The Enforcer (Untamed Hearts Book 3) (44 page)

It was about losing him a long time ago.

It was about the fucking basement.

Not just the first time, but all the times after. Every fuckup Nova had made in the past four years had been taken out on Tino. Then to find out Mary had been using him too, punishing him for being named Moretti, when no one hated that name more than Tino.

It wasn’t until that exact moment that Nova had someone he could hurt in return. Before now the horrible echo of his father’s voice from the past had haunted him. Nova closed his eyes a thousand times over the past four years, remembering Frankie doubling Tino’s punishment when Nova tried to fight back.

And nearly killing Tino in the process.

No one was doubling it this time, or if they were, Nova was past giving a fuck. They’d already taken everything. So Nova had a Carina moment and beat his demons out of Lorenzo Campelli, slamming Lorenzo’s head against the marble so many times Nova’s hand started slipping through his hair from all the blood.

Finally it was Sergio who pointed out, “He’s…very dead, Moretti.”

Nova still had a lifetime of demons, so he thumped Lorenzo’s skull against the floor one last time and spit on him. He got to his feet, breathing hard, nearly busting his ass in his Versace shoes when he stepped around Lorenzo’s prone body into puddles of blood. Then, just because he was still raging and Carlo, his uncle, his friend, Nova’s
only friend
except for his brothers, was on his way to probably kill Tino, Nova kicked Lorenzo violently enough that it forced his body over.

Several of the council members blanched at the gruesome sight, but Dante De Luca just looked at the body and said, “That’s why it’s
our thing
. Siciliani get the job done.”

Nova wiped his hands on his pants and used the sleeve of his jacket to brush his face off. He spit on Lorenzo’s dead body one more, because he didn’t want that motherfucker’s blood anywhere near his mouth.

Then Nova said, “There’s your bones, Brambino. Succhiacazzi.”

“Yeah, I feel better now,” Dante said when the rest of the commission was still silent. “I’ll ride with you, Moretti.”

“Fine,” Nova agreed. His heart was still thundering, and way in the back of his mind behind the throbbing fear over Tino, he realized he’d just killed a man in front of a dozen witnesses. Any one of whom could flip to the feds and send Nova to prison for life, but it was fucking done now, so he found his briefcase where he’d left it and brushed at his suit again. “You coming, Monte?”

Monte was still standing there, staring at Lorenzo’s dead body. He shook his head slowly and said, “I was gonna wrap things up here.”

“Whatever,” Nova said dismissively and started walking toward the stairs to the back entrance, knowing Monte didn’t want to be there if Tino ended up dead.

The same couldn’t be said for Dante De Luca. He followed after Nova, only stopping to call out, “Help them clean that up, Serg. It’s the least we can fucking do.”

“Yeah, sure, Zu,” Sergio agreed like it was nothing. “Call me.”

Dante waved at him, and together he and Nova walked out the back door toward Tino’s fate. They took the Moretti limo, and Dante was quiet as Nova used hand sanitizer to clean off his hands and then brushed his face against his suit sleeve again to get the last of Lorenzo Campelli off him.

“Who was the other picture?” Dante asked when Nova had resorted to staring out the window, trying to keep himself from breaking down in front of this mafia underboss who was a temporary ally for now, and the most dangerous of potential enemies the rest of the time.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nova continued to stare out the window as he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from losing it over Tino. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m worried about it. Who is it, Moretti?”

“I’m having a bad fucking day, De Luca,” Nova growled at him, his voice still shaking in fury as he turned back to glare at him. “Back off!”

“Yeah.” Dante looked to the ceiling thoughtfully and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I had your back. I threw my weight behind an eighteen-year-old kid. I know you think you’re smart—”

Nova snorted and looked away at that.

“And you made a helluva first impression with the Lorenzo shit. Very old-school. Very Siciliano,” Dante went on as he stretched out in the seat across from Nova, making room for his long legs. “But you’re still green, and it’s obvious. Now, we can be friends, or I can turn into a real asshole. Your choice.”

Nova looked back to Dante, knowing he would much rather deal with the De Lucas as allies.

So Nova put his suitcase on his lap and said, “Fine.”

He opened it and pulled out the picture he’d put back at the last second in the commission meeting and handed it to Dante.

Dante looked at the image and then flipped it over, studying the back, which was blank. “What’s his name?”

Nova looked out the window again. “Anthony.”

“Looks like a big guy. How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

Nova glanced back to see Dante staring at the picture before he asked, “He’s a De Luca, isn’t he?”

“Hard to miss a De Luca,” Nova had to agree. “Probably why you fucking followed me.”

Dante kept staring at the picture. “Who’s his father? I mean, it’s pretty obvious, and I know my pop, but—”

“He’s your brother,” Nova finally decided to admit, as Anthony De Luca’s secrets became another casualty to Cosa Nostra politics.

“Jesus, Moretti.” Dante looked at Nova, completely thunderstruck. “Why didn’t you use this? You know I would’ve voted different. Now there’s a fucking peace treaty. As long as the Brambinos pay—”

“I dunno.” Nova shrugged. “You De Lucas, you’re a little too intense about merda. I figured you wouldn’t appreciate all your business hanging out on the table. You had my back, so I pulled it.”

Dante nodded, still looking at the picture, before he lifted his head and asked, “Who made more, your brother or my brother?”

“Really?” Nova asked in disbelief. “You just found out you have a brother, and that’s what matters to you? That pisses me off, De Luca.”

“I’m just curious. I’m gathering all the information. If we’re putting price tags on names.”

“It’s more than the name.” Nova felt his stomach churn even as he said it. “There’s a lotta disturbing variables.”

“So?”

“Your brother made more.” Nova looked out the window again, because he didn’t want to fucking deal with this anymore. “He made more than all of them. He was their top earner. Congratulations. De Lucas win.”

“No shit?” Dante said distantly. “He looks like me.”

“Yup, weird how that happens,” Nova agreed. “I guess if you ever get tired of being capo bastone, you got other options.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

The fucking aspirin made Brianna fade out.

Now it was just Tino in a basement.

Throat swollen because the cup of water that came with the aspirin hadn’t been enough. All it really did was take Brianna away, but his heartbeat still pounded in his ears. His shoulder was on fire.

To say nothing of his leg.

And his back wasn’t feeling too fucking great either.

He finally glanced away from the ray of light cast across the stairs after staring at it until his eyes burned, waiting for his Brianna to show back up, even if she was just a hallucination. He looked at the pants they’d put on him, old suit pants, thank fucking God, because he would’ve passed out if they tried to pull jeans over his thigh.

He shifted, propping up his good leg, trying like hell to take some pressure off his back and shoulder, but fuck it, nothing was helping.

Stupid fucking aspirin.

They didn’t have some goddamn oxys up there?

What the hell was wrong with the Savios?

But Tino knew drugs weren’t the Savios’ racket.

The Morettis had it covered, and it was a sure fucking bet three days into a Moretti basement, they would’ve tossed him something more interesting than aspirin to get rid of a fever.

Actually, Tino was pretty sure no one managed to live three days in a Moretti basement. This had to be a Cosa Nostra record. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with the Savios?
Can’t even get the fucking job done.

Tino was done with these Northern Italian families.

Fucking done!

Give him a few guineas with some blowtorches any day of the week over a group of Northern Italians letting him politely rot to death rather than get their hands dirty.

Tino hated being filthy, and he really hated dark, stanky basements that smelled moldy and probably had fucking rats hiding somewhere.

But through the haze of pain and thirst, Tino did remember something about Nova. He noticed the pants again and started putting it together. The aspirin worked well enough to make the wheels in his brain start turning, but not nearly enough to fight the pain.

Then the door opened, and Tino looked to the ray of the light.

Boots instead of highline shoes.

Jeans instead of suit pants.

The door closed and locked, like someone above was told to stand guard, and fuck the aspirin, because Tino understood. No one wanted to see the boots and jeans when everything about Cosa Nostra was all business.

When it got messy enough for boots, shit was
very
deep.

The first time Tino met his zio, he’d thought Carlo was the angel of death, and his opinion had never changed. Sure, Carlo talked too much when he smoked, and he hung around with teenagers because Tino and Nova were the only two people in the Borgata who understood, but at the end of the day, he was death for the Morettis.

Anyone in Cosa Nostra could be a killer.

Most were.

But it took someone with a special brand of fucked-up luck to be an enforcer.

To handle the shit no one else wanted to handle.

To smoke out the rats.

To be mafia justice that was oftentimes unfair.

And if someone came up the family really cared about, they’d send an enforcer, because at least then they’d know it’d be fast. Maybe painless. To ease their guilt a little bit.

“What fucking bullshit,” Tino whispered, his voice scratchy as Carlo fell down on his knees in front of him. Carlo grabbed Tino’s head and pressed his forehead to Tino’s as a broken sob burst out of him. All Tino could say was, “You and Lola deserve each other. She’s got shit luck too.”

Carlo didn’t say anything.

He didn’t acknowledge anything about Lola.

He just fished in his back pocket and pulled out a small metal tool that looked like a tiny saw. He reached past Tino and messed with the handcuffs, even though he could’ve probably asked the Savios for the key, since it was clear they were fine with him being here.

But it was obviously easier for him to pick it, because he got them open fast and tossed them aside with a loud
clank
. Tino slid to the floor, rolled on his good side, and tried to move his arm, but his shoulder was still totally jacked up. The shock from being freed sent the pain radiating up both his arms. He wanted to cry; instead he groaned in misery. “Cazzo.”

“It’s dislocated.” Carlo touched Tino’s shoulder gently. “You want me—”

“Don’t touch it,” Tino growled at him, because he wouldn’t consider Carlo his prime choice for a doctor. “Just fucking leave it.”

“They said you were shot.” Carlo kept his hand on Tino’s shoulder. “Is it bad?”

Tino couldn’t answer him. He was still trying to keep his shit together. He hurt all over, and like it was in the shower, he wanted to fucking die.

To be done with it.

He could’ve asked for water. Instead he said, “Just fucking do it.”

Carlo was quiet for a second, before he whispered, “Nova got you a pass.”

Tino was still fighting the pain, but the aspirin did enough that he knew something wasn’t right. If Nova had gotten him the pass, then Nova would be here instead of Carlo. So he craned his neck and looked at Carlo over his shoulder. “But—”

Carlo sat and brought his legs around. He rested his chin on his knees, and for one crazy moment, Carlo looked vulnerable, letting Tino see what he must’ve been like as a kid running wild in Washington Heights.

The original Peter Pan.

Before Cosa Nostra got him and turned him into a pirate instead.

“Nova got the client list,” Carlo whispered. “Actually, Carina got the client list, but Nova exposed it. ’Cept, you know, he didn’t consider what would happen when dozens of made men found out you were fucking their wives.”

Tino snorted, because Nova, the guy who thought of everything, didn’t consider the one thing Tino thought about all the time.

“Most of the families voted to ice you. ’Cept the De Lucas. They stood with Nova. It was sorta a north-south civil-war thing. Italiano style.”

“And—” Tino pressed.

“You have to be an enforcer.” Carlo choked on the words. “I love Nova. He’s the only real friend I’ve ever had in my life.”

Tino was quiet, because he knew Carlo was Nova’s only friend too.

“But I swear to God, Tino, I don’t think I love him enough to do this.” Carlo looked to Tino, and tears rolled down his cheeks, making his blue eyes glimmer in the dim lighting. “You’re not just my nephew. You’re like my little brother too. Do you understand what being an enforcer means?”

Tino studied him for a long time but didn’t say anything.

“Anyone can come up.” Carlo’s voice cracked. “Your brother. Your sister. The old man. The one kid you thought was safe from this bullshit. I’ve considered a lotta people. I’ve spent nights worrying that one day Nova’s brain would make them too nervous, and I’d get a piece of paper with his name on it, but I never thought it would be you. That’s what sucks. It hits you when you least expect it. It could be
anyone
, Tino.”

Tino rolled back on his side and closed his eyes. He was tired as hell, since it’d been almost impossible to get any real sleep handcuffed like that.

“But what the fuck am I supposed to do? Let the Savios do it?” Carlo said bitterly. “Once that name’s on the paper, they’re already dead. All we do is send them home the best way possible.”

“And me?” Tino asked. “How’re you sending me home?”