Page 9 of Nicco

The motion sensor lights came on when I walked down the staircase and moved around the basement. I went directly to the room that housed the vintage French wines. I found two 2006 bottles of Domaine Ramonet Montrachet Grand Cru, the perfect chardonnay for mourning a loss. I counted the remaining bottles and there were six more.

My mind raced with a vengeance. Lord and I were the only that knew that something seemed off with Dom’s death. I planned to go have a meeting with the coroner to go over his findings tomorrow before the reading of the will.

Talking business over the phone was never my style. Someone could be listening in. I needed all the facts before I set out to destroy the person or parties responsible for taking my father’s life. There will be death. That fact was certain and absolute.

I needed to figure out who had something to gain from the death of my father. Of course, there was me. I had everything to gain, but I knew I would never hurt the man I idolized.

There was a list of people to consider. Cenzo, he was my brother and the second-born son, but he hadn’t been groomed to be boss. He only had one son and if his goal was to eventually get the throne for himself, it would take more than one son. I had three sons. Despite the odds of never being in his favor, Cenzo never expressed any desire to have it all. He seemed content in his role of capo in Chicago. There was no inkling he wanted the keys to the castle.

My sister Valentina wasn’t an option. She adored father. It was against the rules for a woman to run the family. She would always be a soldier and nothing more. Her husband, Dario, was a trained killer and a loyal soldier. I couldn’t think of any reason he would have beef with the family. He was a part of the family. He was a top man in the organization when he married my sister.

I didn’t have the headspace to think about this tonight. I needed wine and eventually sleep. Tomorrow was a new day. I believed I had time to avenge my father’s death. I didn’t fear death, but I would fight if I were next.

I made my way back to the kitchen and Gloria was waiting with two large wine glasses. I could have a few drinks with her and put her to bed. She would talk and I would listen.

She talked about our sons. She thought Rocco was too into his girlfriend. I agreed with that, but this was the third of only three girls he’d slept with. By the age of twenty-one, I had fucked at least twenty girls. Rocco was into relationships. I was sure this one wouldn’t last, but I didn’t care either way.

Gloria then went on a tirade about our middle son not listening to her. I nodded my head a few times and nodded in between groans. Vito was too outgoing. He was a troublemaker. I loved him, but he had my vote for most likely to shoot up a school. He was only nineteen. I figured he would eventually grow out of his awkwardness and get has lazy ass together.

After she talked about Vito, she decided to praise our youngest son Matteo. The boy was no trouble to us, but he was smart, clever and manipulative. He had a whole drug operation going on at his private high school. He didn’t know I knew about it. I was proud of his entrepreneurial spirit. He was the most like me and had the good sense to cover his tracks and stay out of trouble. He was a great boxer and he could knock out his peers with one blow.

I loved all my sons, and that’s why I put up with Gloria’s drunken, depressed behavior. She was a true crybaby mafia princess. She was only groomed to be a trophy wife. She didn’t know how to cook or clean. She did know how to shop, get plastic surgery, drink heavily and take pills.

We moved our little party upstairs to the bedroom. I tuned her out when she started gossiping about her friends. Liquor and pills were her normal nighttime routine, and tonight was no different. I thought about fucking her, but she would just lie there like a dead fish. I didn’t want to put forth the effort. After she fell asleep, I undressed, showered, and crawled into bed. I was exhausted even though I didn’t want to admit it.

Chapter Five

NICCO

There was coffee in the kitchen when I woke at the crack of dawn. The house was quiet and that meant I had some free time to myself. I went into my office with my cup of coffee and sent a text to the maid, the housekeeper, the woman who used to be my nanny when I was a kid.

Tamala was fourteen years older than me. My father hired her when I was ten. I acquired her services when I moved out of my parent’s house and got a wife and a place of my own. I needed to see her beautiful face. I also had a few questions for her.

At fifty-four, she looked no more than thirty-two. Which was some kind of black magic because I was forty-two and looked every single day of it. I waited a few minutes and watched as she entered my office in her uniform. I picked the two-piece outfit. It was a plain gray polo shirt and a black fitted skirt that covered her knees. I thought it was modest enough. My wife wouldn’t feel insecure around Lala. I called Tamala, Lala when were in private. Sometimes it slipped out, but no one was the wiser.

Lala was fucking gorgeous. Her skin was a buttery brown that radiated light. Why she was a maid when she could’ve been in any rappers music video when she was younger was a mystery. Her tits were a plump size D. Those melons stood the test of time. Her legs were feminine and athletic all at the same time. Her pussy smelled like pineapples and honey. I couldn’t get enough of her when I was a young man.

She wasn’t allowed to wear makeup or heels while she was in my house. She also had to wear her long black hair in a ponytail. Seeing her thick black hair down and in curls drove me crazy. I couldn’t handle that. I was trying to be a gentleman. I needed to resist the urge to fuck her when my wife was standing only a few feet away.

Lala stood at the helm of my open office door. She knew better than to disturb me while I was working, but I wasn’t working. I was sitting alone drinking coffee. I texted her to come to me.

“Come in. Close the door. Lock it.” I ordered.

She did as she was told, but moved slower than I would’ve liked. All the years as my employee gave her a shit attitude. I didn’t care. I wasn’t here at the house enough to deal with it. I think she was over my bullshit and years of mental and physical abuse. I could see she was very close to throwing something at my head. She’d done it before. I had a few permanent bruises from Lala.

“My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“Your father was a good man.” She lied. I was sure she didn’t care about him at all.

My father sold her to me like she was a slave. She was good at her job. I had to pay him one hundred thousand dollars to bring her into my house to be my housekeeper. He told me nothing comes for free. I have to give my own father the cash for a maid. After all these years, I’d forgot about that. Lala was worth every penny. Everyone thinks I just inherited her because it sounds better. Fathers gave their son’s gifts all the time, so no one was the wiser. Lala was no gift. I had to pay for her and at the time 100K was a lot of money for me.

Lala knew I’d paid for her. I told her once when I was angry with her. She, in turn, kicked me in the balls. Today I wasn’t in the mood to fight, so maybe she will be nice to me while I’m grieving my loss.

“Come closer to me.” I commanded.

Lala rolled her dark brown eyes and slowly walked her way around my desk. “What?”

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