Nico Russo Book Novels & Stories

Another bullet pierced the window as I saw Nico peeping to check something. How can he behave so normal?? Or not frightened?? "voglio i miei uomini proprio qui"(I want my men right here) he roared at his phone. His voice held utmost urgency, while he was glancing at me. I wasn't getting a single word, but being a curious cat, I was trying to understand through his expressions. There wasn't fear in his eyes, there was an authority, and an urge to protect!!! Me??? He cares!! my inner voice echoed in my head.

With each container, my hand started shaking more and more until I eventually couldn’t take it anymore. Why did Fabio have these weapons? How? “What do you expect me to do with this?” I gulped, eying Nico, who shrugged his shoulders. “Why don’t we sit down?” Nico and I took a seat in the separate office in the basement. I shot daggers with my eyes both eager and annoyed to hear what he had to say. “You might’ve known me as a close associate of your father’s.” Nico grabbed a big dusty book from a safe before throwing it on the table.

“Now, if you want to take back the Barone legacy… and end what your mother started… I’m ready to serve.” Bella stood straighter, eyes burning. “Then we begin now.” Nico poured two glasses of something dark and sharp-smelling… grappa maybe, but neither Bella nor I touched ours. He stood behind a massive oak desk layered in hand-drawn maps, aged files, and yellowed Polaroids that looked like ghosts from another lifetime. One of them showed Riccardo Barone flanked by men in suits, including a much younger version of Nico, eyes sharp and filled with the kind of clarity only loyalty gave.

The operation still waited for us like a blade balanced on its edge. But with Nico warm against my side and his small hand clutching my shirt whenever the story got tense, the noise in my head eased but not gone, just quiet. Peaceful enough to hurt. When I finished the last page, Nico looked up at me with heavy eyes. “Again.” “Absolutely not.” “One more.” “You are running a criminal enterprise.” He yawned. “Please.” So I read another. By the time that one ended, his breathing had gone slow and even. He was asleep with his cheek pressed to my side and the book half-open across my lap.

"Then use some you can't. Federov is our top priority. I need the entire West Coast to understand what happens when you fuck with the Russo Famiglia. We're making an example of this fucker and anyone else that decides now's a good time to step out of line. Sow as much chaos as you can, brother." Nico grunts and nods. "I'll hit a few more spots we've been looking at and see what we can turn up." He approves of this strategy, but his face is clouded, like he's uncertain about something. "One thing's still bothering me. Why the business in the beginning about buying back that club? Why the bullshit with the Polish guys, if he was just going to try to kill you anyway?"

And those bare legs went on for more miles than I was willing to allow. “Luca Greco.” The name passed my lips with a hiss. I turned toward the showcase. The man behind it paled under my stare. “Yes?” he asked. “Do you research your customers before deciding which to piss off?” The slimy bastard immediately pointed to Rosalind, offering a patronizing chuckle like we were pals sharing an inside joke. “She ordered it. I knew it was a bad idea, but she wanted the photos on the target. Who am I to argue?”

Victoria; wife of the Montessari Cartel boss, waves it off. If I haven’t mentioned it before, our world is tightly knit. We only date and befriend our own. Cartel to cartel. Mafia to mafia. A clean bloodline. Fewer risks, they say. Victoria leans forward, lowering her voice with a curious twinkle in her eyes. “Who’s the hot guy that just walked in with you?” I follow her gaze to Nico who is sitting at a table not far from us, flipping through a fashion magazine, calm as ever. He looks like his rightful place is in those pages.

I always thought he was heartless, and his change in attitude was confusing me more than I liked. “How are you feeling?” He asked. Surprisingly, the pain was almost gone. I still felt like I had been shot, but it was manageable. “I’m doing well, Nic. How long have I been out?” “Two days.” “You haven’t showered in two days. Those are clothes from our wedding.” “I couldn’t leave your side. I had to make sure you were feeling better. I should have protected you, and I failed at that.” Serena cleared her throat. She was married to Nero, Nico’s youngest brother. Nico was the eldest of the DeLuca brothers, followed by Adrian, who passed away, Enzo, the enforcer, and Nero, the New York King.

Linux is still holding the fork and giving Jirou spaghetti. "Good morning, bitch," Nico greeted, causing Jirou to look at her badly. Nico is eating spaghetti and later Luxian handed Nico a tissue. "Don't call my boss like that," Jirou said irritated but still cold to Nico. "Why wouldn't I call my bestfriend a bitch? Maybe because you don't have friends, that's why you don't know about these kinds of fucking words," Nico said back. "By the way, bitch. I need the documents for that fucking last will. All of it so it can be finalized."

"What the fuck. Nico? Two of them?" Nero thought it was not another Russian mob attack. He would really wipe them all out now without blinking an eye. Nico nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. "I took the first one into town. I've had a suspicion since that night." He reached into his pocket again, placing a small card on the table. A goldsmith’s business card. Nero’s jaw tightened. “What is this?" Nico spoke evenly, his voice carrying the weight of something much bigger than a simple discovery.