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I’m not sure what I want.
And yet I know I want him. And I want Nate. And every minute away from them fills me with a sense of trepidation. So once I reach another block, I decide to pack up my laptop, getting to my feet and calling Rico into my office.
He arrives, eyebrows raised in question.
“Let’s just go to the penthouse now,” I tell him.
He doesn’t argue, instead leaving to put things in order. I pack up everything I’ll need and then we’re on the way. It’s much earlier than I told Xander I would be arriving but I figure he won’t mind.
“Are you going to be spending the night?” Rico asks when we arrive at the penthouse.
I look at him, wondering at the odd question. “No. Why would I?”
He smiles, “Why not? You already slept over before and it seems to me you and Alexander are building a relationship.”
I roll my eyes. “We are but it’s not what you think, Rico.”
“Uh-uh,” he says unbelieving.
“Fine. Why don’t you come up with me and see for yourself how normal our relationship is. Perfectly platonic.”
“You’re a terrible liar, cugina.”
Still he steps out of the car with me, following me into the building. As soon as we get there, I notice someone at the front desk. When he turns around, my feet skid to a stop.
There’s a permeable chill in the air as I come face to face with none other than Christian D’Angelo in the lobby of the building leading up to Xander’s penthouse. Rico recognizes him as well and immediately steps closer to me, his stance protective.
“What the fuck?” he says under his breath.
It’s not every day two mafia Dons meet each other coincidentally out in public. Plus, I don’t know Christian very well. I know he has a good relationship with Roman and the De Luca family but we’ve never met, our families far apart with no ties whatsoever.
His eyes are a light brown color, his face chiseled in a way I imagine sculptures are. He’s good looking, in an extremely off putting manner, almost cold, uninviting. He’s well into his thirties with a scruff of a beard around his chin. He also seems to be cataloguing me as I’m doing for him.
When I’m done with that, my eyes are drawn to the person standing beside Christian D’Angelo. A little boy with reddish brown hair and eyes extremely similar to the man standing beside him. I deduce that he’s Chrisitan’s son. Daniel D’Angelo.
There’s a brief pause as we both size each other up from across the lobby. I’m not sure whether to approach him or not. Chrisitan D’Angelo makes that decision for us. He reaches for his son’s hand, holding it in his palm as he walks forward until he’s right in front of us.
“Miss Mincetti,” he says, inclining his head respectfully. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. D’ Angelo.”
The politeness feels like a farce. Tension coils beneath my spine. I still don’t know what he’s doing here. This could very well be an ambush. There hasn’t been a war in the outfit in years but his appearance here certainly raises some red flags. Considering he’s here with his son though. I’m inclined to believe he’s not looking for any trouble.
His expression is steady. I get the feeling nothing fazes him. He gives off the image of the man I’m sure my father wishes I was sometimes.
“My apologies. I didn’t think you would be here. If I had known, I would have been better prepared to meet you.”
My eyebrows rise. “What are you talking about? And what are you doing here?”
Christian D’Angelo sighs. It’s a low soft hum. Beside him, his son is absolutely quiet, appearing bored like his mind is on other things much important than a conversation between adults.
“We’re here to see your son actually.”
Despite knowing that I should appear stoic in front of him, my eyes inevitably widen.
“I’m sorry?”
His father’s words finally get the little boys’ attention however. He looks up at me brown eyes bright.
