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Nico and I exchange glances. Surely, she’s not that naïve.
“Albert likes his rituals,” I start to answer.
I might not be the future Don, but right now, I’m the one most prepared to respond. Nico isn’t good with emotions and he’s about as subtle as an atomic bomb. This world, our world – it requires a certain amount of finesse to ease her into.
As soon as the light changes, Nico accelerates as if we’re on a fucking racetrack instead of a city street.
Our backs hit the seats and I swear under my breath.
“Nico! What the fuck is the matter with you?” Christina yells, reaching around to smack him on the arm.
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” A smile curls on his face, one that has nothing to do with pleasure. “What’s wrong with me is you. You, Christina. Specifically, the fact that your mother married my father and now we’re fucking stepsiblings and I’ve been charged with protecting the next little Mafia princess until she’s properly married off. Any guesses on who that is?”
Goddamn it, Nico.
She opens and closes her mouth in shock. I swear, I can hear the gallop of her heartbeat from here.
“Excuse me? W-what are you talking about?” She stutters.
I glance at her in the rear-view mirror, taking in her furrowed brow. Her wide eyes shift back and forth from Nico to me. She looks scared.
Shit.
She really has no idea what’s going on.
“Do you know where you are?” Nico asks, his voice suddenly cold.
“Millbury,” she answers, promptly.
“And do you know who controls Millbury?” He sneers.
He’s being a dick about this and it’s entirely unnecessary. When I glance back at her in the mirror, I see her wince when she puts it together.
“No.” She shakes her head. The tears welling in her eyes begin to spill over.
“Oh, yes. Your mother married into the Mafia, Christina.” Nico’s words are cold and fast.
“That pretty little dress you’re wearing? Paid for by the crimes of my father. You’re welcome, by the way.”
I hear her sharp intake of breath and I sigh heavily.
“No,” she cries. “You’re lying!”
Nico pulls out his piece and waves it around.
“Does this look like I’m lying to you?”
“Jesus, Nico – put it away. You’re scaring her.” I growl.
Reluctantly, he sets it on the console, and I double-check to make sure the safety is on.
“You should accept the facts, dear, sweet Christina,” he continues, his tone mocking, “Your perfect, justice-driven mother sold her morals, her soul, and you, the second she decided to hook up with my father.”
The pain written across her face tears me up inside. I wish I could take it away from her or take her away from this.
When Nico gets in these moods, he’s almost impossible to handle.
I knew I should’ve told her myself.
