Nicky the Driver (Underboss Insurrection #2) Read Online Cate C. Wells

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Underboss Insurrection Series by Cate C. Wells

Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)


He can’t take his eyes off me.
I remember Nicky Biancolli from junior high. Back then, he was always staring. My cousin warned him off, and after that, he faded into the background.
Now, ten years later, he’s in my mother’s kitchen at two in the morning, and there’s a dead man in a pool of blood on the floor. Lucca Corso—the rat who killed my father—says that if I don’t marry Nicky to make peace between our families, the little brother I raised is next.
I don’t have a choice.
I have to go with the man who looks like he wants to eat me alive, and I have no idea whether this is about following orders or something much darker.
All I know is that Nicky isn’t stalking me anymore. He owns me now, and no one is going to stop him from taking what he wants.

Full Book:

Chapter one


If I pedal hard enough, I can turn my brain off.

I wish the bike’s display had a reading for that—it’s got calories burned, speed, distance, resistance. There’s a leaderboard that I ignore. I bought the heart rate monitor, and I never look at that either.

It’s supposed to be all about calories burned, right?

But if there were a metric for time remaining until I stop thinking, my eyes would be glued on that, counting down.

I’ve been doing a climb ride for almost an hour. My thighs burn, my calves are cramping, but my brain’s still gnawing away.

Paul was short with me on the phone tonight. I know he’s struggling with pathology. He sucks at rote memorization. He’s always been a hands-on kind of guy. That’s why he loved gross anatomy, and that’s why he’s going to be an amazing pediatric surgeon. Or orthopedic surgeon. Whichever path he chooses, he’s going to be the best. That’s Paul. The best.

Ever since junior high, he’s been top of the class. Popular without trying. Most likely to succeed.

Maybe I’m not prom queen anymore, but we still complement each other. Right now, he needs my support. I can do that.

What do I have to bitch about? Living at home again? A stocked fridge and a laundry machine that doesn’t take quarters?

It made sense to move back home after college. Mom’s still reeling from being alone for the first time in her adult life, and even though Mattie’s a senior, he still needs someone at home looking out for him. And Paul needs to focus on med school. The professional relationships that he’s building with his roommates are invaluable. That’s what he says whenever I bring it up.

I need to stop bringing it up.

Just because I’m sleeping in my old bedroom again doesn’t mean I’ve regressed. I’m sacrificing for my family and our future. Paul appreciates that. He says it all the time.

I tighten my grip, and my engagement ring clinks against the handlebars. I might need to get it resized. It’s getting loose.

All couples go through periods of time when one partner needs to hyper-focus on their career. If I knew what I wanted to do with my life, I’d be grinding, too. I’m not afraid of hard work.

I press a button and increase the incline.

It’s not like I’m slacking. I’m sending out resumes, going on interviews. It hasn’t happened for me yet, but it will. I’ll find a job that I love.

I’ll figure out what I love.

My legs pump, my lungs burn, and sweat trickles down my spine.

What do I love?

Over my vanity, there are still the sparkly gold letters that my mom stenciled during one of her crafting phases. Dream big.

Oh, the irony. Daniella Graziano only ever wanted to have a richer husband than her sisters, more followers than her sisters, and a tighter ass than her sisters. Her husband’s dead, but two out of three ain’t bad. She’s not complaining.

That old, cold fear sloshes in the pit of my stomach, so I stand on the pedals and push harder. I don’t listen to an instructor or music. I listen to my thoughts. I let them drive me crazy as I watch the calories burned tick higher and higher. I didn’t mess up today, so it’s money in the bank. Insurance against future fuck ups.

Crap I can’t control ricochets around in my skull, generating kinetic energy.



What happened to Dad.

Dad’s not just dead, he was executed. Dumped in the Luckahannock. Or buried under fresh concrete somewhere. Or dissolved in lye and rinsed down a tub drain.

We don’t know how it happened, and we never will. We don’t know who or when or why, but we can guess, and we can’t ever, ever say it out loud.

Lucca Corso and his men killed Dominic Renelli, my dad’s boss, and while they were at it, they killed my dad, Vittorio Amato, Frankie Bianco, Joey Zito—more guys I didn’t know that well—and we can think it, but we can never let on that we know.