Chapter 20
As I makemy way down the wooden stairwell, I instinctively reach for the pocket knife I always keep in my back pocket. Wrapping my fingers around it, I ready myself for a quick pull. I’m sure it’s nothing, but since I can’t exactly keep my gun strapped to my hip without drawing Anastasia’s suspicions, I’m a bit more cautious than I’d normally be. Sure enough, as I step off the landing and round the corner to my parlor, I find Angelo stumbling around, slurring his words as he searches for me. Despite the gun on his hip, half hidden by his navy suit jacket, he’s not a threat. Although, he is a drunken disturbance I don’t want anywhere near Anastasia. His outfit suggests he’s been on mob duty and his state of inebriation lets me know something is amiss. Thankfully, my artists are with their regular clients tonight who know better than to ask questions and are all used to turning a blind eye when something like this happens. But, Anastasia is not so familiar with the drill, nor can I allow her to overhear whatever has brought Angelo here tonight.
I release the grip on my knife as I come up behind him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask. He spins around quickly as if I’ve startled him. His hand moves to the gun on his hip, but once he realizes it’s me, he opens his arms wide as if seeking an embrace.
“Damon!” he says, clearly unaware of his volume. As he takes a wobbly step toward me, I extend my arm with my palm facing him. He walks into my hand before noticing the annoyance on my face and the tension in my stance. “Well, you don’t seem very pleased to see me.”
“I’m not. Look, it’s late and we’re about to close. Whatever this is, it can wait,” I tell him. Taking him by the arm, I begin to lead him toward the exit.
“Damon, don’t be like this. I just need someone to talk to. This—this Cross fellow is?—”
“This is not the time nor place, Angelo,” I say, cutting him off before he can say more.
“He’s just an asshole. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Yeah, no kidding. I’ve almost got him to the exit when Brinkley bails off the landing of the stairwell and darts out in front of us.
“Holy Hell! When did you get a dog?” Angelo asks.
“I didn’t,” I say, closing my eyes as I know Anastasia won’t be far behind him. As I register her footsteps, I know there’s no way I can get Angelo out of here before she reaches us. I turn to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Look, go wait for me in my office. We can talk there.” In truth, I have no desire to hear his complaints. I just don’t want him around Ana, not tonight or any other night. But right now, especially. He’s drunk and that makes him reckless and talkative. He gives me a nod and starts on his way, but is quickly distracted by Brinkley, who is sniffing his shoes. Fuck me.
“Pretty puppy,” Angelo coos as he picks Brinkley up. Brinkley immediately turns into a little devil, growling, yapping, and showing him his teeth.
“He doesn’t play well with others,” I say as I take Brinkley from him. I expect him to nip at me too, but to my surprise, he doesn’t. I guess we have worked through some of our issues over the past month with me taking him out to potty and occasionally feeding him some of my food when Ana and I share a meal. Whoever said bribery was a bad thing?
Brinkley settles in my arms just as Ana reaches the end of the stairwell and turns toward us. She’s got her purse and Brinkley’s go bag slung over her shoulder. Seeing Angelo, she uses it and her crossed arms to cover her chest as she takes a step toward us. Oh, right. Her bra. It wouldn’t have been a problem if I was walking her home like I’ve done most nights since we started our arrangement. She’d feel safe with me and no one would dare approach her or comment on her appearance with me by her side. But with Angelo here, I can’t accompany her home tonight.
“Sorry for the interruption. Hopefully, he didn’t bother you two too much,” she says, offering Angelo a small smile.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Angelo says, stepping toward her with his hand extended. “Angelo Piazzo. Damon and I are old friends.” I roll my eyes at the cheesy grin plastered across his face and fight the urge to step between them. Brinkley growls as Ana awkwardly shakes his hand while keeping her chest covered. Good boy. “My, you are beautiful,” Angelo continues. Before Ana can withdraw her hand, he grips it tighter and lifts it to his lips, planting a soft kiss atop her knuckles. Alright, that’s it.
“Oh, um, thank you,” Anastasia says as I shove Angelo away from her. In his drunken state, he stumbles, catching himself against the black brick wall. She gasps and looks at me with wide eyes and parted lips. “Damon!” she quietly scolds me.
Angelo laughs. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Where words fail us, our hands say all we need to.” Angelo gives me a knowing look and a smile to communicate his approval as he collects himself. “Where are my manners? Tell me, what’s the name of the woman who’s captured our dear Damon’s heart?”
“Oh, well, I don’t know about that. We’re just…” Anastasia looks at me then. “New friends, I guess you could say.” She returns her attention to Angelo. “But my name is Anastasia. Anastasia Cross.”
“Cross,” Angelo mumbles, looking her up and down as if studying her, searching for the resemblance to her brother. Having met Aidan, I can say it’s faint, but it’s there. The red hair, the bright green eyes, the soft chin. I watch him as he puts the pieces together, and before he can say anything more, I grab Anastasia by the arm and pull her toward the door.
“Ah, Damon!” I know I’m being too rough and it kills me, but I’ve got to get her out of here before Angelo says something that ruins everything. “What’s wrong with you? That hurts!”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say as we reach the door. Letting go of her arm, I block her from Angelo’s view and hand her Brinkley. “You should go. Go straight home before it gets too late.”
Anastasia’s brows furrow and her lips part as confusion washes over her. But quickly her confusion gives way to something else. Concern?
“Damon, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“Of course it is,” I tell her.
“You’re lying to me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why does he have a gun on his hip? Why are you so afraid for me to be near him? Is he dangerous?” Great, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Anastasia’s smart. She’s just as likely to pick up on something as Angelo is likely to say something he shouldn’t.
“Not as dangerous as me. He’s nothing for you to worry about. I just…don’t want you near him when he’s drunk.” Or ever. Anastasia searches my eyes as if questioning if she can believe me, trust me. At that, I brush one of her loose curls from her face and tuck it behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on the soft skin of her neck. My gentleness helps to ease the sting of my earlier harshness as is obvious as she takes a deep breath, allowing the tension in her body to dissipate.
“Go straight home, alright? And text me when you get there.” I want to kiss her goodbye so badly. Better yet, walk her home. But I still need to deal with Angelo, and the last thing he needs to witness is our kiss. He can assume all he wants about my feelings for Anastasia, but a kiss would confirm them. If word gets out about her, about us, to anyone but especially her brother, it puts us both at risk.
It’s then that Anastasia lowers her gaze from me to the floor and takes a step back. “I actually have a few stops to make, so?—”
“Not dressed like that, you don’t,” I say, cutting her off. At that, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Though, as her lips press into a flat line rather than lifting into a smile, I can see something is still wrong. Was it the way I pulled her toward the door? Does she still suspect something is up with Angelo? Or is it something else entirely? “Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask.
She adjusts her grip on Brinkley and lifts her eyes to meet mine once more. “I just need a little alone time this weekend. So, I’m going to get a bottle of wine and a new book and just enjoy some downtime. I’ll text you when I make it home, but other than that, you probably won’t hear from me.”
“Okay…are you sure that’s it? Did I do something?” I definitely did something. We haven’t spent one weekend apart in a month, and now, all of a sudden, she wants space.
“You’ve—you’ve got your friend to attend to. We can talk more next week. I, um, I’m going to go.” Ana is quiet as she leaves, wearing a look of defeat. I don’t know what I did. I could pick from a list of fuckups, I’m sure. But one thing is certain, I don’t like seeing her like this. I don’t like the way it feels, like there’s this distance between us. And with each step she takes moving farther away from me, it’s like there is a rope wrapped around my heart, threatening to rip it from my chest. The farther away she gets, the more it hurts.
As the door swings closed behind her, my lips slip into a frown and I ball my fists. Unwilling to feel this hurt any longer, I allow rage to transcend all else. I’m not angry at Anastasia. It’s Angelo who has driven this wedge between us. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I turn back to him and sock him in the jaw with my fist. He falls to the ground as his cheek splits open. Blood drips down his face.
“So, it’s really her, then? Anastasia Cross, sister of the proxy king, princess of the Irish mob. And you’re in love with her.”
“I don’t love anyone,” I tell him, despite questioning the truth of the statement. Shoving the unwanted thought from my mind, I offer him my hand. He takes it and I help him to his feet. “And it’s not that simple.”
“It never is.”
I bite the inside of my jaw and shake my head. “Let’s finish this in my office. We’ve already caused enough of a scene.”