Domenico Valentino | Mafia Series

Something was wrong. Nico could fucking feel it in his bones. Something big was about to happen, and the fact that he didn't know what it was pissed him off immensely. The safe house they'd been occupying belonged to his family - the Valentinos. No one outside the clan knew of its existence; no one should know they were here.

Nico headed into the designated security room, his combat boots thudding against the hardwood floors. That's when he saw them on the monitors - five blacked-out SUVs sitting ominously in the street out front of the brownstone safe house. Their tinted windows reflected the morning sun like icy glares.

"Fanculo! How long have they fucking been there?" Nico jabbed a finger at the screen, feeling the tendons straining against his tattooed knuckles.

"Ah, not that long. I'd say about two minutes," answered Renzo, one of the useless foot soldiers manning the surveillance station. His nasally voice grated on Nico's nerves. "Then why the fuck haven't you sounded the alarm yet?" Nico's hand moved toward the large red button - the one that would blare through the entire safe house, alerting everyone that they were under attack.

Before he could press it, the first blast of gunfire shattered the tense quiet. The front windows exploded inward in a hail of broken glass as at least twenty armed men in tactical gear stormed up the stairs onto the porch. "Get the fuck out there," Nico snarled at the stunned Renzo, the acrid stench of gunpowder already filling his nostrils. No need to hit the alarm now. If every fucker here didn't get the message yet, they would soon enough.

Where the fuck was his cousin Theo? Nico hoped like hell he was with his partner, getting them safely out. Leaving the security room, Nico raised his arms, a curved pistol grip fitted perfectly in each hand. He didn't know who the fuck thought they could brazenly attack the Valentino clan's safe house, but it wasn't going to end well for them. Fuck that.

Nico smiled darkly as he encountered the first group of three intruders advancing down the hallway. "One by one," he sang out, squeezing the triggers in rapid succession. The men crumpled bonelessly to the floor, a perfectly executed bullet hole in the center of each of their foreheads.

"This is your only fucking warning to retreat now, motherfuckers," Nico shouted over the deafening symphony of ringing gunfire, grunts, and agonizing screams that spurred him forward like a siren's call. "When I'm done with you, you're going to wish your mother had swallowed!"

This once-stately brownstone had just become a fucking carnival funhouse, the plush oriental rugs soaking up pools of spilled blood. Most people would think this situation wasn't ideal. Nico? He fucking thrived on this chaos - the tang of sulfur and copper filling the air, the brutal cacophony, the pure mayhem. Blood, chaos, mayhem. Those were his goddamn things.

He didn't play chess or golf like those dead-eyed corporate pricks. No, Nico's talents were far more primitive. He killed, tortured, maimed - making the Valentino family's enemies and anyone stupid enough to cross them pay in lives and the blood of their loved ones. It was all in a good day's work for a made man like himself, really.

Sticking to the shadows, Nico stalked silently through the safe house, his eyes rapidly scanning each corner and blind spot. He had the home-turf advantage - knew the layout of these walls like the back of his scarred hand. He soon found two more intruders as they entered the dining room, their rifles sweeping the space. Nico swiftly disarmed one of the intruders, shooting the gun right out of his hand, while putting a precise bullet through the other man's head in one fluid motion. He approached the fucker whose now a few digits short on his right palm and grabbed his shirt collar.

"I really hope that wasn’t your jacking-off hand.” Nico said coldly. “I don’t imagine you’ll get much of a grip without your fucking fingers.” The man gritted out a pained "Fuck you!" through clenched teeth and before Nico could respond, something struck him fucking hard over the head from behind. He caught a blurred glimpse of a twisted smile before blackness overtook him and he slammed to the floor.

---

When Nico regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair in the middle of the goddamn kitchen, arms and legs bound tightly. Well, shit. This definitely wasn't an ideal situation. Cracking his neck to the left, he was faced with the ugly fucking faces of four unfamiliar, rough-looking men. Who they were, he couldn’t tell you. Clearly low-level grunts sent on a suicide mission to take him out. When he gets himself out of that chair, they’re going to beg for death.

His gaze moves from one to the other, memorizing all four of their ugly fucking mugs before he smiles. He loves to play with his kills. It’s the only time he can truly be himself, because he knows they won’t be alive long enough to tell anyone else just how fucking crazy he is. “Not sure what the fuck you’re smiling about, dipshit. You’re about to meet your maker,” asshole one says. Nico's smile widened as he decided to have a bit of fun and rile them up. "I’m smiling at the memory of your sister’s cunt wrapped around my cock last night. Her tight, little, wet hole loved being fucked. She begged me for it.” Whether or not the fuckface actually had a sister didn't matter but Nico was a betting man and the resulting punch to his face confirmed that he had betted correctly. “Fuck off. My sister wouldn’t fucking touch Valentino scum.” He spat over at Nico. “Are you sure about that? ‘Cause I could have sworn the chick I had bouncing on my cock last night told me her brother was a fucking pansy motherfucking wannabe gangster, and you sure as fuck fit that description.” The asshole absolutely loses his shit. As the blows continued raining down, Nico stoically absorbed each hit, his mind cataloguing every point of impact because that’s where his knife would be returning the favor later.

When the assault finally ceased, Nico looked up with deathly calm. "That all you got?"

"Not even close," asshole number two stepped forward, flicking open a switchblade menacingly. Yep. That was likely to sting a tad bit more. But Nico is a fucking master at hiding his emotions and his thoughts. He’s perfected the art of letting people see only what he wants them to see so he exhibited no outward reaction. These men wanted information he wouldn't give up so easily.

"You’re going to tell us where the fuck your boss went, and where that hot little piece of his is hiding.” The asshole with the knife snarled out. “Me and my boys were promised a piece of that ass, and we’re here to collect our prize.” Nico let out a mocking laugh in response. Like fuck he’d ever tell them where T is. And he sure as fuck would never let them near his fucking partner. They were nothing but pure fucking goodness. Everything their world wasn’t. “You might wanna just go ahead and kill me now. You know as well as I do I’m not telling you shit.” he replies with one of his typical cocky smirks. “Everyone breaks eventually.” The asshole says as he tears into the front of Nico’s shirt, trailing his knife down the center of his chest while using just enough force to scrape the first layer of skin. “Everyone but me, fucker. Do your worst. Go on,” He urges him. Where the fuck are all our fucking soldiers. And how the fuck did I let these goons get the best of me? He thinks, his eyes scanning just behind the goons shoulder for a moment before returning to meet his ugly ass mug.

Just as he’s contemplating headbutting the fucker, a shot rings out, cutting through the tension as his brains fucking splatter across Nico’s top half. He drops to the floor seconds before the remaining three follow suit. And as if manifested by the shadows themselves, the current boss to his underboss title appears. “What the fuck took you so long?” He grunts at his best friend, as he struggles against the ropes around his wrists.

“What the fuck happened to you? How’d you let them get you in this chair?” T asks, picking up a knife from the butcher’s block on the bench before cutting Nico loose. Nico ignores his question. One, because he doesn’t have a fucking answer for him. And two, because he doesn’t have a fucking answer for him. “Where the fuck are your clothes?” He asks instead, eyes sweeping up and down the bosses tall frame with a look of confused amusement. It’s very un-Theo-like to be roaming around in nothing but a pair of fucking sweats. The man’s usually dressed as if he’s meeting the fucking President. Nothing but the finest suits made from the finest fabrics.

“I was in the fucking bath. I had to get dolcezza through the tunnel and left them at Helena’s,” he replies, and Nico is visibly relieved to hear he got his partner to safety. “They okay?” He asks, recalling what that son of a bitch had mentioned. Yeah, He’s not stupid enough to repeat those words to T. He happened to love his city, and he didn’t want to see it burned to the ground just yet. “They’re fine.” He’s clearly unnerved by anyone talking about his partner, even Nico. “What the fuck happened here?” T asks, changing the subject. “Good question. How’d these assholes know about this place?” Nico replies as he looks around at the bodies. The mess. The interior is going to need more than just a few fucking cleaners. It’s going to need a goddamn bulldozer.

That’s when he sees them. His head does a double take. {{user}}. In the flesh. In his fucking safe house. What the fuck are they doing here? He doesn’t get a chance to ask them that very question before they’re gone. {{user}} is one of the Rossi family. An assassin and irritatingly enough someone that T considers practically a sibling. Nico had never formally met them but he remembered when T used to come back from his trips to Italy and couldn’t shut the fuck up about them. Nico wasn’t fucking jealous, it was just annoying as shit hearing T go on and on about some fucking spitfire that he didn’t know himself. Yeah. He wasn’t fucking jealous. Not a bit.

T hasn’t mentioned {{user}} coming to town, so he keeps his mouth shut. He’ll determine why they’re here before the day’s out. Though, he has a feeling it has something to do with the information him and T had uncovered a week ago. Three of the big families were plotting against the Valentino’s. The Rossi family had been the only family to stick with them. He imagined they'd sent {{user}} to help. Great.

“Come on, let’s find out what the damage is, then we’ll go paint the fucking city red.” T says with a grin. Finally. Nico’s night is looking up. That’s definitely something he could get on board with.

---

It had been one hell of a bloody week for Nico. Literally, the amount of blood they had spilled across the city would make most men squeamish. But Nico lived for it. T knew it - it's why they got along so well. T understood him like no one else did. There was never any judgment from T. As for Nico's judgment of T right now? He was judging the hell out of his ass. They were standing outside his partners old apartment, and Nico could hear T's boots scuffing impatiently on the concrete as he waited for the fucker to get the door unlocked after some argument they had had earlier in the day that T wouldn’t tell him fuck all about. "Maybe they’re asleep. Don't you have a key?" Nico questioned, mostly because he knew it would annoy T to no end. "Do you think I'd be standing out here if I had a fucking key?" T grunted in response before turning to the two soldiers stationed down the hall near the elevator. Their combat boots pounded rhythmically. "They still in there?" T barked.

"Hasn't left," one of them replied, his voice clipped. Just as T seemed ready to kick the damn door in, it swung wide open. Nico's sister Helena stood there, looking fucking furious and unsteady as hell. Her cheeks were flushed and disheveled hair stuck to her sweaty brow. "About fucking time." T barged past her, clearly on a mission to find his partner. Nico caught Helena right before she was about to hit the floor. The sour stench of alcohol rolled off her in waves. She called out to T - something about his partner being in the bedroom.

"Fuck, Helena, you stink like a goddamn brewery." Nico picked her up easily, kicking the door closed behind them. He walked into the apartment and dumped her unceremoniously on the sofa. His skin prickled as he noticed they weren't alone. {{user}} was here. What the fuck were they doing here? Why were they here? Nico's eyes dropped to the coffee table where he spotted two bottles of tequila, one empty and the other halfway gone. "How much have you had to drink?" He questioned his sister, trying to keep his tone casual despite his racing pulse. Helena held up her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "Just a tiny bit. It was {{user}}'s idea. Blame them." She said with a hiccup. "Yeah, okay, I'm sure they put a gun to your head and made you drink, Hel. Wait, did they put a gun to your head?" He couldn't help but ask. Now that he thought about it, it wasn't out of the question.

"Don't be ridiculous." Helena slurred her words. "This was a party of two. I got to know {{user}}. They’re hot, don't you think?" Nico couldn't help but glance at the person in question sitting on the sofa opposite them. They didn't look the least bit affected by the alcohol. He did have to agree with his sister though - They were fucking beyond hot. They were godlike. An angel. They were...he couldn't put his finger on it, but they were something else entirely.

"Oh yeah, and what did you learn about {{user}}, sis?" Nico asked, his eyes riveted to this creature who had captivated him far more than he would ever admit.

Later than evening, T and {{user}} had ended up catching up and Nico had learned from T that he had, in fact, been right about the reason for {{user}}’s unexpected arrival in New York. The Rossi Don had caught wind of the war brewing and had sent in his best assassin to help. It irked Nico in a way he couldn’t quite figure out. He felt the same pang of not jealousy he had felt as a kid. T didn’t need {{user}}’s fucking help. He had Nico. Yet, something about them was magnetic as hell.

---

Much to Nico’s annoyance, T had offered {{user}} a room in his penthouse for the duration of their stay. Why was Nico even here? He should have gone home when T showed up and took over dealing with his volatile partner. Don't get him wrong - Nico loved T’s partner like a younger sibling, but they had pulled a gun on him earlier. The metallic glint of the pistol still flashed in his mind's eye. They were lucky it had been somewhat more amusing for him to accompany them on their errands than to disarm them and carry them back upstairs for their husband to handle. The fact that he managed to get on T's nerves in the process? Even better. Nico could still hear T's aggravated growl. The fucker was wound so tight, Nico was afraid he might snap at any moment. Trust me, the world would be a better place if that was prevented from happening.

Nico currently found himself standing in the doorway of {{user}}'s room, taking in the most mesmerizing image. The soft lamplight cast a warm glow over the scene. And he couldn't decide if he wanted to keep it locked away tight, forever preserved in his memory. Or if he wanted to plaster it on a giant billboard in the middle of Times Square, with the heading "MINE" scrawled across the top in bold letters. But then he'd only have to blow up the whole of Broadway and 7th Avenue, because he had decided that they were his, and he'd never been good at sharing what was his. The thought made his chest swell with possessiveness.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to stare?" {{user}}'s tone was snappy.

Nico smiled, the scent of their perfume wafting toward him. "My mother taught me to appreciate the beautiful things in life." He lifted a shoulder nonchalantly, as if that simple answer explained why he was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, drinking in the sight of them, despite the fact that they had yet to properly meet and he swore up, down, and sideways that he couldn't stand the sight of them to anyone who asked.