Nico opened the throttle on his Ducati Superbike and turned off the road toward the Valley of Fire State Park. The winding roads through colorful cliffs, and past Lake Mead, were the best part of the journey. Usually he rode to relax and take his mind off all the responsibilities of being a capo, the constant need to assert his power, the delicate balancing act between illegitimate and legitimate businesses, the risk of violence, and the even greater risk of being caught. But today, he saw nothing except the asphalt rushing up to greet him, felt nothing but the cold mountain air on his face, and heard nothing except the rev of his engine and the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
He wanted to get away, and yet the road would take him back. Back to the promise he whispered as his father died. Back to the legacy his father had left him and the responsibility of caring for a family that was now a mix of crime and blood.
From the Cadillac he drove, to the Vacheron Constantin watch he wore, and from his Brioni suits, to his Italian leather shoes, he was everything his father wanted him to be. And yet there were chinks in his armor. Small defiances that only his mother would understand: the ink on his body, the leather jackets, boots and jeans he preferred to wear, the bike he rode weekly into the desert in search of something he hadn’t realized was missing until he held Mia in his arms.
He wanted her.
He wanted her with a ferocity that took his breath away.
He wanted her with every drop of his bastard blood.
He wanted her on his bike and in his bed. He wanted her by his side and beneath his body.
What would it be like to have a woman with her strength by his side? A woman who defied convention, forged her own path, and knew her own mind. A woman who at once challenged and infuriated him, seduced and resisted him. A woman who was prepared to sacrifice herself for her family, to give herself to him for the rest of her life.
And he’d said no.
Torn between doing his duty to his family and following his heart’s desire, bastard in all ways, he’d said no.
Nothing in his life had cut him as bad as watching her crumble. There was nothing in his life he regretted more than causing her pain.
What the fuck was he supposed to do?
He had rehashed the terrible meeting over and over in his mind, and every time bile rose in his throat, and guilt wracked his soul. He remembered everything in painfully excruciating detail—the way her hand shook when she gave him the contract, the chipped, painted nails, the mask that hid her beautiful skin, her clear discomfort in the hideous pink outfit, the bun that hid her glorious hair, the way she wobbled on her heels, the hope that had shattered in her face.
His heart ached at the thought of his brave, strong Mia; so desperate she would dress in the clothes she hated and offer herself willingly into a life she despised, so afraid she would ask for help.
No.
He had destroyed her with just one word. He had destroyed himself.
Nico leaned into the curves as the road wound back and forth through the park. Faster, faster, so fast adrenaline pumped through his body, a heady mixture of excitement and fear. One slip, and it would all be over. One slip, and he would die his father’s son but not his own man.
He slowed the bike. Pulled up at a lookout. Stared over the mountain pass. Luca pulled up behind him, reminding him a boss was never truly alone.
“Everything okay, boss?” Luca dismounted, patrolled the gravel as if danger was afoot.
“Yeah. Just taking a minute. Then we’ll head back to the city.” Luca and Frankie were the only soldiers in his crew who knew how to ride, so they took turns on guard duty when Nico went out on his bike. Big Joe would be coming up behind them in his vehicle, just in case they had problems with their bikes.
“I always come up here when I have girl trouble,” Luca said.
“I’ve never seen you with just one girl.” Luca had become the manwhore of the club after his wife died, going through women so fast, Nico couldn’t keep track.
“That’s why I come here. Every time I start thinking about getting serious with some chick, I come here and remind myself why I’m not doing it all again. If what we had was love, it isn’t worth the fucking pain.”
Nico dismounted his bike and stared out over the valley. He had learned that lesson when he watched his mother cry every Saturday after his father went back to his wife. And he’d learned it again when she’d decided to run away with Nico in search of love, and died in the attempt. As always, his father had it right. A political marriage would keep his heart safe and his mind focused on what he needed to do to ensure the success and survival of the family.
If Mia married Tony, she would become part of the family. Nico would see her every Sunday at Nonna Maria’s family gatherings. He would see her as he saw her today, everything that he loved about her hidden away beneath the veneer of a respectable mob wife, everything he wanted, crushed beneath the weight of tradition, her wings clipped when she had only just gotten free. How could he bear to see her fire gone? What would he do if he saw even the hint of a bruise on her beautiful face?
Tony wouldn’t have exclusive rights to “crazy” after that.