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THIRTY-THREE
REBECCA
Anthony held my faceand if I’d just met him for the first time tonight, I would swear he was enamored with me. Except, the Anthony I knew only loved himself.
Unless that was his game face. His veneer. And this was the real Anthony holding me, kissing me.
“I want to show you something,” he whispered.
“The last time you said that, you fucked Bastien in front of me.”
His eyes flared hot. “And you got off watching me. Now you know why I loved watching you with him.”
If only Sebastien and Anthony would agree...
No, that was crazy.
No, it’s not,a voice that sounded like Lacey, Nate’s fiancé whispered in the wind.
That was a phone call I needed to make.
“What do you want to show me?” I asked Anthony, melting against him.
His body felt so warm and the smell of his shirt, rich musk and pure male, filled me. Made me feel whole in a way I hadn’t expected.
Making sure the twisted straps of my dress were in place, he said, “Next door.”
“It looked like a construction site.”
“It’s mostly done. The unveiling is next month.”
“Unveiling?” My curiosity piqued. “What is it?”
“Shut up and I’ll show you,” he said, grinning.
Taking my hand, we waltzed out of the lobby amid whispers and pale gawks. I honestly didn’t know if this wrecked my reputation as they had intended or made me the envy of everyone in Manhattan. I could do a lot worse than Sebastien Daria and Anthony Messina Jr.
Vale probably retreated to my Town Car. The last I saw of Mark and Reggie were their wide shoulders outlined in a faded silhouette as they stood guard so Anthony and I could fuck interrupted. Where they were now, I had no idea. I pushed away how their behavior was probably a habit after years of Anthony’s manwhoring around Manhattan.
You’re my manwhore now...
Outside the condo building’s entrance, lush green bushes lined the block, but split at an opening between the condo and the glass building.
“Down this side,” Anthony said, holding my hand, leading me along an alleyway.
After a few steps of near pitch black, pops of light brightened the walkway. Voices hummed and the sound of broom bristles hitting concrete gently lapped against the silence.
“Boys,” Anthony said, saluting them.
“Mr. Messina. Good evening,” one of them said and opened a glass door. “The power is off. Crews working on the grid this weekend. Take this.” The man handed Anthony an industrial-looking flashlight.
Anthony didn’t say thank you, just grabbed the flashlight while holding my hand. Past another door, pitch black once again surrounded us.
But so did the smell of brand-new carpet and fresh-cut wood. “What is this?” I whispered.
Anthony answered by flicking on the flashlight.
A wide counter made of black sparkling granite came into view. “Are you opening a hotel? The Byrnes might have something to say about that.”
“Not a hotel.”
“It’s not a restaurant or a bar.”
“Nope.” He lifted the flashlight higher to a wall of diagonal bamboo planks.
In shiny gold lettering, the sign read: Messina Women’s Pavilion.
Shocked, I tugged his hand. “A hospital?”
“Not really a hospital. Too complicated. Just a place for women’s procedures.”
“Procedures?” I broke away and stepped toward the counter. “Please don’t say plastic surgery.”
“No.” He kept the flashlight pointed at my feet. The thing was powerful enough to light a wide circle around me. “Imaging, radiology, all kinds of screening women need. Like a fancy clinic.”
“Fancy? Try five-star. It’s beautiful,” I gushed. “You’ll make a fortune, Anthony. Lots of rich people in this city will flock—”
“This is for women who are uninsured or underinsured. It’s all free, Rebecca,” Anthony said in a voice I didn’t recognize.
Could all of that Italian swagger and macho really just be an act?
My breath left me anyway. “This is amazing. Whose idea was this place?”
“Mine.”
“Liar.”
He lowered his eyes, and then it hit me. Something I’d forgotten because Anthony’s presence sucked all the oxygen out of every room. He strolled everywhere larger than life and all eyes landed on him, admiring his beauty, his glossy hair, strong jaw, wide shoulders, and broad chest.
His sister Lia had passed away from skin cancer while we were in college. I took the flashlight from him and shined it on the back reception wall again.
The Lia Messina Women’s Pavilion.
“It’s why I can’t bail on Sunrise.” He pulled me toward him and held my face. “My father put every penny into Sunrise. I put every penny from my trust into this.”
The surrounding light danced across a gorgeous waiting room of leather chairs with sleek wood and metal side tables.
“Oh, Anthony.”
“Rebecca, I know you had nothing to do with the Sunrise deal. The same way I had nothing to do with it. But the consensus is, your father bullied my papa. Daria and Byrne too. He’d been doing it for years, Becca. You think my father, and Richard Daria, and Patrick Byrne happily went along with shit like Sunrise? He had us by the balls.”
“Did he force me on you too?” My throat went tight.
“They made that deal behind my back.”
“You wouldn’t have agreed.”
“Fuck no. You were in love with Bastien. He loved you back.” Anthony’s voice got low. “I found out the details after the deal was done. What it meant.”
“What did it mean?”
“Your father either knew Nate would never run his company or couldn’t run it properly. He made the deal with my father because we had the best infrastructure to take over Domenico Holdings in the event of either.”
That deal had been made years ago. Nate had just started recording. Feeling sick, I said, “That also means he had zero faith I could.”
“Not because you couldn’t, Becca.” He brushed his hands on my shoulders. “You were twenty-three.”
“True. But I’ve been doing everything for him the last few years.” And then he got sick. The cancer ate away at him, mind, body, and soul, apparently. “The past is the past,” I reminded him. “I told Bastien on Thursday, it’s a new day. And I know classic Italians love to live in the past.”
“Sunrise was Papa’s deal. Not mine. You’re right, they’re living in another era. Old-school.”
“Old-school where crimes that hurt women are shrugged off. Not me. I won’t stand for Sunrise hitting the streets.”
Anthony bit his lip. “If you must know, we talked. Bastien, Gian, and me. About going to our fathers.”
My heart slammed into my ribs, thinking I did it. I got through to them. “And?”
