Page 99
Captain: Please, Nico
Merda. How could he say no? And he was curious. Besides, if he didn’t like the look of the place, he could leave. His instincts had kept him alive this long—and he didn’t think Bennett was trying to kill him.
Nico: I will be there
To Filippo, he said, “I have a meeting at one o’clock today.”
This got Sofia’s attention. She turned around from the cappuccino machine, pausing in refilling the grounds. “A meeting, or a meeting?” Then she winked.
“Remind me—when are you returning to school?” he asked flatly.
Sofia wasn’t offended in the least. With a laugh, she said, “Maybe never. You need me around to tease you, Zio Nico.”
“He does,” Filippo confirmed. “He is far too serious without you here.”
Nico didn’t comment, but he did like having Sofia in the house. She made everything livelier, less lonely. But it was selfish of him to keep her here when she had a whole life of her own to live.
“Allora, this one o’clock meeting,” Filippo asked. “Antonio will drive you or . . . ?”
“You are driving me.”
With a wide grin, Filippo looked at Sofia. “Definitely a ‘meeting,’” he said, using air quotes around the word meeting.
“Fuck off, both of you,” Nico growled and walked out of the kitchen. The sound of laughter trailed him deeper into his house.
The area of town was familiar. Nico wasn’t over here often, but he recognized the Italian businesses and restaurants. Not the Canadian-Italian or worse, the imported tacky American-Italian places, but those with true ties to the old country. A wave of nostalgia hit him hard, a bone-deep love for the place in which he’d lived until he was in his teens. Before his induction, before his father’s death. Before taking over Toronto.
The car swung into a tiny asphalt parking lot that hadn’t been repaved in decades. The tires bumped and bounced on the uneven surface, jostling the car and everyone inside. “It’s that one there,” Filippo said, gesturing as he pulled next to a parked car.
Nico frowned at the unassuming, single-level brick building. There was no sign or indication of what was inside. He didn’t know what to expect here and the number of ways this could go wrong was not lost on him. Was he an idiot for agreeing to this?
“Want me to go inside with you?” Filippo asked, looking at Nico in the rearview mirror.
Just then, a side door opened. Verreault appeared, tall and perfect, and the wind chose that moment to slightly ruffle his brown hair as if on cue. It was a moment designed by the devil himself to ruin any hope Nico had of resisting today’s outing. And when Verreault’s eyes swept the lot and landed directly on Nico, and Nico felt the impact of it like a fist squeezing inside his chest.
Inhaling deeply, he stepped out of the car. “Wait here,” was all he said before closing the car door.
He took his time crossing the parking lot. There was no need to look overexcited. Nico told himself it was out of an abundance of caution, but it was more like confusion. Was this a hookup? Was this tiny brick building really a sex dungeon full of BDSM gear?
If so, not a terrible way to spend an hour.
Verreault watched him, eyes alert and eager, and Nico tried to quickly decipher the other man’s expression. There were nerves and trepidation, possibly some regret, but also the hint of a smile that suggested excitement. Nico had to stop himself from kissing that tiny smile right off Verreault’s face.
“Allora, I am here,” Nico said when he reached the door. “As requested.”
“Hello.” They stared at each other for a beat longer than necessary until Verreault shifted on his feet. “Thank you for coming.”
“I wasn’t given much of a choice.”
“You could have said no. But I think you’ll like it.”
“If only I knew what ‘it’ is,” he complained.
Verreault gestured to a tiny brass plaque on the brick. “Does this help?”
Toronto Bocce Association
Est. 1967
