He wraps his arms around himself in a way thatalmostlooks protective, but it’s not like Nick Fontana would ever feel vulnerable. Right?
“When I was a stupid kid, I joined the Gees. I was a little shit back then, thought I was the bomb, and I was tired of New Jersey. I wanted to run with the New York mobsters. I wanted to know what it felt like to have that kind of…of power. Now I’m older and I’m less stupid, I can see it for what it was.” I don’t interrupt, I just raise a questioning eyebrow. “Fear,” he says. “I was still closeted when I joined. So deep in and so fucking afraid of myself that some part of me thought joining a Family would prove to myself that I wasn’t…” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “By the time I realized I didn’t want to hide anymore—by the timetheyrealized what I was—I was already made. So if they wanted to ice me, they had to ask the Commission. And, well, they did.”
“Holy shit,” I murmur, partly because I’m so caught up in the story, and partly because I’ve never heard Nicky talk this much in one go before. He speaks slowly, but with no faltering, more like this story has been inside him for a while, but he never said it out loud before. I’m also wondering what any of this has to do with when we first met.
“I never heard what the final vote was,” Nick goes on, “but Idoknow Tino Morelli was against it. And in those days, the Commission was still pretending they were honorable men; they needed a unanimous vote to approve hits on any made men. So Jimmy G was pissed, but he couldn’t take me out, and he didn’t have the balls to go against the Commission. So instead of killing me, he did the next best thing: he set me up.”
It’s starting to come back to me now. Nick nods slowly as he sees comprehension start to dawn on my face.
“Yeah. So one day I was the sucker who turned up at the docks waiting for a shipment to come in, except the only arrival that night was the DEA. I went down real fast after that. Gees wouldn’t send a lawyer, and the one I had appointed to me didn’t give a fuck about a low-level soldier. I ended up inside looking at a long stretch.” Unconsciously, he hugs himself even tighter.
“And you weren’t supposed to leave there alive,” I say, and he nods slowly, staring out the windscreen unseeingly.
“A lot of men tried. I defended myself, but I never killed anyone, because I knew that’d keep me there forever. I had this stupid hope that one day, maybe, I’d have more than walls to stare at. One day I’d have a view. One day I’d get out of the box I was in.”
His apartment makes so much more sense to me, now. No way anyone could feel confined with those huge windows and soaring ceilings. The neatness and precision of every part of his home—I’ve seen that before in men who’ve done time. A psych explained it to me once as a prisoner’s coping mechanism, a way to exert some small control over their surroundings when the truth is, they have none.
“And then, one day,” Nicky continues, and my heart squeezes tight in my chest, because I know what’s coming next. “One day, this asshole lawyer turned up to see me. He talked fast and he kept looking at his watch, this gold Rolex. He told me I had a friend who was looking to get me out; that he was going to take care of everything; that all I had to do was agree to let him represent me.”
“You—” I start to say, and I have to clear my throat. I remember that day. It was a few months post-law school. I was new to the firm and my father had lit a fire under my ass, told me I had a year to prove myself or I was done. And I was under so much pressure to make my hours that month that it felt like a punishment when I was handed this low-level shitty problem and told to get a guy out of prison because Tino Morelli wanted him out. That was it. The Boss wanted him; we were expected to provide. “You looked different back then,” I say, trying again.
“Yeah. I was not, as they say, in a great place.”
I remember him now. The long, greasy hair falling into his face as he stared down at the Formica tabletop. The sallow skin of a man who never sees much sun. The nervous, jumpy energy rolling off him, his eyes darting everywhere except to me, his muscles tensed for preemptive action. He was big. He was fuckingscary. The whole time I was there, I avoided eye contact. I tried to get in and get the hell out, because I always hated going into prisons and talking to these dumb fucking lowlifes who’d been stupid enough to get caught.
I lived for the courtroom. That was where I could shine, where I could impress, where I could—frankly—show off. Going to call on prisoners was a waste of my valuable time and talent, and when I had to do it, I tried to make sure the other person understood how grateful they should be. How superior I was. Howbeneath methe whole thing was.
It was an attitude I’d picked up from my father.
“I wasn’t in such a great place either,” I say now. “I’m sorry if I—if I made you feel—”
His head snaps around and his eyes go wide. “You got nothing to apologize for, Harvard. You were the first person to give me any kind of hope. And the day they took me in front of the judge and you stood up and said a few words, made some jokes at the DA’s expense, made the whole room laugh at the law itself…” A small smile tugs at his mouth and he shakes his head in admiration. “I’d never seen anything like it.”
I put my face in my hands. “Christ, I’m such an asshole.”
“Maybe. But you got me out, Harvard. You got me out, and that day right there, I knew…” He trails off, so I look up again in curiosity.
“Knew what?”
His eyes slide away from mine before I can read them. “That I never wanted to go back inside. That I’d do whatever it took to make enough money to be untouchable. Because that’s what I learned that day: money makes the law. When you’re rich enough, you can do what you want.”
He’s not wrong about that. I’ve seen justice trumped by the almighty dollar too many times to argue with his logic, and it explains a lot about his fixation on money. But that’s not what he first meant to say.
I wantso badlyto know what he first meant to say.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nick
Ineed to shut my mouth before I say something I regret. I’ve never talked about those days inside, about how hard it was. Other guys wear their time with pride, make sure everyone sees their tats, brag about what they did in there and how they ran the place. To hear some of them tell it, they lived in luxury and leisure while they waited down the clock.
That’s not how it was. Not for me, anyway. I felt like a caged animal, felt like every wall, every brick, every bar in the place was built specially to keep me in there. Over time, the things that made memewere slipping away. I trusted no one and I kept to myself, turning down every offer of alliance or friendship from the prison gangs. Looking back, I can see the Morellis were looking out for me even then; there was no way I could have survived otherwise. Even someone as well-equipped to protect themselves as me couldn’t have taken on a whole group of bloodthirsty Gees. Someone was pulling strings to make sure I stayed alive.
And so I might’ve been dumb enough to fall for a setup, but I was still smart enough to accept an offer to join the Morellis when it came. Besides, I reasoned at the time, at least I could always count on them to send a lawyer. A smart, funny, sexy lawyer who made me take interest in the world outside my box for the first time in a year.
“We better get going,” I say, and start the car.
Carlo clears his throat. “So, where next?”
