Page 104 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
We all spring into action, crowding around Niccolaio as he accepts the video call. But when a face comes onto the screen that isn’t Vincent’s, I take in a sharp intake of breath. Black hair. Chocolate brown eyes. The same strong jaw. I’ve never seen him before, but I know who he is.
And when he opens his mouth and says, “Hello, brother,” my suspicions are confirmed.
This is Ranieri Andretti.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
To be wronged is nothing,
unless you continue to remember it.
Confucius
Ranie’s face fills the screen¸ and I don’t think I’ve ever hated it more.
“Why the fuck do you have Vincent Romano’s phone, Ranie?” I snarl.
A scowl crosses his face. “It’s Ranieri to you.”
“Just answer the fucking question.”
“You owe me a blood debt, and imagine my surprise when Vincent fucking Romano just offers himself as a sacrifice.”
Oh, God.
Tell me you didn’t, Vince.
“No. I don’t accept his sacrifice,” I protest.
Ranie smirks, and I wonder when he became this person, so eager for blood and death. Did I do this to him? Is it because of that goddamn night?
“Well, it’s not really your decision. Is it, Niccolaio? And I most definitely do.” He leans the phone against something and backs up, so we have a view of the room. Of Vince. “Any last words, Romano?”
Vince is sitting at the dining table. I recognize it immediately. There’s a half-eaten steak dinner in front of him, and aside from the healing bruise my fists caused, it looks like he’s been treated well.
At least there are small mercies.
Vince looks at the screen. “Is Asher there?”
I pass the phone to Asher, who answers with a guttural, “Vince.”
The four of us clear the room to give Asher privacy, Lucy still crying silent tears for Vince—and probably for Asher’s loss, too. Minka takes my hand and leads me onto the balcony.
She turns to face me. “This isn’t your fault.”
But that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“It’s my blood debt. It’s my fault.”
“And Vincent chose to sacrifice himself for it. It was his decision. His choice. No one’s fault but his.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue with her today. “I don’t know how I’ll ever live with myself if he dies, Minka.”
She looks at me with a stubborn expression on her beautiful face. “We’re going to be happy, Niccolaio Cristiano Andretti. I think I deserve it, and I definitely know you do.”
And for a wonderful moment, I believe her. I thought I needed the Andrettis—that they were my identity, my essence—but I was wrong… I need Minka.
It occurs to me that the motivation for my words and my actions are her. Since she came into my life, intruding on me like a bad case of lice, my world has been consumed by her. If I wash her off, she always comes back. If I brush her off of me, she flies back to me. And just when I finally think I’ve rid myself of her, I find she’s still here, hidden beneath my skin.
