Chapter 7
Tony
The drive to Queens feels longer than usual. Maybe because I've spent the last week avoiding this moment - the moment I have to look Dom in the eye and lie about his sister.
Traffic crawls along Canal Street, giving me too much time to think. Seven days since the gym. Seven days of avoiding my usual haunts, knowing Isabella might be there. Seven nights of dreaming about her anyway. Even threw myself into work, spending hours at the club going over books that didn't need reviewing, just to keep busy. My captains think I'm planning something big. If they knew I was hiding from a five-foot-four woman in Louboutins...
It's hard to believe I only met her six weeks ago. That first day at the gym, when Dom asked me to keep an eye on things while he was away, I thought it would be simple. A favor for an ally. Watch his territory, make sure his sister didn't have any problems running things.
Simple. Right.
The setting sun glints off the Queensboro Bridge as I cross over, painting the East River gold. Manhattan's skyline stretches behind me like a reminder of everything I'm leaving behind. Everything I'm running from. Some tough guy I turned out to be.
A cab cuts me off, and I slam on the brakes. The driver gives me the finger until he sees who I am. Then he's all apologies, waving frantically. Any other day, I'd make him sweat. Today, I barely notice.
Dom's building rises above the Queens skyline, all glass and modern angles - nothing like my old-world brownstone in Little Italy. He's always embraced the new, while I keep to tradition. It's what made our alliance work so well these past five years - his innovation, my stability. Two different approaches that somehow balanced each other out.
Until now. Until Isabella.
The doorman recognizes me, waves me straight to the private elevator. As I ride up to the penthouse, I straighten my tie, check my reflection in the mirrored walls. The man looking back at me appears composed, in control.
Good. Because I'm anything but.
The elevator opens directly into Dom's living room, where floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the Manhattan skyline I just left. Modern art hangs on stark white walls, probably worth more than most people make in a year. Everything screams new money, new power. Everything except the small bar in the corner where we hammered out our first territory agreement, back when neither of us knew if we could trust the other.
"Tony!" Dom's voice booms across the massive space. He looks tanned and happy, honeymoon clearly agreeing with him. "Get over here!"
We shake hands, clapping each other's shoulders - the greeting of allies who've become friends. "Welcome home. How's married life?"
"Amazing. Wait till you try it." He leads me to his private bar, all chrome and backlit glass. The bottles are arranged by color, creating a rainbow effect. Very Martha Stewart. Very un-mob boss. "Speaking of which, when are you gonna settle down? Can't be the eternal bachelor forever."
If he only knew.
"You know me," I say, accepting the scotch he pours. Single malt, aged longer than we've known each other. "Married to the family business."
"Yeah, about that..." Dom settles into one of his ridiculously modern chairs, gesturing for me to sit. "Something's different. You seem... I don't know. Distracted?"
I take a careful sip, buy myself time. "Just busy. Lot of moving pieces lately."
"Tell me about it. Speaking of moving pieces..." He leans forward. "How'd things go while I was away? Really?"
"Smooth. No problems with operations. Isabella handled everything perfectly."
His eyebrows rise. "Really? Not the response I expected from you."
"She's... competent." The word feels inadequate. Brilliant, fierce, incredible - those would be more accurate. But I can't say those things. Can't tell him how quickly she's gotten under my skin, how she commands a room, how she sees three moves ahead, how she... "Better with the books than expected."
Dom laughs. "High praise coming from you. When I first mentioned having her help run things, you looked at me like I was crazy."
"I was wrong." The words come out more forcefully than intended.
Something flickers in Dom's expression. He studies me over his glass, and I remember why he controls Queens. Nothing gets past him. "You know, Isabella has a way of surprising people. Takes after our mother that way."
"She's grown into the role," I say carefully. "You should be proud."
"I am. But something's different." He sets his glass down. "A month ago, you were skeptical about her running things. Now you're singing her praises. What changed?"
Before I can fabricate an answer, the door opens. Isabella walks in, stopping short when she sees me.
She's wearing a simple red dress, hair loose around her shoulders. Beautiful. Always so damn beautiful. A small gold cross hangs at her throat - I remember her touching it nervously during our first dinner, when she was trying to convince me she could handle her brother's business.
She sure convinced me.
"Tony." Her voice is cool, professional. Like we haven't tasted each other's skin. Like I don’t know what her face looks like when she-”
"Isabella." I keep my tone equally distant.
"Dinner's ready," she tells Dom, barely glancing my way. But I catch the slight tremor in her hands, the way her breath catches. “Gia wanted me to remind you we're expecting everyone in ten minutes."
"Family dinner," Dom explains. "Stay. There's plenty. Sophia made that veal you like."
"Can't." The word comes out too quick. The thought of sitting across from her, pretending we're nothing to each other... "Business to handle back home."
Isabella's shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly. Her knuckles go white around the doorframe. Dom looks between us, frowning slightly.
"Everything okay between you two?" he asks. "No lingering issues I should know about?"
This is my chance. I could tell him everything. Could explain how in just six weeks, his sister has completely upended my world. Could tell him how she makes me want to be better, be more than just another mob boss with blood on his hands. Could beg him to understand that this isn't some game, some passing attraction.
Instead, I stand. "We're fine. Just busy. You know how it is."
"Tony..." There's something in Dom's voice - concern? Suspicion? But he doesn't push. That's one thing I've always respected about him.
"Thanks for the drink." I head for the door, not looking at Isabella. Can't look at her. If I do, I might break. Might tell her brother everything. Might grab her and kiss her right here, consequences be damned.
"Sure there's nothing else you need to tell me?" Dom calls after me.
Everything. Nothing. I'm in love with your sister. I'm sorry. I'm not sorry. I don't know what to do. A few weeks shouldn't be enough time to fall this hard, but here we are.
"We're good." The lie tastes like ashes.
In the elevator, I loosen my tie, feeling like I'm suffocating. The drive home is a blur of city lights and regret. I run three red lights, nearly clip a bike messenger. Some part of me hopes a cop will pull me over. Give me something else to focus on besides the look in Isabella's eyes.
I should have told him. Should have been honest. Should have...
But I didn't. Because I'm a coward. Because I'm afraid of losing an alliance that keeps the peace between our territories. Because I'm terrified of admitting just how deep this thing with Isabella goes.
Back in Little Italy, I park outside my club but don't get out. Just sit there, remembering the look in Isabella's eyes when she saw me. The careful distance. The practiced indifference.
All an act. Like everything else in our lives now.
I close my eyes, rest my head against the steering wheel. Through the windshield, I can see Ferrara's across the street, where Isabella and I had coffee last week. Where she laughed at my terrible jokes and stole bites of my cannoli. Where I almost convinced myself this could work.
What a fucking mess.
Another text comes through. This one from Isabella:
"Coward."
She's right. God help me, she's right.
But better a coward than the man who destroys a crucial alliance over a woman he's known for mere weeks. Even if those weeks have changed everything. Even if she's the first thing in years that's made me feel alive.
I start the car again, pull away from the curb. Maybe if I drive long enough, fast enough, I can outrun these feelings. Outrun the memory of her taste, her touch, her smile.
Yeah. And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and none of this will have happened.