Page 14 of Stricken

"Nico," Uncle calls as I grab the handle to let myself out. His gaze sharpens, pinning me in place when I glance over at him over my shoulder. "Watch your back with these new players in town. Russians. They're making moves. Bringing the cartel business over."

A light chill skitters down my spine. Russians. Fucking perfect. As if we didn't have enough problems. "I'll be careful. Thanks for the warning."

"You better be. I can't afford to lose you."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. A rare admission from a man who never shows his cards. I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat. "Thank you."

And with that, I stride out of the office. My mind is reeling from his warning about the Russians. For some reason, the mention of it has me thinking about the hot stranger from LA again. That goddamned accent. The hallway stretches before me as I make my way toward my bedroom in the other wing of the house.

Just when I'm about to turn the corner, Salvatore materializes from out of nowhere, stepping in front of me and blocking my path with a hint of a sneer across his face. Immediately, the air thickens while we stare each other down. There's a lifetime of resentment simmering between us as all of the bullying he attempted while I was in this house flashes in my mind like a film strip. He always hated me when we were kids. He hates me even more now.

"You shouldn't have come back from LA, Nico," Sal hisses leaning in, his breath hot against my ear. "You're not part of this family. You're just Tony's little orphan dog, begging for scraps at his feet."

"I would watch what you say, cousin," I reply.

His words slice through me, rekindling the deep-seated insecurities I've fought so hard to bury. I clench my fists at my sides, knuckles whitening as I struggle to maintain my composure.

"That's why he keeps throwing you bones, Nico. Because he pities you," Salvatore continues, twisting the proverbial knife. "But you'll never truly belong. You're nothing. So just stop trying already."

I swallow hard, tasting bile in the back of my throat. Every fiber of my being screams to lash out, to make Sal bleed for his insolence. But I know the consequences all too well. One wrong move, and everything I've worked for could crumble to ash.

Salvatore smirks as if aware of my internal battle. With a final, dismissive glance, he brushes past me and disappears down the hall, leaving me alone with the wreckage of his words.

Entitled asshole.

No wonder Uncle hasn't named a successor yet.

Neither one of his sons are fit for a job.

I force myself to take a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the urge to chase after him and unleash the fury coursing through my veins. Instead, I stalk into my bedroom and slam the door shut behind me.

The rage consumes me, a wildfire burning through my last shred of restraint. Before I can think, my fist collides with the wall, pain exploding through my knuckles as the plaster cracks and crumbles. But the physical anguish is nothing compared to the chaos inside me.

I lean my forehead against the cool wall, eyes squeezed shut as I try to regain control. But Salvatore's venom still lingers, a poison seeping into my already fractured soul.

In this moment, I've never felt more alone, more trapped by the twisted web of loyalty that defines my life. The weight of it all threatens to crush me, and I wonder how much longer I can bear it before I finally break.

CHAPTER4

VLAD

I've never told this to anyone, not even Ivan, but I fucking hate Vegas. The ostentatious neon, the desperate gamblers, the stench of greed. But business is business, so here I am again. Back to my home base. Besides, some of Yuri's connections are in this town. Tearing away from such solid anchors to move elsewhere just because of the sweltering heat isn't a smart move, not in my line of work.

But sometimes, amidst the chaos and sweat-slick tension of backroom deals or secret meetings under flickering lights, there's distraction enough to numb the jaded heart—if only briefly and maybe at a price you didn't expect to pay.

Still, it quenches your thirst for something more.

To me, this craving is about finally having the possessions I dreamed of as a child—things my father never allowed me to have despite his extravagant spending on unnecessary luxuries.

That's why shortly after my return from LA, Ivan and I find ourselves in the back of the crowded auction room. We blend seamlessly with the rest of the wealthy guests, but I avoid talking to others as an extra precaution. Truthfully, I have no intention to be seen. I like my anonymity. I'm not here to chat or to make more friends. In my world, friendships are rare and pointless. Better to observe from the shadows, obtain what I want, and get out.

The moment we take out seats, the auctioneer announces the start of the auction. The lights in the room dim a little only leaving enough to illuminate the front where the stage is.

And so it begins.

The first item is showcased, which I have no interest in seeing. I'm scanning my emails instead, listening to the drone of the auctioneer. Then the gavel cracks like a gunshot.

"Sold! To bidder number forty-seven for six hundred thousand dollars."

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