you. Now, on the other hand, I have to do something about you.”
r /> “I-I won’t… It was a mistake. I won’t come after you again.”
“Are you familiar with the Syndicate?” Niccolaio asks, his tone ruthless.
John nods his head, dread filling his face. Before we came here, Niccolaio explained to me what the Syndicate is. No matter how often the five syndicates—De Luca, Andretti, Romano, Camerino, and Rossi—fight, they’re still part of one larger Italian syndicate, run by one godfather and counseled by the the five capo famiglias (bosses) of each individual family.
Like a normal company, the Syndicate has receptionists, and part of what they do is process hit orders. Like the one out on Niccolaio, which was approved thanks to the blood debt. And like the one Niccolaio put out on John, which was approved because John came after him first.
“I put a hit out on you,” Niccolaio says, causing John to pale. “Contingent on my death. If I die, you die.”
“B-but what if you die before me, and it’s not because of me?”
“You better pray to God that I don’t die.”
“Please. Call it off.” John is begging now. “I won’t do it again. It was a mistake. I just wanted to make everything safe for Ashley.”
“And that would have worked if you had killed me, but you didn’t. Now, look where we are. You stepped wrong, John. This is the consequence.”
And then, Niccolaio and I exit John’s brownstone, leaving him and Ashley tied up. As we walk past the door, Niccolaio gets a phone call from Asher, and the blood drains from his face, causing me to tense.
John is dealt with. That’s one problem less. We should be feeling better, even though there’s still a $5 million hit on Niccolaio’s head. But his expression right now? It doesn’t look like everything is going to be okay.
“What happened?” I ask, breathlessly waiting for a response.
“Vincent Romano is missing.”
Fourteen days.
That’s how long we tear apart the town, fruitlessly scouring the entire city for one man.
That’s how long it’s been since Vincent Romano’s been missing.
And that’s how long it’s been before Niccolaio calls a meeting with Asher, Lucy and Bastian, Vincent’s nephew. The five of us meet at Asher’s penthouse, a lavish ten bedroom apartment close to Wilton, which is convenient for Lucy, since she’s still in school.
The news of Vincent’s disappearance came before Asher and Lucy left for their honeymoon, so when Niccolaio and I enter the penthouse, we find packed suitcases abandoned in the foyer. Niccolaio grabs my hand and leads me into the kitchen, where Lucy, Asher and Bastian are sitting on bar stools at the kitchen island.
When Asher sees us, he immediately springs up, saying, “What is it? Why did you call this meeting? Did you find him?”
Niccolaio runs a hand through his hair, which he’s been doing a lot lately, the stress of what’s happening getting to him. “No, but we need to talk. Dex tracked down that lead we’ve been following.” He’s referring to a burner number that Vincent has called almost twice daily for the past few months. “And… God, Vince didn’t what me to tell you guys this, but given the situation, I think I should.”
Asher grits his teeth. “Spit it the fuck out already.”
“Vincent has cancer. Late stage. The number belongs to his oncologist. God, Asher, he might even be dead already. I don’t know how bad it is, but don’t you see how he’s been looking lately?”
When I found at that Vincent Romano has cancer, it didn’t hit me like it does everyone else. I didn’t know him like these people do, and even I knew through the grapevine the type of person he is. And for that, I mourned the impending loss.
I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment uninvited, as I watch Asher, Lucy and Bastian react to the news. Bastian’s face flits back and forth between sorrow and rage. Asher has a blank mask on, but his shoulders are tense and fists are clenched. Lucy is the strongest of them all, holding her head high, unashamed as fat tears drop down her wet cheeks.
I wait for someone to say something, but a ringing fills the air.
Niccolaio pulls his phone out, his eyes widening when he looks at the screen. “Holy shit, guys.” He shows us the name on the screen. “It’s Vincent.”
