Page 41 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
And it’s unlikely they would be following her if they didn’t see her with me the night of the shooting. Which means Jax, the guy who shot at us that night, was lying to me when he said he didn’t have a partner.
I’m actually impressed.
I didn’t think he had it in him. When I questioned him that night, he was blabbering like a little boy. By the time I was done questioning him, I had his social security number, the name of the woman who broke his heart, and a promise to name all of his future offspring after me.
I had heartily declined the last offer.
But he just kept going.
T-the first b-boy will be Niccolaio.
The next w-will be Nicholas.
The n-next will be Nico.
The one after th-that will be Nikolaus.
And a-after that, Niklaus.
And if it’s a g-girl, I can do Nikki.
Or m-maybe even Nikita.
Nicole is b-beautiful, also…
I’d left my basement, where I was and still am holding him, after he said, “Niccolaio,” but I watched him go on for hours on the video footage, stuttering his way through hundreds of variations of my name until he finally fell asleep on the hard floor.
He’s still downstairs, and if I walk past the open stairwell to the basement, Red Junior will probably hear him crying, because he does that. He cries a goddamn lot. To the point where I have to wonder if he’s got some developmental issues I should be considerate about.
So, I steer clear of the area and take her into the kitchen.
I offer her a bottle of water from the fridge, and we both take seats on the barstools at the end of the kitchen island.
“My name is Minka,” she finally says.
I nod my head in acknowledgment.
The name suits her. It’s strong but feminine and unique. I’ve certainly never met anyone like her. One moment, she’s an angry ball of fire, and the next moment, she’s this woman before me—not quite meek but not quite fearless either.
And I don’t know how she can be both.
Things are usually black and white in my life.
I have clear priorities and, for the most part, am able to live my life efficiently, making decisions easily and with little fanfare. Take Uncle Luca’s life, for instance. I loved him. I truly did. But I loved Ranieri more, so the choice between Uncle Luca and Ranieri’s life was a simple one.
It was easy to make.
And if that decision didn’t have me struggling to come to terms with life, acting differently and out of character, like a complex human would, then I don’t know what will.
Now, being so near to this woman is almost overwhelming me. She acts so differently each time I see her that I can’t help but wonder how she can be so dynamic. How can she be so complex?
Are there this many layers to every person?
I dismiss that thought as soon as it enters my mind, because if I entertain it, it might make my job of killing people harder.
I kill guys who kill.
It’s that simple.
