“If we’re both working so hard that we’re each other’s only snack on the side…” He flops back onto his side to face me and runs a fingertip across my lips, but his bright eyes make a lie of his laid-back attitude. “And the idea of you, raw, inside me—” He draws in a quick, shuddery breath. “So tell me the truth, Nicky. Are you doing this with anyone else?Haveyou been? Do you plan on it?”
Ever since Carlo Bianchi started giving me the time of day, I’ve turned down every other offer. “There’s no one else.” I swallow down the words that want to come out after that:As if there’s ever truly been anyone for me but you. “If you want to… Well, we can do that. Sure. No rubbers. If you’re telling me there’s no one else for you right now.”
His eyes are melting caramel in this light. “There’s no one else for me.”
My heart’s beating so damn loud I’d swear he could hear it. I’m lost. I’m completely lost in him, messed up in the head and jumbled up inside when I think about him. My thoughts are a kaleidoscope of Carlo Bianchi, and I almost hate him for it. Almost.
The only thing I know for sure right now is that he needs to be safe.
ThatIneed to keep him safe.
And I will not give him up, no matter what Luca has ordered.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nick
Carlo is jumpy the next morning when we head out from the safe house, his head jerking around at every noise. I’ve packed a bag for him—not even that, really, I just stashed all the stuff he brought to my place back in the bag he brought with him. But he seemed happy enough last night when he looked through it.
“No laptop, no phone,” I told him this morning, when I saw him trying to pack them as well. “You’re not fucking working while we’re out there, except on this.”
“Youget to bring a laptop and a phone.”
“Yeah, because they’re clean and untraceable. Vitali specials. Quit pouting, it’s a long enough drive without you sucking up the oxygen with your sulks.”
He gave me a dirty look. “I’m not leaving them here. There’s confidential information on both.” I made sure he turned them both off and packed them in my own bag instead.
“How long are we going to be there?” he wants to know now, as we get into the rental car. I hired a flatbed in an attempt to blend in better, and the open back is filled with surfboards and other beachy equipment. We won’t use it, but at least we look like vacationers.
“We’ll be as long as it takes, because this is it. Listen,” I add, after he’s put his seat belt on and settled back into the soft leather seat. “I didn’t wanna say this last night, but this is our last shot. It mightseemlike I enjoy ignoring Don Morelli’s orders, but I ain’t looking forward to his response when he finds out everything. We need to have a solution for him if we want to keep our balls where they are, you know what I’m saying? So this trip to Montauk is our Hail Mary pass. I should’ve told him everything a long time ago, and it’s only going to make it worse if I can’t come to him with a definitive answer.”
“And why didn’t you?” Carlo asks. “Why didn’t you just tell him yesterday?”
“Because he pissed me off, Harvard.” I look at him and I hear Luca telling me to give him up, acting like I couldn’t possibly know how it feels toreallycare about someone, and feel that same anger swell up again. “He pissed me off, and so here we are.”
* * *
The drive seemsto go both slower and faster than it did a few weeks back when we were on the way to a Hamptons wedding. But I feel oddly relaxed, as though it really is some kind of vacation we’re taking. The scenery is pretty out here, and while I’m a city dweller at heart like Carlo, it’d take a hard man not to appreciate the beauty of the ocean under a hot summer sky. It sparkles silver, white and blue under the golden sunshine, and I wonder if we might get time to just walk along the beach, holding hands or some shit.
I’d like that.
I still run the Long Island crews of the Morelli Family, so it feels like I’m still on my home turf, although I don’t get out here as much as I’d like. Still, business is easier out here—the Alessis are the only other Family running around out here right now, and we respect each other’s territory. Besides, half the reason I’ve been so tired lately is all the time on the road. Some days I spend in Long Island, some on Staten, and the rest I’m in Manhattan backing up Luca himself. And I get called out to the other boroughs, too, if one of the other Capos has a problem.
I’m just…worn down. Tired.
But Luca trusts me with all of it because he knows I can handle it. Back at the start when he put it all on me, I figured not getting much sleep for a while was a reasonable trade-off for making Underboss. Once I’m there, all that work I put in will have been worth it.
Or that’s what I used to think, anyway.
“It sure is pretty out here,” Carlo murmurs. He’s been dozing some of the drive, the sun streaming into the car windows against the hard-working AC making it prime napping temperature, apparently. The radio is playing some hipster guitar folk-rock, the kind of music that makes me nostalgic, happy and melancholy all at the same time. For a while I had dreams of living this kind of life once I’d made bank—weekends in the Hamptons, enjoying what the greatest city in the world had to offer during the week. But I never pictured itwithsomeone. I was always alone.
And now here I am with Carlo.
We don’t stop in the Hamptons. I drive on to Montauk, where I’ve booked the beach house for the two of us under a fake name. We stop by the owner’s house in town, where I pay him cash in advance and he gives me the code for the lockbox on site, where the key is held. I make sure to keep my mirrored sunglasses on, my baseball hat pulled low, but the guy barely looks at me. He’s too busy counting the wad of cash.
The sense of getting away from it all grows as we get closer to the beach. I pull into the quiet, dead end road, with only a few other houses along it, and then park on the stony unpaved driveway of the beach house. Silently, we get out of the car and look up at the two-story rectangle with balconies hanging off the sides everywhere like they were built as afterthoughts, or thrown on wherever someone thought there’d be a good view. The beaten weatherboard is painted the same light blue as the hazy sky over the ocean, but it flakes off in places. I can see from here that the porch is slightly tilted.
The owner was hesitant to rent it out at first—said he’s been meaning to renovate, but that was exactly why I wanted it. There’ve been no visitors for a while and there’ll be no interest in the property while we’re staying there.
