A/N: Hey, this is a multi-chapter fic that tells the story of Detective Nick Amaro's three great loves. The story will detail how they met, the highs, the lows, and how it all fell apart. It will start with Cynthia Mancheno - the sister of the drug kingpin whose organization he infiltrated when he was working in narcotics. Then we will look into married life with his ex-wife, Maria Grazie. Finally, we will see present-day Nick dealing with the prospect of a new love with his fellow detective, Amanda Rollins. In order to have Rollaro, we need to understand why Nick is the way he is when it comes to women and relationships, so we need to explore his past so he has a chance at a future with Amanda. Read, enjoy, and review.

February 28, 2015

There was always a buzz in the squad room. Besides the constant ringing of the telephone, there was a steady stream of uniforms walking back and forth, shuffling papers, and tapping plastic pens against wood desks. He expertly flipped the pen and caught it between his fingers – a trick he learned in sixth grade as he failed to listen to Father Bernabe's idea of sex education. "Abstinence is the only guaranteed way a young woman will not get pregnant. God will only open his gates to those who are faithful to Jesus until marriage."

He knew Father Bernabe's lecture was a crock of shit. But even then, twelve-year-old Nick Amaro had no interest in sex or girls or hearing about how acting on your impulses was a sin punishable by hellfire and brimstone. Nick was still growing up from playing cops and robbers with the neighborhood kids; he had no time to think about the opposite sex. Ok, fine, maybe there was one girl in his English class. The one with the pretty, blue eyes and golden hair. But he didn't want to have sex with her; he just wanted her to notice him, maybe hold his hand… maybe kiss him.

She never did. That girl with the pretty, blue eyes and golden hair ended up fourteen and pregnant. She, like him, probably wasn't listening to Father Bernabe. The only time the girl ever noticed him was when she walked out of Father Moran's office with tears staining her cheeks. She wiped the tears with the back of her hand and caught his eyes briefly before she looked away embarrassedly. She was kicked out of St. Jude's that day.

"Yo, Nick."

"Huh?" He snapped out of his reverie to see Detective Fin Tutuola hovered over his desk. Nick's knee-jerk reaction was to turn his head to the left to see if she had seen him spacing out again. She called him out on it the last time they had an argument. When was that? Was it five days ago? Has it really been that long since they had a conversation that didn't pertain to a case? She looked to be concentrated on the screen of her laptop, her fingers furiously typing away. Her hair was pulled back and he noticed that the mark he left on her neck five days ago had now disappeared. Fin rolled his eyes. These two couldn't be more obvious if they tried.

"I got a call," Fin started, "corner of Seventh and Houston."

Nick nodded, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair before joining Fin out of the squad room.

July 8, 2003

"Yo, Carlos."

He whipped his head around to meet the eyes of his boss. The man was seated on a La-Z-Boy, in front of the television. Wheel of Fortune was on and the volume was loud enough to make a deaf man hear again, but his boss wasn't paying attention. He just liked seeing Vanna White cross the screen from time to time. All those contestants were idiots, anyway. It only frustrated him when they couldn't figure out the phrases, but he continued to have it on every afternoon as long as he was home. He liked to have the television in the background while he was going over the books.

Detective Nick Amaro stepped further into the living room. The whole place smelled like cigarette smoke, but it smelled the worst in here because it stuck to the carpets and the drapes. Nick leaned over the coffee table to put out his cigarette in the ashtray. A flume of smoke travelled up, and disappeared into the air. He hated the stuff, but it helped to keep up appearances.

Cigarettes. He hated it when his father picked up the habit; he remembered being five and cutting his papi's cigars. They were a gift from his tio all the way from Havana. His father, Nicholas, was enraged when he saw his son had cut them up into tiny slivers. Nick thought his dad got the message – that cigarettes destroy your lungs – but the next day, papi brought home a pack of cigarettes and, out of pure spite, smoked it in his face.

"Carlos," the boss called him by the name he assumed since joining the organization three months ago. "I need you to pick something up for me. I'd ask Rodrigo, but my mother doesn't like his face. Especially after what happened last time."

"Last time?"

The boss, Antonio Mancheno, merely shrugged his square shoulders before he flipped to the next page in his book. "That cabrón made a pass at my mother. Can you believe that?"

Nick couldn't help but sneer. Rodrigo was six-feet-seven and weighed at least three hundred pounds; he also had this perpetually clueless look on his face. He wasn't very bright, but he was loyal and he was the muscle behind Antonio's operation.

"I need you to pick up a package from my ma's house. Here's the address," he handed Nick a slip of paper, "she's expecting you. She'll probably ask you to stay so she can cook for you, and ask you questions about Cartagena and if you have a girlfriend back home. She's nosy like that."

Nick smiled at the thought. Mrs. Mancheno reminded him of his own mother. "Yeah, no problem. You need the package right away?"

Antonio waved his hand at him, "Nah, you can bring it by tomorrow morning." He glanced back at the screen just in time to catch Vanna White flip the letter 'M' twice on the board. Antonio nodded his head approvingly before he turned his attention back to his protégé, "just make sure the package stays nice and sealed when it gets to me in the morning. I told you, mi madre es curioso."

Nick drove down to Queens to the address on the slip of paper. The neighborhood looked like it had gone through a rough period years ago, but now it was quiet - almost eerie. He parked in front of a duplex and walked up to the porch. The porch swing and pots of flowers were a contrast to the dilapidated brick and the crosswire fence that surrounded the property. He knocked on the door, but there was no response. He knocked again, this time louder, but he couldn't hear footsteps on the other side. There was no car on the driveway; so maybe Mrs. Mancheno wasn't expecting him after all.

He was turning on his heel when he heard the door click.

"Can I help you?"

He turned around to face a young woman. She looked to be in her early to mid-twenties. She was dressed in a white tank top and light-wash denim shorts that brought out the deep, rich color of her tanned skin. Nick noted her deep-set brown eyes. The pieces in his brain fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. She was Antonio's sister. He'd heard the other guys in the gang talk about her, but he'd never actually seen her in the three months he was working for Antonio.

"Yeah, is your mom around?" Nick lifted his chin to get a better look at the dimly lit hallway behind her. He couldn't see anything, except the light pouring through the screen of a backdoor.

She stepped forward and closed the door behind her. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. "She's not around."

"Antonio said she's expecting me," he said simply, "I'm here to pick up a package."

She furrowed her brows at him, "I never seen you before."

"I'm Carlos from Cartagena," he extended his hand out for her to shake, and she took it reluctantly. "I moved here a little over three months ago. Su hermano… he took me in."

"Cynthia," she shook his hand before pulling away too quickly for his liking, "Antonio's sister." She looked past him and down the street before opening the door. Nick followed her inside and down the long hallway into the kitchen. He didn't mean to stare but it was hard not to. His eyes raked over her backside as she walked. She had nice hips, and a pair of shorts that were cut off so high you could see the curve of her ass. He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the caveman-like thoughts that began to wire through his brain.

Nick sat down on the chair and watched silently as Cynthia opened the freezer and filled two glasses with ice cubes. She then opened the fridge and pulled out a box of orange juice.

"Mama just left. She wasn't happy about Tonio telling her to watch a package for him, so she went down to play cards with her girl friends." Cynthia poured the juice and offered a glass to Nick, who obliged. "Ma doesn't like it when Tonio tells her what to do. She says he's still her little boy whether he's calling the shots or not."

Nick didn't realize the sigh of content that escaped his lips after that mouthful. It was refreshing in this July heat. Cynthia smirked at Nick's momentary awkwardness, before she pressed the glass to her lips. His throat felt dry as he watched her crane her neck to drink. The heat was unforgiving and she had a sheen of sweat on her skin, down her chest, dipping dangerously into her cleavage.

He cleared his throat. "So she asked you to watch the package for her?"

Cynthia nodded. She pointed over to a box sitting on the kitchen counter. Nick walked across the cramped kitchen and lifted the box. It was quite heavy for its size; densely packed with what he assumed to be heroin. "Thanks," he turned to her as he carried the box between his hip and elbow. "And thanks for the drink."

"De nada," a tight smile spread across her lips. He caught a glint of disappointment in her eyes, and Nick set the box back down on the counter. Subconsciously, he knew it was a terrible idea; but in that moment his conscience was weak, and so was his willpower.

A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. He had a nice smile, or so he was often told. He felt his ego rise as he watched her eyes avert from his and the blush creep up her cheeks. His mother always told him his charm would get him in trouble. She was right.

"So, uh, Antonio told me there would be dinner."

Cynthia's long, thick lashes fluttered as she looked up to meet his dark, smoldering eyes. She laughed softly and nodded, "you like arroz con gandules?"

They talked as she worked over the hot stove and made dinner. Cynthia pulled her hair up into a messy bun, and all Nick could think about was how his lips would feel lingering across her exposed neck. He opened a few bottles of beer for the two of them. As the sky darkened and the air cooled slightly, she could feel herself a little light-headed, and a little less reserved around her visitor.

The truth was, Cynthia wasn't keen on the fact that her big brother was a drug kingpin. But after their father walked out on them when she was just a little girl, it was Antonio who stepped up and vowed to be the man of the house. What was a fourteen-year-old boy in the projects supposed to do except join a gang and peddle drugs in order to support his family? Who could blame Tonio?

Antonio took care of their family. He kept Mama happy, and he made sure his baby sister was always protected. Sure, family sometimes got involved with transporting the drugs; but he made sure that they were safe at all times. Mama never got behind any gambling debts, and anyone who gave her trouble got a visit from one of Antonio's friends. Cynthia's suitors hardly had a chance, with her brother breathing down their necks; but the ones that did break her heart often ended up with a broken bone or two. She didn't advocate the violence or his lifestyle, but she couldn't deny that her brother loved her.

Not just anyone was allowed to do pick-ups and drop-offs at the Mancheno family home. You had to be in Antonio's inner circle to be entrusted with such a task. Cynthia knew this. She knew that the only men her brother sent to the house were men he trusted; so call her surprised when she saw the new guy at her doorstep. She hadn't seen or heard of Carlos before, and he wasn't like any of the guys her brother sent. The men in Antonio's circle were either childhood friends, who saw her like a little sister, or these burly men with not much going on upstairs. Carlos was different.

He looked at her, not in the hungry way some of her brother's men looked at her. There was a curiosity but also a sense of mystery behind his eyes. She couldn't quite put her finger to what made him seem so different. Maybe it was because he was guapo, and she was simply lost in those dark eyes and that charming smile. But it couldn't have been just that. There was something more, and Cynthia was anxious yet eager to find out.

She watched him wolf down the rice and take a swig from his beer. She had turned on the ceiling fan, but she could see the sweat on his temple. "Too hot for you?"

She was talking about the spices in the dish, but his mind went somewhere completely different. He shook his head as he gave her a cheeky grin. The sky was a deep black now. They finished dinner; he helped her clear the table and wash the dishes. They talked and laughed for hours until Ma drunkenly stumbled home and crawled up the stairs. She didn't even notice the guest in her kitchen.

When Cynthia returned from helping her mom get settled in bed, she returned downstairs and found Carlos looking over old photo albums in the living room. She shared stories of her childhood – the good parts, anyway. Carlos seemed more reserved when he talked about his family and his upbringing in Cartagena, but he had no trouble telling her amusing stories of Rodrigo and the other crude men in her brother's crew.

The more she spent time with him, talking to him, drinking with him, the more Cynthia felt at ease. Maybe it was the alcohol playing tricks on her mind. But if it was the alcohol, she'd just feel it in her head and, maybe, her belly. Why was she feeling a flutter in her heart? For the first time in a long time, she forgot about her brother being one of the city's fastest rising drug kingpins. She forgot about the nightmares of cops raiding the house and shooting down everyone she loved. She forgot about how each passing day made her more and more paranoid that some guy from a rival gang would be out to get her. Antonio thought she had no idea about the threats made on her life and on her dignity; but she wasn't stupid.

For a moment... for a summer's night, Cynthia felt safe with Carlos.