Rio Film Nico Novels & Stories

Sam said as she locked eyes with Rafael and his bag dropped from his hand as he looked at her. “Shit, here we go again,” Leon said as his eyes locked with Tiffany’s and I had to stop myself from laughing out loud as Regen walked towards Kiara and she held her hand out to stop him. “Easy, tiger, I don’t even know your name,” she said to him. Three imprintings happened on my porch in a matter of seconds. I didn’t think Blaise was telling me everything I needed to know and I planned on having a real heart to heart talk with him over this bullshit. He was quiet in my head and ignoring me.

“But we have something. A man named Nico—he used to work for Ricci. He wants to talk.” “Why?” I asked. “He says he has information. Claims he knows where Bianca is hiding.” I narrowed my eyes. “And what does he want in return?” “Money. And safety.” Of course. No one in this world gave anything for free. But if Nico knew where Bianca was, he might be the piece I needed to end this. “Set it up,” I said. “I want to see him today.” We met Nico in a small bar outside the city. The place smelled like old beer and stale smoke. He was sitting in a corner booth, head low, eyes shifting nervously. He looked scared, and that was a good sign. People who feared Bianca usually told the truth.

We wanted to share this leap in our relationship with only our closest friends and family. I kept glancing at my wristwatch while speaking with Xavier about his itinerary with Zia and Franco while they were in town. There was a knock on the door, and Nico volunteered to open it while I gave Xavier the list of best places to see here in autumn. “Roman,” Nico called. “Is it time?” I turned, only to halt at the sight of Rio standing in the doorway.

I look up at Nico. So this is Domenico Perez

Don Ramon continued, “His mother was Thai royalty, and Theerakunya is her name. That’s how he’s blending in. We have intel he’s currently on that same island. With you.” Vincenzo's grip on the phone tightened. “And Noel,” Don Ramon added in a lowered voice. “He’s not there for diplomacy. This man was raised for revenge.” Somewhere on the far side of the resort…past the dancing lights, music, and laughter…inside a closed private villa surrounded by thick jungle, Nico lay unconscious. The room was dim, moonlight slanting through gauzy curtains. Cool air hummed from the ceiling fan. On the bed, Nico’s limp form was stretched out, his damp lashes fluttering slightly.

Nico is chaos wrapped in devotion. He sings to the babies—badly. He makes faces, exaggerated voices, ridiculous dances that somehow work every time. Marcella adores him, but so does Fiorella, whose serious eyes follow his movements like she’s studying joy for the first time. And when Camilla won’t sleep unless someone hums? Nico hums until his voice cracks. “She wins,” he mutters. “I surrender.” Riccardo is the stillness. He sits for hours, barely moving, a baby against his chest, hand splayed protectively over tiny backs. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, the girls quiet immediately.

Mario turned to his son. "And this is my one and only biological son, Nico," he stepped forward and took my free hand in his, placing a kiss on the back of it. I smiled. Nico had short black hair, had glasses, a black suit and tattoos. A lot of them. His fingers were cold from the rings he had on. Safe to say, he was hot. "Call me Nico. I hate being called Niccolò." "Figlio!" Chiara said in a harsh tone. "Mi dispiace mama," he looked over at Chris. "So, you sure he's not-"

He spoke to Rino but his eyes stayed on me. I could feel Rino stiffen behind me, his hands around my waist tighten. “It's never branded on the forehead now, is it Nicolo?" At the sound of the edge in his voice, Nicolo’s eyes turned back up to Rino's. Whatever he saw there had him grinning now, a sick wide grin like he'd just trapped a lion in his own jungle.

Rocco would be yawning theatrically down the corridor by now, an invisible tripwire lying slack on the tile. Nico picked a book at random and opened it at the middle so the cameras would have a frame to tell a story with. He stood there until his own timer said enough. Then he shelved the book, turned on his heel, and left the way he’d come, down the staff corridor with its boxes and its smell of wet paper, through the propped door, into the service elevator that thought it had seen everything. Rocco joined him on the ride down, eyes forward. “Everything smooth?”

Nico was the one person he trusted a lot. He turned back to the flickering screens. “You are pardoned for now, Nico. You can stop smiling now. It's scary.” The smile instantly vanished from Nico’s face, and he found himself, itching to wack the insufferable don over the head. “Keep that up, and I just might send you off on a vacation with Rea. She's been itching to explore the Mediterranean recently,” Nero warned for good measure, without taking his eyes off the screen. It was almost as if he could read the other man's mind.