The Enforcer (Untamed Hearts Book 3) (17 page)

Truth.

He was sorta hoping they’d put a bullet in him.

“Carina,” a man called out. “Are you up here? Your nonno told me to come check on you.”

“It’s fine,” Carina said to Nova quickly and then yelled, “We’re in here!”

“I’m sorry.” Nova turned to Tino and cupped his face. His hands were shaking again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Truth again.

Tino went to an underground dogfight once with Paco and his brother Roberto. He hated it, seeing those dogs tear into each other. It was one of the most horrible things he had ever witnessed in his life.

There was something in the dogs’ eyes, wild and terrified and savage.

Tino couldn’t begin to imagine what happened to those dogs to make them so unstable. He never thought to see it in a human, and he definitely didn’t expect it from Nova.

Shirtless and covered in dried blood, his eyes wild and terrified, Nova reminded Tino exactly of one of those damaged pit bulls. Broad-shouldered, thick-necked, everything in him tense and dangerous, completely untrusting of the world around him.

The stranger let out a low gasp of horror when he walked in. “
Maronna.
”

“Don’t you touch him,” Nova growled as he pushed Tino tight against the wall. “You kill him, you better fucking kill me too. Take a baseball bat and crack my skull open, or I’ll spend the rest of my fucking life making you suffer.” Nova jerked and growled low in his throat. “Do you know what I could do to you?”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the man said in a slow, hesitant voice, as if he were indeed talking to a feral animal. “I’m here to help you. What’s your name? Tell me your name, and I’ll help you figure it out, okay?”

“Fuck you, my name,” Nova snapped at him. “Just fucking kill both of us. You’re strapped. Kill us. He’s gonna die anyway. Just leave us alone. Let him die in peace or fucking kill us.”

“What is going on?” This guy sounded really out of his element. “Carina, sweetheart, where did you find these kids? Why do you have their blood all over you?”

“They’re my brothers,” Carina said simply. “Didn’t Nonno tell you?”

There was a deafening silence over the sound of more footsteps on the stairs; then the man in the bathroom whispered, “You motherfucker.”

“The fuck, Carlo? Is this your fucking business? What’re you doing in my house?”

Everything in Tino tightened when he heard his father’s voice. Nova let out a low grunt of terror. His entire body was shaking as he reached behind him, grabbed Tino’s hand, and squeezed it tightly.

“Carina, go,” the stranger said. “Go wait for your nonno outside.”

“But—” Carina started in complaint.

“Go,” the stranger urged again. “Make sure the don can find us, okay?”

“Fine,” Carina huffed.

When her footsteps echoed down the stairs, the man asked, “Are they Isabella’s boys? Did you take them away from their brother?”

Frankie let out a dark, bitter laugh. “What? You’re taking it fucking personal? They came from my balls. I made them. I can end them. This one doesn’t have any fucking respect. He respects me now.”

“I take it personal.” The voice was suddenly icy cold, terrifying and dangerous as if this man hadn’t heard anything else. “I want you to get the fuck out. Get out, Frankie! Get the fuck out!” Tino heard the click of a gun. “GET OUT!”

“This isn’t your business,” Frankie said as if immune to the threat.

“I
will
shoot you, motherfucker.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? You can’t fucking ice me,” Frankie growled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I think I’m the motherfucker who’ll shoot you and eat a bullet before the old man gets here. He can find both of us. We’ll die together. I’m ready. Are you?”

“
Oobatz
, Carlo. You’ve always been fucking crazy,” Frankie snapped, but there was a quiver of fear in his voice. “You wanna have a
bastardi
convention with these two, go crazy, but just remember, the older one’s
mine
, and I’m telling Pop about this.”

“Tell your pop,” Carlo urged him. “Go fucking cry to the don. He’s the one who sent me here. These are kids. They’re
your
kids. You better hope this one doesn’t fucking die, ’cause I take it personal,
strunzu
,” he reiterated. “I take it personal as fuck!”

There was a silence after Frankie stormed back down the stairs.

Then Carlo said, “Listen, Nova. You gotta let me help you.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Nova barked at him. “Why the fuck do you care? This is a trick. A test.”

“I work for the don. He sent me to help.” Carlo’s voice was still shaking. “Look, me and you, we’re the same. You think I grew up in Dyker Heights? Fuck, no. I’m from
Washington Heights
, okay? Big friggin’ difference.”

“Are you Frankie’s brother?” Nova asked cautiously. “You’re—”

“The don’s dirty secret? Yeah. Then Frankie’s mother kicked it, and suddenly it’s not so dirty. Not like the don and Frankie are the only wiseguys with a dirty secret or two, capisce?” Carlo let out a bitter snort. “You gonna let me help your brother or what?”

“Are you gonna take him to the hospital? He needs blood. He’s lost a lotta blood, and—”

“How long’s he been like this?”

“Since last night.”

“Jesus,” Carlo whispered when Nova moved to the side. “Oh my God, the fuck.” He cupped Tino’s cheek, his hand warm against Tino’s skin. “This blows, pal. What’s your name? Tino? Right? Valentino.”

Tino gave a slight nod as he blinked and looked up at this man, who wasn’t just his uncle, but was also another dirty secret of the mafia. He was bizarrely good-looking. Like a movie star or one of those guys on the billboards in Times Square. Thickly muscular, with inky-black hair and strangely light eyes, Carlo reminded Tino of a dark angel.

Then again, it could just be the drugs that made him feel like Nova handed him over to the angel of death. Tino was stoned almost numb, or at least he thought he was.

“I’m sorry. This is gonna suck for you.”

Carlo picked Tino up before he could agree.

The pain was so violent it stole Tino’s breath. He tried to push away from the hands on his back, but this motherfucker was built like an ox.

Carlo Moretti wasn’t a dark angel.

He was the fucking devil, but Tino couldn’t argue with him.

So he passed out instead.

Chapter Fourteen

Brooklyn, New York

August 2002

“My mother used to call him the dark pope,” Carlo explained as he sat next to Tino, smoking a blunt and getting more talkative by the minute. “That’s how I always saw him, this enormous dark figure, revered like a god, with this all-encompassing respect. Like you can’t help but fall to your knees in front of him. I dunno how he does it to people, but he does.”

“Huh,” Tino mumbled and took the blunt when Carlo handed to him. “Maybe it’s this big-ass palace he lives in that makes people treat him like a king. He sure lives like one.”

“No,” Carlo decided quickly. “Lotsa people have money. I have money. You wanna fall down and kiss my hand for my money?”

Tino coughed and laughed, blowing the smoke into his uncle’s face.

“Yeah, exactly,” Carlo agreed. “I’m just a strunzu with a gun. That’s it. That’s all I’ll ever be, and I’m okay with that.”

“You have respect,” Tino pointed out, because he’d been recovering in Don Moretti’s palace in Bensonhurst for two weeks, and he saw the way men avoided making eye contact with Carlo. They were tense in his presence. Always exceedingly polite, treating him like a man who was bigger, better looking, and more dangerous than they could ever be. “You have more respect than Frankie, and he’s underboss. A fuckload more.”

“That’s not respect, Tino.” Carlo took the blunt back and flicked it against the ashtray on the nightstand. “That’s fear. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, what’s the difference?” Tino asked, because they looked the same from where he was sitting.

Respect was a big fucking deal to these people. Tino nearly died over it, that was how big a deal it was, and the fact that he came out of that basement alive was nothing short of miracle.

Now he was itchy as hell.

He couldn’t scratch his back and fuck up the stitches, so he stole the blunt instead, willing it to numb him. He just got to the point that he could sit back against it and take a shit without hovering, thanks to Frankie taking the belt to his thighs.

Motherfucker.

Fear and respect were the
exact
same thing as far as Tino was concerned, and his father made sure he knew it.

“Any asshole can make someone fear them,” Carlo explained. “It takes someone unique to earn respect like the don. Look at me. I should hate him. I have more reason than anyone to hate him. I fall to my knees instead. That’s fucked-up.” Carlo looked ahead to the bedroom door as if considering it. “You just don’t come across men like that very often.”

The door opened, and Nova stepped in. He paused as if something slammed into him. “Whoa.” His eyes grew wide. “You didn’t think to open a friggin’ window? Even I smell it.”

“The don said it was better than eating pills all day,” Tino reminded him. “He says our people don’t eat pills.”

Carlo let out a bark of laughter before choking it back when Nova glared at him. “Right, yeah, absolutely, Tino. Our people don’t eat pills. Italians are above narcotics. Keep believing that. Your father’s anger issues are completely genetic.”

Tino laughed with him and then asked his brother, “How was Romeo?”

“He’s surviving.” Nova used the folders in his hand to waft some of the smoke out of the room but then seemed to give up. He walked in and tossed the folders on the table by the window that overlooked the gardens in back. He unlatched the window and forced it up, letting in a whoosh of hot August air. “So friggin’ hot today. I’m sweating like a motherfucker.”

“Smart guys sweat?” Carlo asked in amusement as he took another hit and blew the smoke in Nova’s direction. “I thought God made accountants without sweat glands. Not like they’re really needed.”

“Maybe I’m only half accountant.”

Nova came over and kissed Carlo’s cheek like a gangster. It was something distinctive in mafia culture, a bold statement that they were a step above society, and they did it everywhere. In public, in private, and it was done without shame. Tino didn’t know if Nova picked it up being in this house for too long, where gangsters flowed in and out all day, or if it was something deliberate.

Nova leaned over and kissed Tino’s forehead like a brother instead of a gangster. Then he stole the blunt from Carlo, taking a long hit and holding his breath until he walked to the window. He leaned down to blow it out like they were back at their apartment in Harlem, reminding Tino of the Nova who’d died in that basement. As if a part of him was still left in there somewhere.

When Nova spoke again, his voice was raspy. “Grazie for sitting with him.”

“I don’t mind.” Carlo shrugged. “Even if he kicks my ass in Mario Kart.”

Nova took another hit and blew it out the window again. “Are you staying?”

“Unless something drastic happens.”

“Cool.” Nova took three more hard hits, like he was trying to get the most out of it as quickly as possible. Then he put out the blunt with his thumbs and set it in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Frankie’s downstairs. Air it out a little. He’ll probably come up.”

“And we care what he thinks…why?” Carlo raised his eyebrows pointedly.

“Just, can you air it out? Please. I promised the don I’d try with him, okay?” Nova pulled his shirt over his head, showing off his own set of healing whip marks. “I’m taking a shower.”

“You’d try with him?” Tino repeated in disgust. “Try and do what?”

“He’s having some money-management issues. I said I’d help him.”

“Oh, money-management issues,” Carlo repeated, imitating what he probably thought an accountant was supposed to sound like and doing a good job of covering up that Tino had rolled over and looked away from Nova as he went on, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Nova laughed. “Don’t smoke any more. He
is
coming up.”

Carlo pushed all the video game controllers over and crawled up on the king-size bed with Tino. “Stop looking at your brother like that.” He grabbed Tino’s face when Tino tried to turn away, and whispered in his ear, “It’s not his fault. You know it’s not his fault.”

Tino knew it wasn’t Nova’s fault. He had firsthand knowledge that in this family, there were no choices, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry about watching his brother being turned into a trained dog for the mafia.

A really smart trained dog.

But still a fucking lap dog regardless.

It pissed him off so bad he almost wished Nova would go back to being that terrified, furious pit bull in the shower instead.

Tino was angry about a fuckload of shit, and he’d be damned if they took away his fury too.

“He doesn’t have to look so happy about it,” Tino mumbled, knowing Nova was still standing there listening.

“The don saved your life. You would’ve died in that shower if it wasn’t for him,” Nova explained without an ounce of apology. “I would lick his boots if he wanted me to.”

Tino groaned in disgust when he heard the absolute honesty in Nova’s words. He also noticed Nova was choosing to ignore it was Carina who saved Tino by telling her nonno her cosmic twin was bleeding to death in the apartment above the garage.

“Dark pope,” Carlo whispered in his ear and repeated, “It’s not his fault.”

“The don’s not my pope,” Tino told both of them. “He’ll
never
be my pope.”

Because Tino didn’t consider saving his life just to turn his brother into a trained dog a favor worth licking boots over.

“Please be polite if he comes in here,” Nova said imploringly. “He’ll protect Romeo when he goes to prison. He’ll make it
a lot
easier for him. The don has a few judges in his pocket. We could get Romeo off with just a couple of years if we’re lucky. Be respectful, Valentino. For me.”

“Fine,” Tino whispered but then reiterated, “But he’s not my king. He’s not my pope. He’s not my nonno either.”