Niccolo Fierri [Book #2]

Chapter 15

And I also know that I crossed the line with Mia. It's how I've always been. Pushing people away, instilling fear, and causing fights is how I cope. It's how I cope with loss, abandonment.

My father wasn't the first person who left me. But I sure as hell will make him the last. If pushing people away and making them hate me is what I have to do to protect my heart from being broken again, then that is what I'll do.

I'll do whatever it takes to prevent my heart from experiencing such heartache both when my father died and all those years ago.

Never again will I allow such a weak emotion to consume me, devour me like that again.

Looking up from the pavement, I skim my surroundings. I'm far from the house now, having walked through the city, and passing by several bars and restaurants in the process.

The city is lit up, the beauty of New York providing light to my darkened thoughts. Entering into a dark alleyway with a dim lamp light and dumpsters, I focus my attention back onto the cracked concrete pavement.

Slipping through the alleyway, I sense someone watching me from behind. I keep my attention straight ahead to avoid having the alleged stalker from knowing I'm on to them.

I'm far too paranoid to ever allow anyone or anything to slip from my grasp. I notice everything.

I can hear tires scraping against tar. It sounds heavy like some sort of van.

I silently curse to myself when I realize I don't have my gun on me. I carry it with me at all times. But because I helped my mother cook dinner, I had set it down. My mother doesn't like guns, so I respect her wishes by keeping it out of view, unless necessary.

The black van as dark as night pulls up beside me, the headlights turned off and the glass windows tinted. I may not have my gun, but I'm not entirely defenseless either.

My father taught us, trained us to become the killers, protectors, businessmen we are today. He was an amazing teacher and taught us well. I still have the scars to prove it.

He was a shitty father, and treated us more like students than his children. I despise him for not being the father I always dreamt about, pictured in my head.

I remember him being standoffish, serious, angry. I don't like what my mother said about me acting like him, because it's the truth. I'm more like him than I'd like to admit.

Marcellius may be the spitting image of our father personality wise as well physically, but it is I who managed to take on his whore-ish behavior, his anger, and his love for torture.

I wouldn't be half the man he is if it wasn't for him. I don't know whether that's good or bad. That still has yet to be determined.

The window is slowly rolled down and a familiar face is revealed. I roll my eyes.

"What the hell do you want Sin?"

"Tell me where you've hid the girl?"

I knew who he was talking about immediately. I chuckled, a wicked smile forming on my lips. "You speak of her as if she's still alive Sin?"

I'm not looking at him, but I can feel the way his pupils have enlarged. He bares his narrow teeth, the cigar he has languidly hanging out the corner of his mouth filling the car with a fog of gray smoke.

"You wouldn't kill her," he says, convinced I'm bluffing.

"Chiaramente non mi hai incontrato, Sin(You clearly have not met me, Sin)," I tell him in my native tongue.

Grumbling and cursing to himself in anger, he grows impatient. His voice is now raised as he speaks in almost a shout. "Don't fuck around with me Niccolo," he seethes. "Dov'è lei(where is she)!?"

I don't respond as I'm unable to speak from the wide smile reaching my eyes.

I continue walking, but before I can react, the van door is being flung open, darkness suddenly surrounds me and then I'm being thrown into what I'm sure is the van.

My head jerks to the side at the sudden blow to my jaw. Blood floods my mouth, my jaw tight, sore, bruised. I part my lips and allow the blood and saliva to spill onto my shirt.

I didn't much care for suits as Marcellius did, but this shit was expensive. And now I'm pissed off by the fact that my suit was now drenched in blood. At least it was my own.

"Since you won't give us the girl, I'll have no choice but to keep you hostage until what is rightfully ours is returned."

I burst into laughter. "You'll be waiting a long time." My brothers know I can handle myself. I don't need them coming to play my knight and shining armor.

Sin might torture me for awhile. But in my opinion, that's more of a dream than a nightmare. My father trained me for this very moment.

Sin won't be able to break me. He'll grow bored when he realizes he won't get shit from me, and then he'll have to either kill me or let me go.

"Maybe so, but if I send back a limb I'm sure they'll come running."

I'm hit again, but this time I taste the metal from the gun cracking at my jaw repeatedly. I spit the blood from my mouth and continue laughing.

He lifts the bag clouding my vision, hoping he'll find me terrified for my life. But to his dismay, and my delight, he finds a smirk on my face.

Grunting in a furious rage, Sin pulls the cigar from his mouth and begins burning holes into my clothing and skin. Shit. That actually hurts- hurts good.

Finally registering that he's not going to get the reaction he wants, he tugs the sack back down over my face, darkness surrounding me.

He's torturing the wrong Fierri. Maybe if he'd kidnapped Luciano, then he'd get the information he so desperately wants.

But I'm not him. I'm Niccolo motherfucking Fierri. And Sin's in for one hell of a wild ride if he's think I'm afraid, or ever will be afraid of him. Torture me all he wants, but he's not getting shit from me.

Fino al giorno della mia morte(until the day I die).

Those words mean nothing to the world, but everything to a Fierri and it's Mafia. Sin's going to have to send me back in a box, because he's never going to see me sweat.

Never.