Page 93 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Vincent sighs, a resigned look on his face. “You know what your problem is, son?”
“I wasn’t aware that I have any.”
He ignores my attitude. “You’re too guarded.”
“And I have reason to be.” I look pointedly at the tied up men surrounding Vincent, all willing to and happy to lay down their lives for him.
The hypocrisy, to me, is obvious.
Again, he ignores me. “Yet, in the oddest of moments, you’re willing to sacrifice so much for people.”
“Perhaps that’s why I’m guarded. I’ve sacrificed too much for others. Maybe I’m sick of being burned?” I say, referring to the sacrifices I made for my brother and even Naz.
“Perhaps,” he agrees. “But that’s a sad way to live life, no?”
I grunt in agreement, because how can I argue with that?
“Look, Vincent. Cut the bull shit. We can stand around all day or we can end this now. You gotta know I won’t let up. Why did you leak our location?”
“I didn’t, son,” he says, and his voice is so damn earnest that I believe him for a second.
But who else could? Aside from my guards, who I monitor without their knowledge, no one else, not a single other person, has the location of the safe house. No one. Only Vincent fucking Romano, and here he is telling me he didn’t do it?
Fucking bull.
“Doesn’t the lying get old?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Does it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You lie to yourself every day, Niccolaio Cristiano Andretti. You miss your brother, but you hide behind your anger for him.” I suck in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t relent. “You’re lonely, but you refuse to spend time with me or Asher when we offer. And we do. Often. You look at me like a father figure, but you push me away every time we talk. Hell, I bet you do the same with that girl of yours. Minka. You love her, don’t you? What do you do there? Weave a grand tale of woes and danger? Tell yourself you can’t be with her, that one of you isn’t good for the other?”
Jesus. Vi
ncent Romano is tearing me apart. He’s taking the man I think I am, and he’s dismantling it. I want him to stop, but I don’t have any words in me to speak out. Why is he saying this? Why does he even care to say this? Is this some sort of reverse interrogation tactic that I’ve never in a million years thought of employing?
And that stuff about Minka. Christ. I don’t love her. I can’t. And I am bad for her.
At my silence, he pauses and looks me in the eye. “When will you let yourself be happy, son?”
“How can I be happy with there’s a goddamn hit on my head? A hit my own brother put out on me.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Niccolaio. You’re angry. I get that. But at some point in your life, you’ve gotta learn how to forgive. Otherwise, your anger will eat away at you until the only thing left is that pride of yours that’s done you no good anyway.”
“Stop,” I demand. “Stop it and just answer my fucking question. Why did you release the address?”
“I didn’t. And if you’d stop, you’d realize that I care about you too much to do that. Just look at me.”
“What?”
“Really look at me, and what do you see?”
I see… a man who’s strong of mind but not of body. How the hell did that happen?
“What… what are you trying to tell me, Vince?”
Vince.
