A Mafia Boss Got Me: Nico

The red and blue lights flitted around the packed street entrance and the music was loud enough to be heard from a block or two away. He felt the bass through his rubber-soled shoes.  

Nico had only been to this club a handful of times, mostly because Sergei coerced him into it after a long stakeout, so they can both get laid. He doesn't enjoy it, because he knows that the place has shady deals surrounding it, which is exactly why he's here now.  

The place could be worse, though. The bartenders are prompt, and the liquor isn't bad. The dance floor is always packed, just like the back booths. The back room is open for those who know what they need, and who they need to meet to make it happen. That's where Nico was headed.  

He flashed his ID, and the muscled bouncer dropped the maroon velvet rope and slammed open the gritty steel door. He still got carded at twenty-nine, which is ironic to him, since he's seen more death, more joy, and more than half the people in this room, despite his youth. Most people wouldn't even attempt to keep it together in his position. 

First stop, the bar, for a neat whiskey. He waved down a bartender and speaks, asking for a drink and about who is working. While waiting for his target to walk through the door, he made small talk. He made eye contact with a new barmaid he hasn't seen before.  

You sure are attractive, but he can't get distracted now, not when he's on the clock. A hulking man has just walked through the side door of the club and heads to the back room. Nico knocked back his drink, threw his glass down with a clang on the metal counter, and stepped off the bar stool to follow the giant.  

A cloud of smoke lingers in the dark hallway, maybe from high-end weed or Cuban cigars. Nico stalked in the shadows, knowing if the man looked behind him, he wouldn't be able to see him. The steel door squeaks and squeals as it opens. Before it closes completely, Nico stuck his booted foot out to hold it open.  

He peered through the crack and saw the hulk sit down at a table with the man he was after Dmitriy.  

Dmitriy Andreev is an underboss for one of the Brigadiers, who ran for Maxim, the biggest Pakhan in Chicago. Nico Volkov has been assigned to his case on and off for the last five years and taking him out has proven difficult.  

Most people won't dare double-cross him. That's how Nico's father, Vladimir ended up dead. He thought he could pull the wool over Dmitriy's eyes without repercussions.  

Thankfully, Dmitriy had never met Nico. If he had any clue who Nico is, he might shoot on sight.  

Nico Volkov had been putting together a network of mobsters to take him down and the next contact had been the hulk. He knew better now, having seen this meeting take place on what he considers his home turf. If he had known Dmitriy would be here, he would have had backup come in and take out the guy so he can finish this job. But then, he would have to throw away his cover and risk tipping off Maxim that there's someone after him. The agency would probably fire him or at the least demote him after losing their main undercover agent.  

The door eased close without a sound, and a shadow moved back towards the bar. Nico's long legs folded up onto a stool and his hand waved for a stiff drink.  

The new barmaid came over with a smile and took his order. Nico admired the elegant features of the young woman under the blue and black lights of the club. They created harsh angles across your body where he thought there were soft curves.  

“Beer. And a shot of the top shelf stuff.” He points at a whiskey bottle, high off the ground. Your small frame straining to reach it was what he imagined. He'll be surprised if you don't have to get a stool from under the cabinet.  

You smiled when you pulled out a pair of heels from the cabinet, not the stool, and slipped them on. “Here,” you said, slamming the bottle down.  

“Those look nice,” he replied, nodding towards the shoes, which had bright red soles. “I'm Nick Cannon, and you are?” He smiled, knowing he can't give you his real last name, in case you're connected.  

“Jessica. I haven't seen you here before. Newcomer, or not a drunkard?” The lecherous man at the other end of the bar belched as if to prove your point.  

“Neither I just don't drink much. Not my scene. I prefer a quiet whiskey after a delicious sit-down meal.” He took a sip of his beer, then swiped his tongue over his lips.  

“So why tonight? Why here?” you got a glass for yourself and him before popping your shoes off and slipping into a pair of Vans to become four inches shorter. He can hardly hear the glug of the whiskey pouring into the two shot glasses over the music.  

“Work.”

“What kind? Or am I not allowed to know?” your eyes sparkled with mischief.  

“The kind a lady shouldn't get involved in. But if you must know… I'm making connections,” Nico said after you quirked your eyebrows and pursed your lips at him. He also knows that you understand the implications of his statement if you work here.  

“Ah, I see. Anything you need to know?”

“How to make you smile, perhaps?” He winked, then cracked a smile. He threw back his whiskey, waiting for your answer.  

“Tough subject. Mostly inappropriate jokes and politically incorrect statements. Grand gestures.” You threw your shot glass back. “My turn. I'll need to know what time you'll be back tomorrow.” You slammed the shot glass down on the steel countertop and poured another for him.  

“And what makes you think I'll be back?”

“No one comes in here just once. And no one gets all the ‘connections’ they need in one night. So, what time shall I wait for you?” you whispered conspiringly in his ear, followed by a sultry wink. The smell of the whiskey you just downed wafted over him and stressed the smoky scent of the bar that was lingering on your skin.  

“You'll have to wait and see, I guess.” He nodded at a customer farther down, waving a bill, trying to get your attention. “So, get back to work. I'll see you soon. Maybe.” He tossed back his next shot and met your eyes boldly.  

Your bitten, blushed lips twitch and a twinkle of veiled mirth sparked in your eyes. Then you spun gracefully in your red Vans and sauntered off to tend to the waving hands. He thought about all the places he knew that sell red shoes or shoes with red in them.

He tracked the swing of your hair and the sway of your ass and hips as you walk away. Then he wondered how it would look in your heels. He mentally shook himself because you're probably related to one of these jerks and he can't get involved, lest he put you in unnecessary danger. He finished the last of his beer in a few swigs, head pounding from the loud music.  

He threw a money clip on the counter with a note for Jessica, before leaving quickly, hoping that no one recognized him as a Knight, or even as Vladimir's son.  

As he drove down the highway towards the blockhouse where he and Sergei lived, and where his partner Andrei worked out, he thought about everything he's learned and put together tonight.  

Nico tried to ponder the man he wanted to recruit to work for his primary target. However, his mind kept drifting back to you. He wondered what Sergei would think of you and concluded he wouldn't trust you.  

Hell, Nico just met you. None of them can trust new people, really; not in their line of work. He knew the chances were high; it's probable that you only want information for your own ‘contacts.'

Maybe not, though. She could be different. He entertained the idea.  

Nico shook his head and refocused on the road, avoiding the potholes in the shoulders. He thought about the group of youngins he pointed out to Andrei this morning and how half of them seemed terrified at the sight of him.  

This isn't the first time Nico and Andrei have worked undercover toge