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Addy starts to move toward the stairs, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. “I’ll give you two some privacy—”
“No, it’s alright,” Nico interrupts, surprising both of us. His eyes flick to mine, seeking confirmation. I give him a slight nod, curiosity piqued. “Stay, please.”
I watch as Addy’s eyes widen slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. She’s pleased, I realize. Pleased to be included, to be trusted. It warms something in my chest to see it, to witness Nico’s acceptance of Addy into our inner circle.
We move to the living room, the soft lights casting a warm glow over the space. Addy and I settle on the couch, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder. Nico takes the armchair across from us, half-reclining.
The room settles into a momentary silence, broken only by the distant lapping of waves against the shore. I absently trace the solitaire ruby of Addy’s ring, grounding myself in its familiarity.
“It’s been a while since you came here, Nico,” I comment, trying to gauge his mood.
My mind wanders to the contrasts in our living situations. Nico’s main home, a penthouse in the heart of Chicago, is a marvel of luxury—sleek lines and modern amenities—while I prefer the endless open space of the beach.
Nico’s lips quirk in a humorless smile. “Too long,” he agrees, his eyes briefly scanning the room again. “It’s a little . . . quiet here though.”
I know he’s commenting on the absence of background music, loud or otherwise. “The waves are loud enough,” I say, “And so is Addy.”
Addy elbows my side in mock outrage, and I send her a wink, but she seems to miss my meaning. Nico, on the other hand, catches it. A soft look enters his eyes and he smiles at her.
“Good to hear, fratellino,” he says, then his gaze shifts to Addy again. “How are the wedding preparations coming along?”
I grind my teeth, forcing myself to stay seated. What the hell is on Nico’s mind?
Addy answers with a polite smile. “Um. It’s going really well. The wedding planner is just as great as Sophie advertised.”
“So,” I say, cutting through the ensuing silence before Nico can ask another pointless question, “you mind cutting the crap? What’s brought you here?”
I feel Addy tense beside me, but I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Dante,” Nico begins, “no one is going to Philly tomorrow after all.”
I furrow my brow, leaning forward slightly. “Why not?”
Nico takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “Because three buildings collapsed in Philly earlier today. They happened to be places housing a number of Shadow gang stragglers and sympathizers. It’s being chalked up to some bullshit about poor structure and inappropriate load.”
He pauses, letting the information sink in while my mind races with the implications.
Three buildings don’t just collapse. This was deliberate, calculated. There’s another player involved here. It couldn’t be the Mob retaliating for Benjamin O’Shea’s death—Nico wiped them out the same night I got Addy out of Philly.
“Most were killed,” Nico continues, his voice low and grave. “Including, unfortunately, our inside man. Which means, for the next few hours, we have no intel apart from the bullshit the media feeds us. One of which is that no hostages were found.”
I hear Addy’s sharp intake of breath beside me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing tightly. I return the pressure, my thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. My own heart races with anger.
“Who did it?” I ask, though I have a sinking feeling I already know the answer.
The silence stretches, and then Nico’s eyes meet mine, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I wondered the same thing, fratellino, until Quinn called me over to the docks half an hour ago. Said he had a special package for Sophie.”
“Quinn?” I frown, caught off guard by the unexpected development. “I thought he was roasting his ass off in Havana. What’s he doing here?”
“Apparently not,” Nico grates. “He showed up in a luxury prison of a truck, with a friend of his who looks just as batshit crazy.”
Nico leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Dante, the psycho had sixteen women in the back of the truck. Cold, scared, barely speaking English. And unhurt.”
The weight of his words hangs in the air. Sixteen women. Victims of the Shadow gang, no doubt. My mind whirls with the implications. We’re no saints, but trafficking? That’s a line we don’t cross. And now, thanks to Quinn’s intervention, we’re entangled in this mess.
Telling Cade about the Shadow gang was like dangling meat in front of a predator.
Addy’s grip on my hand tightens. “Oh my God,” she breathes, “Sophie’s brother went and rescued all those women from the Shadow gang?”
