Chapter 71: A connection
Nico
Slowly, I stepped out of the line and pulled down the mask I wore, letting it slide past my nose and mouth before hooking it loosely under my chin, allowing him to see my face fully.
The air between us shifted.
I was amused.
"The king? Who exactly is this that you serve?" I asked him, my voice calm, almost too calm for the situation we stood in, not surprised when his eyes widened and recognized me.
Recognition always came the same way.
First disbelief.
Then fear.
His hands began shaking almost immediately, not violently but enough to betray him, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as he struggled to get a hold of himself. His jaw tightened, unclenched, then tightened again as though he was physically forcing the panic back down.
For a moment, the struggle was there—to lie or to be honest.
And I so desperately wanted him to lie.
There was something far more satisfying about forcing the truth out of someone than having it handed over so easily.
"Your father would be..." I began again, my tone deliberately slow this time, giving the words enough space to settle into his mind, but this time he was more reactive.
"There’s no need to do that!" he said quickly, shaking his head a little too fast, the movement sharp and unrefined. He knew exactly what I was about to imply, and more importantly, what I was capable of following through on.
Aware that the moment Gotti found out what he did, he was a dead man.
Family or not.
"We can talk somewhere else!" he added, his gaze flickering past me, scanning the surroundings like he expected someone to emerge from the shadows and end him before he could finish a sentence.
Something I agreed with.
So far, Forren was the closest thing I had to a connection with the enemy. The last thing I needed was for him to die the same way Vale did—quick, inconvenient, and before I got anything useful out of him.
I raised my hands slightly, just enough to catch the attention of the men around me, my fingers making a small, precise motion.
They understood immediately.
"Disperse. Find the other guards around," I said, my tone leaving no room for interpretation.
A pause.
Then I added, "Prepare to blow up the entire entrance and gates!"
The last thing I needed was for the police to somehow link this back to me.
"Follow me!" I told Forren, not bothering to check if he would obey.
He looked like he wanted to argue, the resistance clear in the slight lift of his chin and the tightening of his shoulders. Taking instructions from someone his age clearly didn’t sit well with him.
But fear overrode pride.
It always did.
He nodded.
His black hair was still slicked back in that formal manner, though now there were imperfections—slight separations where sweat had begun to break through the product. His forehead was matted, a thin sheen catching the light, and his suit, though expensive, had lost its crispness.
Wrinkles had formed along the sleeves and torso.
There was an edginess to the way he stood, a stiffness that came from trying too hard to appear composed. He raised his head and squared his shoulders, but it felt rehearsed.
I didn’t care.
I turned and headed straight to my car, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes in steady, unhurried steps. Handing over the automatic weapon in my hand for one of my men to take.
I had just settled in the backseat, adjusting slightly against the leather, when Forren slipped in right beside me, closing the door a little too quickly as though he wanted the barrier between him and the outside world sealed immediately.
He sat there in silence for a moment.
"They’re going to come after me!" he began, the words spilling out with a mix of urgency and restraint, and it was surprising to see someone be more afraid of someone other than me.
"...they already did," I pointed out with a hint of annoyance, my gaze flicking briefly toward him before shifting away.
My hand instinctively moved toward the center console, fingers brushing against the edge as I reached for the cigarette pack I used to keep there.
Drawing back as I recalled that I already quit.
There was no point starting again. Not when I knew exactly what it did to the body.
"Speak!" my voice sharper this time around, the single word cutting through whatever hesitation he had left. I needed to know, and I was in no mood to ease him into it.
Settling back, I watched him from the corner of my eye as he began to speak.
"They approached me, they offered money and an agreement that after my father the territory would belong to me," he said, his voice steadier now, though there was still a slight tremor beneath it.
I didn’t believe that.
My gaze fixed on him, unwavering, and he flinched slightly before continuing.
"...I would manage it under someone called the king," Forren said, and I took a slow breath in, letting it out just as quietly.
It was confirmation that someone wanted the entire city, and they were willing to kill to get it.
"You keep speaking but you’re yet to say anything slightly important," I told him, allowing the annoyance I felt to bleed into my every word.
It had been a lot of work to set this up.
The bomb that would kill his assistant while someone delayed him.
Me rushing in at just the right moment to "rescue" him.
The fear of being killed creating enough adrenaline for him to not question anything.
Kidnapping him outright and torturing him could have gone sideways, especially if he stuck to his story. It could have turned Gotti against me, which would only benefit whoever was hiding behind all this.
Even now, there was no outward proof he had tried to kill his father.
Only suspicion.
And suspicion wasn’t enough.
Especially when the guards had said he tried to save him.
He sighed, raising his hand to run it through his hair, though the styling product kept it stubbornly in place. A frustrated groan slipped out as a hopeless expression settled onto his face.
"I don’t even know that much! I swear," he said, his eyes shifty, his posture collapsing just slightly, like a man waiting for a sentence to be carried out.
But I didn’t care.
"You... you have to protect me! Together we can find them faster!" he added quickly, leaning forward just a fraction as if trying to close the distance between us.
I slowly nodded. People said I wasn’t diplomatic. Funny. It was all I ever did.
"Tell me everything!" I ordered, the last of my patience gone, my tone leaving no room for delay.
If you were going to kill your father and take his place, you needed more than ambition. You needed resolve, something he didn’t have.
"We only have one method of communication," he began, swallowing before continuing. "I send a letter to a particular address along with a code to a number and someone picks it up."
A pause.
"I usually send Mark but he’s... he’s dead!" he added, his voice dropping slightly at the end.
I remained silent.
There were bound to be people watching the estate.
Which meant if I wanted to catch someone, I needed to act immediately.
It wasn’t hard to get Forren to write the letter.
His hand trembled slightly as he wrote, the pen pressing harder than necessary against the paper. The message carried outrage, frustration—blaming them for his assistant’s death while demanding reparations and more men.
It was believable.
Once done, I had him send one of his remaining men.
I wasn’t a monster.
I let those who surrendered live.
"So what’s the plan?" he asked after writing the letter and sending the code, his tone curious now, almost like we were partners.
Equals.
"The plan? You wait for me to reach out," I responded, gesturing toward the door without looking at him.
Now he looked pissed.
Shaking his head slightly, his jaw tightening.
"What?" he asked, unwilling to move.
I understood his fear.
But I didn’t care.
"But—you won’t tell my father? Right?" he asked, forcing his expression back into something calm, something controlled.
For his sake, I shook my head, attempting a softer smile.Which somehow only made him more uneasy.
"...and why would I do that?" I asked, watching him closely.
He nodded and opened the door, stepping out before pausing briefly, meeting my gaze one last time before slamming it shut.
Martin had been sitting in front quietly the entire time, his presence almost forgettable if you weren’t paying attention.
"Back to the estate?" he asked, a trace of displeasure in his tone, subtle but there.
He hadn’t wanted me to come. Taking a risk he could have done.
"No, head to the office! I have a few business dealings that are slowly grating on my nerves!" I responded, my voice returning to its usual calm.
Martin gestured to the driver and the car began to move.
"You could simply kill them," he said, the familiar line delivered with the same dry tone as always.
I allowed a small smile.
"...where would be the fun in that," I replied, my gaze drifting toward the window.
Heading to the head office of Romano Corp which death in all kinds of exports, imports and stock trades.
Because how else would I hide the drugs, and contrabands without getting caught.
