Page 42 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Black and white.
No complexity.
No layers.
It’s easy, and I like it that way.
“Nick,” I say after a long period of silence, giving her the name I give everyone nowadays.
“Nick,” she repeats, playing with my name in her mouth, and I can’t help but wonder how it’d sound like shouted from her mouth in the midst of an orgasm.
I adjust the baby chub that perks up at the thought, taking note that I need to get laid. I haven’t forgotten how fucking turned on I was when I caught her leaving John’s, and she’d almost fallen down the steps. She was wearing jeans that showed off her long legs and perfect ass, and her shirt had ridden up as she stumbled, revealing a Hell of a lot of skin.
> Maybe she’s actually that hot or maybe I really, really need to get laid. After all, it’s been awhile, since there aren’t very many opportunities to do so when you have a hit on your head and stay in your home all day.
I don’t even go out to get groceries. I either have one of the guards get them or I have them delivered, switching services randomly and using my fake name, Nick Andrews, for security reasons.
“How about I hire guards for you?” I say, cutting straight to the chase.
“What?” Her eyes widen in surprised, and for some reason, I think I see panic in them.
Perhaps the idea of more men with weapons following her around scares her?
I try to sell it. “You won’t even know they’re there. My men are well-trained. They can follow you at a distance, where they won’t be intrusive. They can stay outside your room at night or even outside your home. Whatever you want. You’ll never even have to see them if you don’t want to, but they’ll be there to protect you, should you need it.”
She shakes her head adamantly. “No, I don’t want that. Definitely not.”
“Well, it’s better than going to the cops. At worst, they’ll laugh you off. At best, they’ll give you a security detail. One guy, who will park outside your apartment or home for two weeks and leave when nothing happens. I’ll give you a well-trained security detail for as long as you feel like you need it.”
“And what if that’s forever?”
“Then, it’s forever.”
She gives me a disbelieving look.
I gesture around the home, which is clearly a byproduct of wealth. “I’m good for it.”
And I am.
Sort of.
I get a healthy amount of money per hit, ranging from two hundred thousand dollars to as much as five million dollars, depending on how difficult the hit is. But on top of that, I managed to empty my portion of my trust fund before Ranie decided to go after my assets.
I may not be Asher Black rich, but I’m easily wealthier than I’m related to a Rothschild even though it’s through a great great great grandfather’s cousin eight times removed John and tech millionaire and blue blood Dex.
The problem, though, is that I can’t access that money.
It’s hidden in dozens of offshore accounts in case of emergencies. I was stupid when I made the accounts. They’re all under my name. My real name. And if I access the money, I’ll be telling the Andrettis where my money is, in which case, I might not be able to drain all of the accounts before they access them.
I’d rather not risk it.
As is, Asher was the one who bought this house. In a city I’m allowed to live in because the Romano capos allow it. And I’m living off of money I get from hits for the enemy of my family. Hits that Vincent Romano generously hires me for. Under a false identity, Nick Andrews, that Asher’s techies created for me.
I depend so much on the goodwill of the Romano family, and I still can’t help but be amazed by it, given the rough history between the Andretti and Romano families.
But still, I’m good for the deal.
I can’t pay for a lifetime of security, but I can call in some favors from friends of my security guys. Or maybe even use this as a training exercise for some trainees from Asher’s security company, Black Security.
