Chapter 7: Trust on the Line (Nico Valenti POV)

I’m leaning against the hood of my truck, parked outside Luca’s apartment, the metal cold under my hands. The morning air’s damp, smelling of rain-soaked asphalt, and a pigeon flaps past, landing on a sagging power line. I rub my knuckles, still sore from shoving Raf against that dumpster last night. His words—claiming it was just a debt collector—loop in my head, but they don’t add up. I’ve known Raf since we were kids, boosting candy from corner stores, but that note Luca found, He’s lying to you, has me doubting everything.

The apartment door creaks open, and Luca steps out, turning the key in the lock. He’s in his usual jacket, hood up against the drizzle, and his eyes are wide, lips caught between his teeth like he’s chewing on worry. I straighten up, pushing off the hood, and open the passenger door for him. He climbs in, tossing his keys onto the dashboard, and I slide into the driver’s seat, slamming my door shut.

“You sleep okay?” I ask, starting the engine. The truck rumbles to life, and I pull onto the street, tires hissing on the wet road.

“Not really,” Luca says, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. “Kept thinking about Raf. And that note.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my thumb tapping the leather—a restless habit when I’m pissed. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Raf’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

Luca shifts in his seat, turning to me. “What if it’s tied to the money? The fifty grand Antonio’s got you chasing?”

I glance at him, then back at the road. “Maybe. But I need more than a note to go after him. He’s family, Luca. Been with me through a lot.”

He nods, but his fingers keep picking at that thread, pulling it loose. “I get it,” he says. “Just… be careful, okay?”

His worry hits me hard, melting the anger knotting my chest. I don’t say anything, just reach over and squeeze his hand quick before letting go. We drive in silence for a bit, passing a guy walking his dog, the leash tangled around a pole. I turn into a quiet lot behind an old warehouse, the gravel crunching under the tires. I park, cut the engine, and lean back, the seat creaking under me.

Luca unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots closer. “Why’d we stop?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Needed a minute,” I say, turning to face him. His eyes are still wide, searching mine, and before I can think, he leans in. Our lips meet, quick but warm, and I cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss grounds me, like a tether in a storm, and I feel him relax against me, his hand resting on my chest. We pull apart, but stay close, our foreheads almost touching.

“You’re all I’ve got,” I say, my voice low. “You know that, right?”

He smiles, small but real. “Yeah,” he says, brushing a curl out of his face. “Same.”

I tap the steering wheel again, my other hand still on his neck, thumb grazing his skin. This—us—it’s the only thing keeping me steady with all this mess piling up. Raf, Gia, Antonio, the money—it’s all closing in, but Luca’s here, and that’s enough for now.

I start to say something else, but my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting Raf or worse, but it’s a text from Marco, a Valenti soldier: Meet at the bar. Got something you need to see. I show it to Luca, who frowns, tucking his hands into his jacket.

“Think it’s about Raf?” he asks, buckling his seatbelt as I start the truck again.

“Could be,” I say, pulling out of the lot. “Marco’s solid. If he’s got something, it’s real.”

We drive to The Black Rose, the streets busier now with morning traffic. I park out front, grabbing my cap from the dashboard and tugging it low. Luca follows me inside, flipping on the bar’s lights as I lock the door behind us. The place smells like last night’s beer and sawdust from the plywood over the broken window.

Marco’s already there, sitting at a table, a coffee mug in front of him. He’s older, gray creeping into his beard, and he’s flipping a lighter between his fingers. “Morning,” he says, nodding to us.

“What’s up?” I ask, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. Luca grabs a rag from the counter and starts wiping tables nearby, listening but keeping busy.

Marco sets the lighter down and slides a folded paper across the table. “Found this in Raf’s locker at the gym,” he says. “Thought you should see it.”

I unfold it—a betting slip, marked with Raf’s name and a string of losses, big ones. My stomach twists. “Gambling debts,” I mutter, passing it to Luca, who pauses his wiping to look.

“Explains why he’s been jumpy,” Marco says, sipping his coffee. “But it don’t explain who he’s talking to. I saw him with some guy last week, not one of ours.”

“Leather jacket?” Luca asks, setting the rag down and stepping over.

Marco nods. “Yeah. You seen him too?”

“Last night,” Luca says, leaning on the table. “In the alley by my place. Talking about cash and me.”

I slam the paper down, the mug rattling. “That’s it,” I say, standing up. “I’m done giving Raf the benefit of the doubt.”

Marco raises a hand. “Go easy, Nico. He’s still one of us. Get proof first.”

I nod, but my blood’s boiling. I grab a broom from the corner and start sweeping, needing to move. Luca picks up a stack of coasters, straightening them, his eyes flicking to me. “What’s the plan?” he asks, his voice steady despite the worry I know he’s feeling.

“Plan is I find Raf,” I say, pushing the broom hard, glass crunching under it. “And he talks, or he’s done.”

Luca sets the coasters down and walks over, grabbing my arm to stop me. “We find him,” he says, emphasizing the we. “I’m not staying on the sidelines.”

I look at him, ready to argue, but his jaw’s set, and I know he means it. “Fine,” I say, leaning the broom against the wall. “But you stick close.”

He nods, and I feel that tether again, pulling us tighter. I grab a cloth and help him wipe down the bar, our hands brushing as we work. The rhythm of it calms me, and we talk low, planning to track Raf after his shift at the docks. Marco finishes his coffee, sets the mug in the sink, and heads out, promising to keep an eye out.

I’m rinsing the cloth when Luca grabs a mop, starting on a sticky spot by the bar. “You think Gia’s part of this too?” he asks, not looking up.

I wring out the cloth, water dripping into the sink. “Maybe,” I say. “She’s been too quiet since last night. I’ll deal with her after Raf.”

He nods, pushing the mop back and forth. A delivery truck rumbles past outside, its horn blaring, and I check my watch—10:22 a.m. We’re almost done cleaning when I head to the door, unlocking it to let some air in. The drizzle’s stopped, leaving puddles on the sidewalk. I’m about to call Luca over when a sharp knock on the truck window behind me makes me jump.

I spin around, and there’s Gia, standing by my truck, her face grim. She’s holding a worn ledger, its edges frayed, and she taps it against her palm. “Nico,” she says, her voice cutting through the quiet. “You’re in deeper than you think.”