Chapter 6 - The Midnight Accord
"You aren't going," I said, standing up from the sofa, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "It's a trap, Nico! You know Marco doesn't make meetings at night in Newark unless he has the upper hand!"
Nico was standing by his dressing armoire, strapping a black leather shoulder holster over his chest. He pulled his heavy Sig Sauer automatic from a locked box, checked the chamber with a practiced, smooth movement, and slotted it home.
"If I don't meet him in Newark, Elena," Nico said calmly, pulling a dark wool overcoat over his suit, "he brings those twenty men here. To these gates. To this house."
He walked over to me, stopping inches away. He reached out, his large hand gently cupping the back of my neck, pulling me closer until our noses almost touched.
"I don't fight wars near my nursery," Nico whispered. "I finish them where the blood can be washed into the river."
"Nico, please," I begged, my hand grasping his lapels. "You don't have to do this alone. Call the federal authorities, call the police—"
Nico let out a soft, dark laugh. "The police? Elena, half the precincts in Brooklyn are paid by my family, and the other half are paid by his. There are no authorities in this room except me."
He kissed me.
It wasn't the gentle brush of lips he had offered over the last three days. It was deep, possessive, and fierce, a kiss born of war and dark survival. He pulled my swollen body flush against his chest, his tongue parting my lips, claiming me with an absolute, terrifying passion that sent a wave of heat straight to my core.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing heavily.
"If I am not back by four in the morning," Nico said, looking deeply into my eyes, "Mateo has instructions to take you to the airstrip in Teterboro. There is a plane waiting. It will take you to a private estate in Sicily. My uncle commands eighty men there. You will be safe."
"Don't leave me with an exit plan, Nico!" I cried, tears slipping down my cheeks. "Come back yourself!"
Nico smiled—a cruel, beautiful, tragic smile—and turned toward the door.
"Keep her in this room," Nico ordered Mateo, who was waiting in the hallway with three heavily armed security guards. "If anyone approaches the perimeter who isn't wearing a Vitale badge, kill them."
"Yes, Boss," Mateo bowed his head.
The heavy oak doors closed. The lock clicked into place from the outside.
I stood alone in the center of the massive bedroom, listening to the heavy footsteps of armed men echoing down the hallway, followed by the roar of high-performance engines echoing through the snowstorm outside as Nico’s war party departed the estate.
The hours ticked by with agonizing slowness.
1:00 AM. 2:00 AM. 3:00 AM.
The snow storm raged outside, burying the estate under five inches of fresh white powder. The gas fireplace flickered quietly, casting long, dancing shadows across the high ceilings.
My stomach hurt.
Not the dull, heavy ache of pregnancy—a sharp, sudden tightening that wrapped around my lower back like a vice, making me double over on the edge of the bed, gasping for breath.
I looked down at the carpet.
A dark, wet circle was spreading beneath my feet.
My water had broken.
At thirty-four weeks. In the middle of a snowstorm. While my husband was leading a squad of killers into an ambush in Newark.
"Mateo!" I screamed, staggering toward the locked double doors, banging my fists against the heavy wood. "Mateo! Help!"
The door flew open instantly. Mateo stood there, his gun drawn, eyes wild.
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"Mrs. Vitale! What is it?!"
"The baby," I gasped, another terrifying contraction tearing through my spine, bringing me down to my knees on the cold floor. "The baby is coming now!"
