Nico Russo Book Novels & Stories

"I was wrong... I was just so scared of losing you, I did the wrong things... Scarlett, I'll do anything for you. I'll kill Bianca. I'll crawl on my knees through all of Chicago..." "Some sins can't be washed away on your knees." My voice was as cold as an arctic wind. "You make me sick." I rolled the window up. The car drove off, leaving Nico in the snow. He was frozen like a statue, staring blankly at the fading taillights. The next day, the word went out, sending shockwaves through the underworld. It wasn't a formal contract, but a personal invitation. From Nico Russo himself. Valdez Ski Resort. The Alps. 8 PM tonight. I’ll be there. Unarmed. Unguarded. Come and take your shot.

"I'm so, so sorry. I thought I was helping. I thought I was being brave like you. But I was just... I was reckless. And now you're here because of my decision." He didn't respond. The machines beeped incessantly. "Please wake up," I begged. "Please be okay. I can't, I can't do this without you, Isaiah. I can't lose you." Hours passed, and Sophia convinced me to eat something. I managed a few bites of a sandwich, but it tasted like ash. When Nico announced that Russo had been captured and was in the FBI custody now, facing enough charges to ensure he would never see freedom again, it should have felt like victory.

She stated and then added, sarcastically, with a roll of her eyes, "Sureeee. I believe that." With that she got busy in the kitchen blabbering to herself while my mind drifted off to the sentence she said. Nicolas Russo watch people bleed and he picked you in his arms because you were hurt. Nicola Russo is pretty popular for his cold and ruthless behaviour while what I witnessed today was something completely different. He helped me because I was limping. The one time I was trying to stop thinking about that asshole Flora had to say something like this and mess with my mind.

The kind you’d get if you were being hired as a personal assistant for a mafia boss or a royal descendant. “This contains everything you need to know about Nico,” he said, and the weight of the book nearly tipped my wrist. “Allergies. Preferences. Triggers. Medical record summaries. Meal lists. His sleep schedule. The timetable for his therapy sessions.” He paused. “Read it. Today.” I flipped it open and immediately regretted everything. The first page alone had more information than a biology textbook. I didn’t even know humans could have this many ‘conditions.’ Or maybe Nico was just special in every possible difficult way.