Page 35 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

It’s not just anger at her lying to me that has me on edge.

I can see why no one has loved you.

I’m shocked at how her words hit me. What do I care what she says about me? But I do. Those words rip through my chest.

Of course, I’m no better, calling her a child.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to rein in my temper. Logically, I know Ava would have ensured the phone was untraceable. She seems to care for Bella and she’s a D’Amato now. She knows the risks. She’d have insured Bella could use it safely.

A pang of guilt hits me, but I push it aside. I can't afford to let emotions cloud my judgment right now.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I turn the phone over in my hands. This small device holds the key to our escape. It should fill me with relief, but instead, I feel a strange reluctance. I’m forced to consider my anger and reluctance aren’t about Bella’s lie, but instead about leaving this place.

I glance out the window at the snow-covered landscape. The cabin has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where time seems to stand still. Here, I'm not Niccolo Nardone, Mafia underboss. I'm just a man, recuperating with a woman who's shown me more kindness than I deserve.

The thought of leaving this bubble we've created unsettles me more than it should. I stare at the phone in my hand, my thumb hovering over the power button. Calling Max and setting our escape in motion fills me with an unexpected sense of loss. I've grown accustomed to Bella's presence, her gentle care, and the quiet moments we've shared.

Christ, what's wrong with me? I'm not some lovesick teenager. I'm Niccolo Nardone, for fuck's sake. I don't do emotional attachments.

I shake my head to clear these thoughts. I need to make the call to Max, to set things in motion.

I dial Max's number, putting the phone on speaker to combat the static from the storm raging outside.

"Nic?" Max's voice crackles through the speaker. "Jesus Christ, where the hell have you been?"

"It's a long story," I reply, rubbing my temples.

"You had me worried sick," Max says, his tone a mix of relief and frustration. "I expected to hear from you sooner than this.”

“Yeah, well, I’m calling now.” I can save the details about my being at death’s door for later. “Have you learned anything about who might be behind the attempt on our lives?”

“After you called me, I got a call from Gino asking me if I’d heard from you.”

My jaw tightens. I know Max is in my corner, but he works for my father, a man you don’t cross. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him no and asked why. He said something just happened in Chicago. He told me to return to New York.”

My brow furrows, wondering why my father would want Max back in New York. He knew Max and I were friends, but Max runs the business in Las Vegas. I run things under my father in New York.

"Did he say why?" I ask.

"No specifics," Max replies, “but it made it easy for me to follow through on your request.”

“Any idea on the hit attempt?”

“Your father is blaming Rinella.”

It makes sense and yet, it doesn’t. “I don’t see Rinella coming after me. He wanted this deal.”

"I know," Max agrees. "But Gino's convinced that Rinella double-crossed him. He's demanding the Outfit do something about it."

An unsettling feeling makes a home in the pit of my stomach.

“Rinella seemed genuinely shocked when Gino accused him. Apparently, the D’Amato Family is demanding answers from him as well."

Another reason it doesn’t make sense that Rinella would be behind our attack. "Has my father presented any evidence?"

"Nothing concrete, but you know how he is. He doesn't need evidence to start a war."

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