Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
TONY
I stood staring at my apartment door for a long time.
“Dammit,” I muttered.
This was exactly what Michael was talking about.
I’d broken up with my boyfriend less than two days ago, and here I was considering starting something new with Greg after one night.
I growled in frustration and headed back to my bedroom.
Maybe a couple of hours of sleep would clear my head.
I crawled under the covers, breathing in the smell of sex and Greg before falling asleep to the image of him on his knees before me.
When I woke to the sound of my phone vibrating on the wood of my nightstand, the sun was high in the sky. I picked up my cell and saw it was Michael. I almost let the call go to voicemail, but I remembered he had a lead on Scott Bradley, so I answered. “Hey, Michael. What’s up?”
“I’m heading down to Gabe and Nico’s place in about fifteen minutes, and I wanted to give you an update on Scott Bradley.”
I threw off the covers, preparing to get out of bed. “What have you got? Should I go into the office?”
“No,” he said firmly. “You’re sitting this one out. I told you yesterday, Marco and I are giving you a break. You can’t work all the time.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I did not like bossy Michael at the moment. “What am I supposed to do with myself? I don’t want to sit around twiddling my thumbs.”
“Anthony Joseph D’Angelo,” my brother began.
“Jesus Christ, do not full-name me.”
“You apparently need it,” he retorted. “You live in New York City. There is something to do twenty-four hours a day. Go to the zoo. Go to the Metropolitan Museum. Go to a show. Didn’t you say you wanted to see Hamilton?”
“Not by myself,” I muttered.
I heard him sigh. “Tony, I’m sorry. If you want in, that’s fine. I was only trying to help.”
I got out of bed and stretched, hearing lots of popping noises from my joints.
I let out a defeated sigh. “No, you’re right.
I do need a break. And you were right about me trying to get with a guy before really knowing him.
I almost did it again last night—Well, this morning.
I brought Greg home and tried to get him to stay afterward. I can’t seem to break that habit.”
“I get it,” Michael replied. “I know you want a family. Maybe it would help if you spent more time getting to know yourself and what you want in a partner. Find out what works for you and what doesn’t.
I get the feeling you’re rushing into relationships because you’re getting older and feel like you should be settled down already.
But that’s only going to get you more people like Luke. ”
I stood and stared out my window at the Manhattan skyline. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. It seems hard to believe that at my age, I don’t know myself. I really should. But maybe I work too much. I have to say that I really do like Greg, but he seemed fine with one-and-done.”
“Then you have to respect that. If he wanted more, he would have let you know.” I heard the click of a keyboard on his end of the call and then movement. “I’m going to head out now. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
I thought about it before I answered. “I’m sure. I wouldn’t be very good company. I’m going to take your advice and find something to do here.” I headed toward my ensuite, then stopped. “Wait. You never gave me the update on Scott Bradley.”
“Oh, right. I hired Kim, the PI we worked with before in Florida. She’s going to track him down using the information I gave her. He’s using an alias, Douglas Wright. He’s got a legit-looking passport and everything.”
“Fucking rich people,” I muttered. “But you’re sure it’s him?”
“Positive.
“All right then,” I said. “Keep me in the loop. Tell Liam I said happy birthday.”
“I will,” he replied.
I continued into my ensuite to take a shower. I was at loose ends. I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t have something planned for my day.
While I was showering, I couldn’t help but remember the feel of Greg’s body beneath me and how it felt to slide into his tight heat.
My cock was on board with that memory, filling and lengthening until I was rock hard.
I poured some conditioner into my palm and took myself in hand, imagining Greg against my shower wall while I pounded into him.
My orgasm hit me so fast that it took my breath away.
“Well fuck,” I muttered as I watched my cum wash down the drain. That was not the way to treat my encounter with Greg as something casual.
By the time I was done in the shower, it was after two in the afternoon.
Too late to go to a Sunday matinee performance.
Maybe I could go tonight. I decided to try out the new bistro that had recently opened three blocks north of my building.
The menu looked good, and I was up for trying something different.
I had just gotten into the elevator when my phone vibrated with a call. Thinking it was Michael, I swiped to answer it without looking. “Hey, Michael. What’s up?”
There was a long silence before I heard, “Anthony?”
A frisson of shock ran through me. That wasn’t Michael.
I looked at my phone to be sure. Yep. It was my cousin, Salvatore Vitale.
The mob boss. And he only called me Anthony when he wanted something from me.
“Salvatore, my apologies. I was just on the phone with Michael, and I thought he was calling me back.” The elevator opened on the ground floor, and I hurried through the lobby and out onto the street.
“No worries, Anthony.” There was another pause. “Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”
Sometimes I hated it when I was right. “Okay,” I replied. “What do you need?”
I heard movement on his end, almost like he was pacing. “Do you know Café Roma?”
“Yeah. It’s on 64th near Lincoln Center.”
“That’s the one. I need you to go there and check on one of the baristas.”
I paused as I tried to process what he was asking me. “One of the baristas? I’m not sure I understand.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “One of the baristas who works there. He’s…quiet. Shy. And doesn’t speak up when he should.”
Now I was even more confused. Since I didn’t want to antagonize my cousin, I asked, “What would you like me to do when I get to the café? How will I know it’s him?”
There was a note of fondness in his voice when he replied, “He’s kinda short. A little too skinny. He doesn’t eat enough. Short, wavy red hair and freckles like angel kisses across his nose.”
What. The. Fuck? My mobster cousin just used the term angel kisses to describe someone. “What’s his name?”
“Brendan.”
Well, that went along with the red hair. “So what am I looking for when I get to the café?”
“There’s a guy he works with who’s been hassling him. He’s slick about it, so he flies under the radar because most people miss it.” I could almost see Salvatore clenching his jaw. I was pretty sure I heard him grind his teeth. His voice was a dangerous growl. “I don’t miss anything.”
This conversation was getting more confusing by the minute. “Forgive me for asking, but why aren’t you handling this? You could put the fear of God into that punk with just a look.”
“Because I don’t think I could stop at just a look. I want to bury that little shit under a tree in Central Park.” He let out a frustrated breath. “I tried to intervene once, but when Brendan saw me approach the guy, he looked so scared that I backed off.”
I’d never seen Salvatore like this before. It was clear my cousin had a thing for this shy redheaded barista. “So, want me to warn him off?”
“Yeah,” he replied, sounding relieved. As if I’d say no to him. “You have much better control of your temper. I can’t remember ever seeing you lose your cool.”
I rolled my eyes. If only he knew. “Okay. I’ll head over there now. What does the other guy look like?”
“Tall with dark hair cut short and styled. He’s bigger and more muscular than Brendan and likes to get in his personal space.”
Okay, now I was feeling some kind of way about this asshole. “All right. I’ll take it from here. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“Thanks, Tony. I knew I could count on you. I’ll talk to you later.” He ended the call while I was busy hailing a taxi. I was not about to walk thirty blocks with the chill wind whipping around the buildings.
My relationship with Salvatore was…complicated.
The Vitales had been in the family business in Italy for generations.
Sal’s father, my mother’s brother, came to the US to start his own branch of the business.
Sal had taken over five years before, when his father died suddenly from a stroke.
My parents had been adamant that we never get involved in the Vitale family business. And yet, here we were.
The ride to the café wasn’t terrible. Sunday traffic in the City tended to be more bearable than during the week. I had the driver let me out up the street a little rather than have him try to navigate the lack of parking in front of the café.
Café Roma was busier than I expected at three-thirty in the afternoon.
The line for orders extended halfway into the shop.
I took my place at the back of the queue, using it as an opportunity to scope out the situation with the redhead and his apparent nemesis.
When I got my first good look at Brendan, I could see, objectively, why my cousin was attracted to him.
Wavy auburn hair framed a heart-shaped face.
Big blue eyes and a sweet, shy smile illuminated his delicate features.
He was definitely too thin but taller than I expected, given Sal’s description. Certainly pretty, but not my type.
The other guy serving customers matched the description Sal had given me.
Sure enough, every time the pair of them were at the back counter making the orders, he would brush up against the smaller man or lean in close to say something in his ear.
And every time, Brendan would flinch or lean away, his cheeks flushed and his mouth drawn down in a frown.
I began to understand Sal’s urge to bury the guy under a tree.
When I got to the head of the line, I ordered my coffee and a croissant from Brendan, pleasantly surprised to discover the young man spoke with a soft Irish brogue.
The other barista—Mark, according to his nametag—was about to head back with his own order when I stopped him with a question. “Excuse me, do you have any straws?”
He frowned. “You’ll get one with your drink,” he replied.
What a little shit. I thought about giving him a hard time, but I didn’t want to make a scene.
My question had only been a delaying tactic to keep him away from Brendan.
The redhead returned with my coffee and croissant.
I thanked him with a smile and found a seat at a table where I could continue watching the pair interact.
Since Salvatore was relying on me to handle this situation discreetly, I needed to find an opportunity to get Mark alone.
I took a sip of my black coffee, appreciating how good it was. Almost as good as Michael’s. I’d just taken a bite of my croissant when I heard Greg’s voice say, “Tony?”