Page 63 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Nick says there’s no chance he’ll wake up from the strong sedatives, but this is my first time in a situation even remotely like this one, and I’d rather not take any chances. And given the fact that this is my first time, I feel as if I should be panicked, concerned, shocked, or anything other than the calm I’m feeling right now.
Until now, I didn’t realize how unfazed I am by things that should trouble me. Even at a young age, I remember people commenting on this trait of mine, but it’s been some time since I’ve done anything quite so discerning.
Unless you count gold digging, which tore me apart, but I’ve long since gotten used to it. Heck, even then, it only took me one day to get used to gold digging. Whenever the feelings and panic threaten to overcome me, all I have to do is think of Mina, and I conquer the wave of emotions.
When my mom first left me, I used to cry every night. And each time, Mrs. Rosario, the woman who raised me for a bit after my biological parents pawned me off onto her, would tell me to picture a bunch of waves. Each wave was an emotion that I could surf over until there were no emotions, no pain left. It worked, and still works, like a charm.
Back then, I was always going on and on about how I wanted to be a lawyer like Mrs. Rosario’s dead son. So, Mrs. Rosario would tell me that I was fearless and that, because of it, I’d make a good lawyer one day.
Father dearest, on the other hand, told me I had the makings of a good whore—quiet and discreet.
Given my life choices, I guess they were both somewhat right.
I’m not a prostitute, but I may as well be. I sleep with men; they lavish me with expensive jewelry and clothes; and by the time they’ve moved onto the next girl, I’ve sold it all. I’m also on track to becoming a lawyer.
Go figure.
At the same time, it’s odd that I’m okay with this situation with Nick, almost comforted by the familiarity of crime, yet I have to smother my panic at the idea of having to sleep with John or another mark once more. So, maybe Daddy Dearest was wrong.
I take more comfort than I should in that thought.
“What are you thinking about?” Nick asks, his eyes glancing from the car’s rear view mirror to the side mirror.
We’ve been driving in random paths around town for the past hour. I think this is Nick’s way of getting rid of tails, but other than his bodyguards following in the car behind us and the millions of taxicabs that look identical, I haven’t recognized a single car.
This man brings a new meaning to paranoid.
Then again, I suppose I have my moments, too. I glance at Jax, sedated, gagged, blindfolded, and tied up in the back seat.
I return my gaze to Nick. “I’m thinking of Mina,” I say, not quite lying but not quite telling the truth either.
Truthfully, if Mina’s not in the forefront of my mind, she’s always in the back of my mind. So, technically, I’m always thinking about her.
Nick spares a moment to glance at me, and I think I’m hallucinating when I see a spark of concern in his usually impassive demeanor. “What about Mina?”
“I was supposed to visit her today. Saturdays are my days with Mina.”
“And you couldn’t because of this,” he finishes for me.
I nod. “When do you think I can?”
He hesitates, which immediately causes me to stiffen. “Honestly… not for some time. It’s not safe for you. Or her.”
I want to argue, but I don’t. If he thinks I shouldn’t, I should listen to him. I’ll never forgive myself if I bring Mina into this mess and she somehow gets hurt, and above all, Mina’s safety is the most important thing to me.
But at the same time, I need to make sure things are okay with Mina at the group home. I usually get my reports on Mina’s wellbeing from Erica, Mina’s social worker, on Saturdays, and without those, I can’t make sure she’s being fed well, happy or doing well in school.
I’m not happy about this, and I find myself—thankfully—resenting Nick again. I allow my familiar annoyance at him to settle against my chest, making sure to lock the sentiment there. I can’t allow myself to forget that I dislike him, because after all of this is over, I have to go back to my normal life, where rent and school and gold digging are my reality.
Just because I was able
to talk about my past with him doesn’t mean that we’re friends or will ever be friends. This man is connected to the mafia, and I’m trying to keep a clean record to get my sister back. It’s a convincing argument for why I should distance myself from this man, but my body just isn’t agreeing with my mind.
My body still wants him, and my brain wants to throttle my body.
“You’re mad at me,” he says.
I nod, not bothering to deny it. I’m not just mad at him. I don’t like him. I can’t like him. We’re probably equally to blame for me being in this mess, along with whoever wants to kill Nick…
