Paint splattered onto my hand, the flick of my brush against the canvas aggressive, resulting in more excess than usual splashing back. I wiped my brow, inevitably spreading paint there, but I didn’t care right now. I’d been in the zone, painting out my frustrations for the past hour, though, based on the fatigue in my arms, it might’ve been longer.
Stepping back, I took in the canvas. It was dark and angry, my emotions bleeding onto the surface. But woven through, I saw the gold along the edges, and I knew it was her.
She was in every thought, every breath, every goddamned step I took. Loren haunted me, and I yearned to return to her. When Mas disclosed everything, he knew I would be steadfast in my commitment, wanting to do anything necessary to save her and others like her—the good, the innocent, the pure.
I never imagined it would take longer than a week, a month tops. We were hedging over two months, eight weeks, sixty days… whichever way you cut it, it was too fucking long. As much as I wanted to blame and rage at Mas, I couldn’t.
It was clear how much this weighed on him as well. I could see it in his stance; his shoulders were tight, the weight becoming heavier every day. He barely slept and when he did, it was fitful; the shadows under his eyes, a clear giveaway to his lack of rest.
And so, that was why I found myself painting out my frustration, my anger needing an outlet. I’d sparred with Sax a couple of times, but it didn’t have the same effect on me. Art and creation were my passion, and without my outlet, I’d been struggling. Being away from the shop was also rough. I knew it was in good hands with Cassandra, but I wanted to be back there. Ignite was the place I could be myself without any facade.
That was the thing with pretending. It eventually got old.
Having to be the fun party guy had exhausted me after the first week. The other family members had noticed my shift in personality, but no one had braved asking about it yet. My elevation in the family hierarchy could be the reason no one did, or perhaps it was the permanent scowl on my face. Being Mas’ underboss automatically came with a certain level of respect, intrigue, and fear.
It was hard to get used to. People bowed in my presence now or scurried out of the room when they saw me. It made it easier not to pretend to be the person I wasn’t, but the part of me who’d grown up with these people and considered them friends, he was hurt by their aversion.
A lot had changed, and it was taking time to get used to.
“I’m still angry with you, Nic, but I need a favor, so I’m going to talk to you while it benefits me, and then maybe I’ll forgive you.”
Imogen’s voice called out from the shadows, and I inwardly cheered that she'd finally, willingly, talked to me. I’d missed her but understood her anger. Atticus had kept things tight-lipped around her. It was a hard line to know where to draw. She knew our lives and the things we did, but did she need to know the nitty-gritty details? I worried we were all trying so hard to protect her that we would inadvertently push her toward the enemy.
If she took a step toward me for help, I’d take it as the life raft it was meant to be. This could be my only chance.
“Anything, Immy.”
She exhaled, her countenance easing from the fight stance she’d expected to need. She’d been ready to go to battle for whatever she’d wanted. This was important then.
She moved forward, now a little timidly, and I waited until she met me. The mafia side of me knew I needed to let her do things and not make it easy for her. The cousin and big brother part of me wanted to wrap her up in a soft blanket and hide her away from everything bad.
The Mascro fate wasn’t to hide away, though. Our family lineage was filled with men and women rising up to do whatever it took for the family. So today, I needed to be Nicco, the underboss, and not Nic, the friend. It broke my heart, but it was necessary for her survival.
“No one will tell me anything, and part of me doesn’t even care about being out of the loop. The part that does have an issue is the one where I’ve been disconnected from the things that were helping me heal. It took me a while to see past my anger, and now all I feel is bitterness and pain. I was getting somewhere with Loren. And while I get our protocol, she isn’t like other people. She can be trusted. I know it. She didn’t deserve how we treated her. Nor did Jude.”
Nodding, I folded my arms as I listened. I’d assumed it would be about them. Lord knows it was all that consumed me too. Or at least the Loren portion.
“So while I accept I can’t see them or text, I was wondering if you could get a message to Jude for me. I know you won’t let me see Loren when we can’t tell her anything, and I figure Jude will be easier to find anyway. He attends a prep school now and has a photography club after school. He’d be easy to intercept.”
I studied her and realized we’d underestimated her. “How do you know all that info?”
She shrugged one shoulder before responding. “I hacked my jackass tutor’s phone.”
I couldn’t help it, and the underboss mask slipped, and I bent over laughing at her words. The sound had her joining me, and when we stood back up, I knew it had been needed.
“You’re smarter than you’ve led us to believe if you’re able to hack his phone. I know for a fact it’s encrypted and swept before and after he leaves.”
Immy grinned, twirling back and forth on her feet with her hands locked behind her. “Maybe.”
“Oh, you are so busted. Fine. I’ll see what I can do, but you have to promise to tell Atticus. If he knew what you were capable of, he might not coddle you so much.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged, not looking at me.
“Hey, come here.”
I pulled her into a hug, the action being severely missed over the past month. “I’m sorry about everything that happened and the circumstances that led us here. I don’t like it either, and it kills me to not tell her. I can’t even imagine what she must think of us. But we will make this right, MoMo. We will.”
I felt her head nod in my arms as I kept her close, needing the comfort as well.