"Hey, Davis!" I shouted over the noise as he worked on a heavily tattooed man.
"What up, boss man?" he greeted, head bent down as he worked.
Chuckling at him, it never got old being called that. Walking in further, I found Cassandra on the phone. She handled the front when she wasn't doing piercings since they didn't take as long to manage. Cassandra winked when she saw me, causing me to shake my head and smile. The woman was old enough to be my grandmother, but it never stopped her flirting.
"Right-o, I have you scheduled with Nicco for Monday at 3 pm. Thank you for choosing Ignite Ink." She grinned wide at me as she hung up the phone. No one knew I was part of the Mascro crime family here since I used my mother's maiden name. So on nights I had fights, they always assumed I was on some illicit date I was keeping secret.
"So, what's her name this time? Do we get to meet her?"
"The only woman in my life is you, Cassandra. No one else can compare."
"Oh, you smooth talker. Just you wait. One day, she's going to walk in and knock you off your feet."
Laughing at her, I shook my head and headed the rest of the way to my office. Being around the people here was always an instant mood lifter. Shutting my door, I leaned back against it and took a breath, and for the first time in hours, I could drop the mask entirely. Feeling relieved, I shuffled over to my desk and booted up my laptop.
These nights at the shop had become my refuge. At first, it was a way to escape the pressure and expectations I'd been born into. But once Atticus had taken over, it seemed like a real possibility to have a life outside the family. I didn't dare talk about it, though. The surefire way to have your dreams destroyed was to hope and plan shit. Yet, I couldn't seem to help myself, and once the shop was going steady, I pushed for more.
I'd decided to enroll in online classes to get my teaching degree. I couldn't admit that one out loud, though. Not only would I be laughed at for wanting something different, but then it would be snatched away from me, trampled on, and destroyed before I could even walk into a school to teach.
It was risky, but if I didn't at least try, I was worried I would end up down the same path of drugs and despair my mother had, or worse, killed like my supposed father.
My mom had been one of the club girls for the family, and with her Pakistani and Italian heritage, her looks had drawn in the clientele, making her popular with the youngest Mascro. Naomi Collins hadn't been a bad mom. She just hadn't been completely there for me either. Even when she was alive, she'd been distant and sad, and I felt more like a burden to her than a son. I'd often been left on my own to fend for myself starting at the age of four and onward.
It was probably how I became good at art, though, and I owed her that much. She'd give me a coloring book and crayons and leave me in shitty places for hours while she "worked". Back then, I hadn't understood the fact she had sex for money. I didn't like what my mom had done to provide for us, selling her body, but I understood her need to survive and I would never begrudge her for that.
I didn't remember when the drugs had started, but I would often find her passed out with needles in her arm as I got older. When I was eight, I hadn't been surprised to learn she'd finally overdosed.
I went to live with the boss, Dayton "Grim Reaper" Mascro, after her death since my father had supposedly been the Reaper's little brother. According to him, my dad was shot and killed during a family crime fight years ago when I'd only been a baby. Mom would make vague comments about him, but nothing I could ever really glean any info from.
When I moved into the big house, I'd tried to find out more about Benny Mascro, but other than an old photograph, it was like he didn't exist. The story I was told never sat right with me, or the lack of information. But, at some point, I realized I had no one I could ask for the truth, so I left it alone.
Now, I just wanted my own life away from the Mascro name and to embrace Nicco Collins—the real me. And I wasn't just the fun guy who knew how to party, I was determined, and I had a plan.
Step one—the shop, Ignite Ink.
Step two—classes and a degree.
Step three—find a way to exit the family without having to die.
This favor would either be a win in my column or be the lynchpin that blew it all up in my face.
My online class started, and I zoned in on the professor's lesson about brush strokes. In this tiny room, in the back of my tattoo shop, I got to pretend I was a regular guy, living an everyday life with an ordinary dream.
Kind of fucking sad when you thought about it, but it was my dream, and I would hold onto it with everything I had.