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FORTY-THREE
ANTHONY
“Where the hell wereyou?” My father stood from behind his desk.
Balancing on a cane he wouldn’t use in front of anyone else, he powered toward me.
“Good morning, Papa,” I said, closing his office door. “You know where I was. You sent Vito to come collect me. In a helicopter. They have this thing called the phone now.” I took mine out and played with it. “You hit this button and what do you know—”
He slapped it out of my hand.
Oh shit.
Bending to pick it up, the heel of his cane slammed down on my hand. “Hey! What the fuck?”
“That is my question. What the fuck have you been doing? I have all these...pictures of Rebecca. Out with Daria’s son. Out with Byrne’s son. And you...” He released my hand. “You threw her down on a table? In front of people?”
I quirked a smile, shaking my wrist. “Funny, I thought that would be the part you liked best.”
“We don’t do that to our wives. Not in public, anyway. What the fuck is going on?”
“Don’t worry, Papa. You’re not that gone in the brain to forget a wedding that never happened. Rebecca is not my wife.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “How dare Giovanni and her mother just...disappear without handing that girl over to us.”
“Rebecca is a person, Papa. She’s not anyone’s property.” I strolled to the window. “I have it under control.”
“Do I understand she gave Sebastien Daria a blowjob on the terrace outside the Warwick ballroom?”
I closed my eyes. Fuck. “Who are you getting your reports from?”
“Sources who have been loyal to me for years.”
“Maybe they should get their eyes checked.”
“Without Giovanni present, I am assuming control.”
I turned around. “Of what?”
“Of everything.” He pushed on his cane and went back to his desk. “Daria and Byrne are on their way over. With their sons.”
Oh shit. Banded together, they could tunnel out the underground network that kept Domenico Holdings on top. I couldn’t help but think Papa would have done it himself had he not given all our fucking money away. He needed help.
What if they decided it was now every man for themselves? Where would that leave us if we were broke?
“Messieurs Daria and Byrne, sir.” Papa’s secretary opened the door and in walked trouble.
Not even looking at me, Richard Daria trekked past me, spine straight and proud, but fuming. Patrick Byrne strutted in next. He didn’t bother with expensive suits and wore dark jeans with a leather jacket like he couldn’t leave his thug days behind him. He’d captured the right woman’s heart, or he’d still be shaking down dealers in Boston.
Sebastien and Giancarlo followed, their eyes on me. I had to pretend I didn’t wake up in a bed naked with them, Sebastien massaging my cock. We’d have to learn strict game faces to deal with our enemies and even play good cop/bad cop with a little more care because no way was last night and this morning a one-time thing.
We’d claimed Rebecca. And she claimed us right back. We were one. All of us.
Richard Daria and Patrick Byrne stood in front of my father’s desk, their sons standing behind them. I shuffled to Papa and stood next to him.
“We have a problem,” Papa said.
“Seems that way,” Richard said, glancing behind him at Sebastien.
“I don’t know what your boys have been playing at,” Papa started, “but Rebecca Domenico belongs to us. She’s engaged to Anthony.”
“I didn’t read an announcement in the paper,” Patrick said wryly.
“Watch it, Byrne. The day Giovanni promised her to me, she was as good as engaged. You boys back off.”
“We’re not boys,” Sebastien said.
“Shut the fuck up,” his father sneered. “I’ll handle this.”
“The way I see it, Messina...” Patrick put his hands behind his back. “Giovanni taking off without seeing that particular deal through means...they’re ain’t no deal. Not no more. Now anyone can take her. I don’t know how you’re fixed on the street—”
“Byrne...” my father grumbled. “Don’t even try to threaten me with that age-old, worn-out threat of some underground Bianco network waiting to spring back to life.” Papa narrowed his eyes at Patrick.
“Some things get better with age.” He shrugged. “Like Irish whiskey.”
I stared at Sebastien and Giancarlo, who shifted anxiously on their heels. Our fathers at war benefited no one. We enjoyed peace for three decades. I felt out of my depth because they’d never openly argued before. My allegiance was to my father and Messina Associates. But I’d formed another kind of alliance with Sebastien and Giancarlo. One that centered around Rebecca. I couldn’t marry her now. She wouldn’t agree because she had two other boyfriends. Last night was a declaration of us agreeing to share her.
Bastien and Giancarlo stared at me with those do-something faces.
“I think you all need to take a seat,” I said. “There’s something you gentlemen need to know about Rebecca.”
“All I need to know is that you’ll tell your sons to stay away from her.” Papa pointed a wrinkled finger at Richard and Patrick, who looked unfazed.
Much different from when Giovanni Domenico laid down threats.
“Seriously, Papa.” I grabbed his arm, but he waved his cane at me. It went flying across the desk and took out his coffee mug and a couple of pictures.
“I know what you’re gonna say there, junior,” Patrick said, grinning at me. “You know about our little drug deal.” Little? I wondered what a big drug deal was in Boston. “Listen to your boy here, Anthony.” Patrick tried to take over our meeting. “You want to sit down. We have a bigger problem than Rebecca spreading her legs for my son and yours. And yours,” Byrne said to Daria, who again looked behind him to glare at Sebastien.
“Papa, come on. The table.” I steered him, not touching him, but he walked without his cane, barely making it to the table that sat four. Since there were six of us, I took the seat and left Sebastien and Giancarlo standing.
This was my moment to take control. Stand up for what Rebecca made us believe in. Sunrise had to go.
“Yes, we know about Sunrise too,” I said, sounding pissed. “Sebastien, Giancarlo, and me. Rebecca came to us a month ago.”
Silence.
“The FBI came to her,” Sebastien said, no doubt giving her cover.
