Before Us: A Contemporary Romance Trilogy (Between Us Book 1)

1. Antonio

If there’s one thing Antonio is good at, it’s giving people what they want.

As long as it doesn’t interfere with what he wants, of course.

Overhauling his nightclub prism was just the beginning. There’s hardly anything left from before he took it over, back when it was called Pinnacle. Although, there are still some…fossils.

It has the same basement full of spiderwebs surfing over oxidized pipes. Then there’s the lobby floor Antonio’s nephew saved from total demolition because he’s convinced the teeny, colored chips embedded within the tile are buried treasure. So are drunk women, apparently, as there’s been some weird trend of them taking pictures of their feet due to a certain way the ceiling lights reflect off the ground. As long as it keeps people talking about the club, the floor will stay just as it is.

However, there’s a relic even older than all of that, and his name is Gary.

Gary’s the kind of guy who sits with his arms clasped behind his head no matter the tone of the conversation. He never chooses a chair at a corner of the conference room table, but in the middle, where his apparent power pose impresses a remarkable number of zero people.

Unfortunately, he’s the longest standing member of Morex’s board of directors, so Antonio always plays nice. Mostly.

A month ago, he had passed by the skeleton of what used to be a very lucrative downtown hotel. Further research revealed the bank would soon seize it from the owner, and Antonio has it on good authority that the space will end up at auction at some point. So, after gathering the necessary details, he called a meeting with the board to discuss freeing up the funds to bid. It’s the perfect undertaking to solidify Morex as a leading hospitality agency in Philadelphia.

Which is exactly what he says in his pitch today. To drive it home, he plans to sprinkle in the magic word.

“We expect a substantial profit within the first six months, and a twenty-eight percent ROI within twelve.” Eyes light up all around, and Antonio smiles. He gestures to the dark-blue folders in front of each member, and garnishes the pitch with a, “But don’t take my word for it,” knowing perfectly well that they will.

“Well, I’m sold,” Gary announces, nearly whacking the secretary Elaine in her face with one of his elbows. She presses it back his way, but he keeps talking as if nothing happened. “Shall we vote, everyone?”

Gary directs the proceedings, and the motion passes unanimously. It seems like Antonio might be able to get out of this meeting without–

Aw, fuck.

As all the rest of the members take off quickly, Gary stands with his hands on his hips, looking expectantly at Antonio.

“You know, just say the word and I’ll set you right up with Georgia.”

Georgia, Gary’s niece.

Antonio keeps his face as subdued as possible, despite his disgust. Georgia is barely a year out of high school, while Antonio is almost fourteen. “Gary. I appreciate how…highly you think of me, but I respect our relationship way too much to cross that kind of line.”

And by relationship, Antonio only means Gary being a sure vote for any and every motion Antonio proposes to the board. He’s never brought forth anything he doesn’t believe he can make happen, but all he has to do is say that word “profit”, and Gary is all in. Once that happens, the others fall in line. Not because Gary is persuasive, but because nobody feels like listening to the man talk for more than thirty seconds. Stu, the Vice-Chair, had once made the mistake of challenging Gary, and as a result, the meeting went on for nearly six hours.

“Oh, come on. You don’t really believe that bullshit, do you?” Gary asks. “Isn’t that how your folks met?”

“I do believe in that, actually,” Antonio says, ignoring that second question. “My discretion is part of the reason you can trust me to get things done around here.”

Gary frowns slightly, combing over the blondish-gray strands on his head. Then he claps Antonio on the back and lets out a soft laugh. “Damn, kid. Spoken like a true Moretti. He’d be proud. Still, let me know if you ever change your mind.” He finally departs the conference room, probably on his way to feed his gambling addiction.

Antonio pushes in all the chairs, then clenches his jaw and digs his knuckles into the wooden table.

For the average person, a compliment regarding their late parent would probably be a good thing. To Antonio, it could be, too.

After all, Donny Moretti taught him psychology. Six-year-old Antonio learned to recognize the look of a man who disrespected their family. He developed his math skills by counting green bills stained with red fingerprints. And how could Antonio forget Donny’s geography and history lessons on which areas in the city were the best to conduct business?

Gary never knew that version of Donny, though, he only knew the one who delivered high profits and customer satisfaction. Or most likely, that’s the one Gary chose to acknowledge.

So, sure, Donny would be proud. Antonio just couldn’t care less.

A neat glass of whiskey calls him to his office, so he exits the conference room and heads across the wide hall while checking his phone.

GIO: Need you down here when you’re done.

Great.

Antonio changes course and descends the main staircase to the lobby.

The floor’s precious gems are only one feature of the club’s enchantment, thanks to a talented architect and contractor duo Antonio met back in college. They’d wanted to build their portfolio, and he’d wanted an upgrade: something that shifted the atmosphere into this century. So the second floor, modern but still simple, looks like a different world compared to the sleek, seductive elegance downstairs.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Moretti,” a monotonous, thickly accented voice says.

A voice Antonio has known for six years, and still can’t be bothered to remember where it comes from. Central Europe, somewhere? Maybe. Still, Evren is one of Antonio’s favorite employees. Four words, and his lemony smelling janitor cart never stops rolling towards the restrooms. If Antonio didn’t recognize the accent or the silvery brown hair, he wouldn’t have known who it was at all. If only all the staff could keep things as short and sweet.

Antonio nods at Evren, waves off the two board members trickling out the sliding entrance doors, and at last makes it to the communications room.

Why does it smell like that?

Like…coffee and garlic. It’s an awful combination.

He sits in the empty chair at the head of two long, gray tables, careful not to bang his knees into the metal support beams as he often does.

To his right, there’s a multicolored flock of sticky notes flailing on a white board covered in choppy writing. On his left, an arrangement of machinery and cords, most of which Antonio has no idea of their purpose. He understands what he needs to, though. What’s not clear is why so much time passes in complete silence when there are two other men in the room.

“Am I in the wrong place?” he asks sternly.

“Sorry. Still trying to wrap my head around things,” Nathan begins, scratching at his ginger beard. Then he plays with the gold band on his left ring finger. His eyes, blue like pool water, have streaks of red. “Basically, I got a security alert this morning. After looking into it, I found out someone tried to access the Simon account files.” He lifts both shoulders. “Hell, they more than tried. They did.”

Antonio’s forehead scrunches as his data specialist continues.

“I do know our hacker is somewhere within a thirty-mile radius. It’s weird, though. He had enough skills to have gotten through each layer of encryption, but he left a footprint. Not sure if that’s because of inexperience…or because it’s a trap.”

That much should probably matter to Antonio, but it doesn’t. Right now, he only cares about two things. The first is that this hacker accessed what were supposed to be secure files. The second: this footprint. That means he can be found. Once they do, they can worry about the rest of the story.

“Before you came in, we sent Makeo and Pete off on some leads we have,” Gio says. The club’s manager smirks after Antonio simply leans his chin on his palm. “We know that’s not enough, but we’re working on it. Just didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

“We don’t know exactly what they were looking for or what they plan to do with it,” Nathan adds. “But it’s possible whatever information they use could be tied to a breach in our servers. If that happens…”

“Then I guess you’d better make sure it doesn’t,” Antonio says icily, thinking about the consequence of revealing this breach to the board should things go too far.

Technically, as a private company, Morex doesn’t need a board at all, but Antonio can’t deny the connections the members have afforded him. It would be thoroughly embarrassing to follow up their meeting today with one that demonstrates incompetence, especially when it involves one of their most high-profile clients.

“I want an update before twelve,” Antonio says, before watching the two men nod. For all his caution, he ends up ramming his thigh into the table on his way out of the comms room, and he balls his fist over his mouth to contain his reaction.

“I heard that,” Gio says, keeping in step on the way to Antonio’s office. “Better get some ice on there before it bruises, old man.”

As Antonio’s closest (and really only) friend, Gio has a rare privilege of saying something like that to Antonio and still having his job the next day. But Antonio still glares at him, noticing his cheeks are a bit overdue for a shave. Like he’s about to go audition to be Wolverine or something.

Gio rolls his eyes. “Does your moodiness mean the meeting didn’t go well?”

Though Gary’s commendation does linger like a bee sting, Antonio isn’t looking for relief. Instead he asks, “What does one have to do with the other? It went exactly how I expected it to, but should I be a ray of sunshine after what I just heard?” His thigh vibrates, and he reaches into his pants’ pocket. “Stay on those guys. You know we can’t afford to fuck around here.” Antonio peers at his phone, pondering how to end the impending conversation quickly. He turns away from Gio and heads up the stairs. “Ma—”

“Well, he finally answers.”

“Ma.”

“Oh, what is it, my son? Did you misplace your phone for the last few weeks? Or perhaps you’ve been out of the country and had no service? No matter. There’s still plenty of time for you to make good on your promise.”

What promise? “Ma, I don’t have—”

“Antonio, you know it’s Joey’s birthday! As if it weren’t shameful enough I haven’t seen you since your own. I can’t believe you’re looking for a way out of spending time with your family!”

Antonio massages his temples as he enters his office and prepares for Laura Moretti to spin a guilt-inducing tale worthy of a spot on some best seller list.

“Actually, I can believe it. Because I know my son. My son, whom I haven’t seen in almost three months, despite him living in the same city! My son who claims he is busy every time that I call him. And yet, his younger brother, who does the same type of work, regularly shows me he’s alive. Even surprises me with a visit a few times a week! Perhaps…if there’s a reason you’ve been so distant, you could at least tell me about her.”

Here we go again.

During moments like these, Laura reminds Antonio that she doesn’t know much about her eldest son at all. She doesn’t know the real reason he often has to fill up his gas tank after every visit. It’s not because of the distance (though it is a nearly seventy-mile round trip), but because he purposely travels to the Moretti estate with just enough fuel to get him there. That way, he has an excuse to leave early so he doesn’t “get stranded in the middle of the night one of these days”. It’s mostly bullshit, but it’s somewhat true.

Laura may also be unaware that Antonio and his team take on the grunt work to keep money flowing so his brother Frankie and his team can purchase all the truffles and dry-aged beef the customers at his restaurant, Sogno can consume. That leaves Frankie with a lot of free time, and even more considering these “surprises” to visit their mother often involve him remarkably departing with two less children than when he arrived.

If Laura really knew Antonio, she’d understand that all her unsubtle wishes for this magical woman she wants to appear and “change him” would not miraculously make her exist.

Then again, she probably does know all of these things, because she was married to Donny Moretti.

Antonio is his father’s son, after all.

A blackish-blue consumes the sky by the time Antonio takes slow steps towards a giant, white door.

Like prism, the Moretti residence has lots of new paint, furniture, and light fixtures. But the bones are crooked and dusty. There’s usually only so long Antonio can last before the bulbs dim and he remembers where the cracks are. The rest of his family seem to be content with permanent blindfolds, though.

His entrance echoes through the vestibule, and he casts a glance at the mirror mounted by the coat rack.

There’s a blotch of pink on the right side of his face where the wind slapped him. It looks like an unfinished application of blush. It’s probably the closest Antonio will ever come to resembling his mother, as the only thing they share are their blue eyes. Everything else? Straight from Donny.

Antonio scrubs at his cheek and somewhat evenly distributes the blood elsewhere before nearing a jubilant sea of voices in the dining room.

“Twenty-nine minutes. Called it. That’ll be fifty bucks, Joey.”

“Woah, woah, woah. I never said anything about a time, and I never said I was giving you any goddamn money, Frankie!”

“Joseph! Please, watch your mouth in front of the children!” Laura scolds. Joey, although a solidly built Air-Force veteran, seems to shrink under her scrutiny. “Antonio, dear, have a seat. I’m so happy to be proven wrong. Somewhat.”

Twelve seconds in, and Antonio already regrets giving into his mother’s plea. He reminds himself that showing up tonight will grant him at least another three months of not showing up. He smiles at the thought and walks over to his mother to kiss her on the cheek. He then gives Joey a handshake and grabs the uncherished bottle of wine sitting in front of his brother.

You poor thing.

Despite the table being set for twenty, and the current attendees accounting for half of that, it still feels rather cramped. Antonio lands indiscriminately in a chair, feeds the glass in front of his place mat until it’s almost entirely red, and raises it in the air. “Happy birthday, Joe,” he mumbles before taking a huge sip. He ignores Laura’s look of disapproval while Joey, Frankie, and his fianceé Yuna raise their glasses as well.

A quarter of a refill later, Antonio trades silly faces with his niece, Yuri, who sits across from him. Her dark-brown hair was definitely in a bun when he arrived, but it’s long gone now. As is her attention span.

“Mr. Joey, how old are you?” she asks.

“Pretty old, sweetie. They don’t make enough candles to put on a cake for me,” Joey replies, smiling.

“Do they still have enough candles for you, Nona?”

Laura nods. “They do!”

Then Yuri asks, “Hey, Uncle T, whassa fuckboy?”

Everyone at the table freezes.

Antonio stifles a laugh and imagines the scratch of a record player. “A what, Yuri?” I love this kid. In some alternate universe, Antonio maybe wouldn’t mind having a kid as bold as Yuri and as smart as her brother Luca.

Yuna quickly chimes in, “Yuri, please don’t repeat that. It’s not a good word for—”

“D-Daddy, uh…Daddy told Mommy that you’re a good person with fuckboy Tennessees,” the six-year-old explains.

“It’s tendencies, not Tennessees, princess,” Frankie blurts.

Antonio practically feels the smoke coming from Yuna’s ears as his brother keeps his eyes forward.

“That’s what I said. Tensies,” Yuri retorts. She says it with such certainty. Definitely the makings of a future CEO. “But what’s it mean?”

“It…means I get along with women very well, Yuri,” Antonio says.

“Like Mr. Pratt? When we go to gym he’s always making one of the girl teachers laugh.”

Yuna swipes her wine glass from the table and sits back in her chair. She turns her head to the side, probably to hide a faint smile. “Oh my—”

“Goodness. Can we ever have a normal family dinner?” Laura asks breathlessly.

I think a family has tobe normal for that to happen. “The food was delicious, Ma, so that’s something.”

“I’m surprised you had any room, considering all the wine you had.” Yuna sweeps her hair off her shoulders and into a ponytail.

Antonio narrows his eyes. He isn’t usually much of a drinker, but he’s known his future sister-in-law long enough to see her dig for what it is: mainly an attempt at redirection from her daughter’s blooper. “You know, Lady Lush, maybe you should keep track of your own intake.”

“Moms deserve to have all the wine, Moretti.”

Laura laughs. “I don’t disagree with you there, sweetheart.”

“Ay, Joey” —Frankie crosses his arms and appears to concentrate very hard— “How old are you?”

“I’d tell ya, but then I’d have to ki—”

“Jo-seph.”

Antonio recognizes that inflection. He’d heard it a lot during his adolescent years. His whole life, really. But he’s had enough reminiscing for one day. Luckily, his phone wails and saves him. “Guys, it’s…been a night,” he says, scooting his chair back from the table.

“Wait, what about dessert, Antonio? You’re leaving already?” Laura’s eyes pout under her bangs.

“Already, Ma? I’ve been here for like five hours.”

“It’s barely been two, Tony. I think whatever that is can wait for just one more,” Frankie appeals. His tone is light, but he doesn’t even look at Antonio when he speaks, focusing more on the last of his lamb chop.

“This is why we have different jobs, Francesco. But for what it’s worth, this call is actually very important.” Antonio gives Yuri a fist bump and ruffles Luca’s hair.

“In my opinion, we owe the man a round of applause. I think tonight was a record, wasn’t it?”

“Wow, thank you, Yuna.” Antonio puts a hand on his chest. “That means a lot.” Yuna smirks, but before she can quip back, he continues, “And Joey, I do know how old you are, but I’ll respect your wishes, my guy.”

Antonio knows because he had Nathan do a background check when Joey and his mother started dating four years ago, and every six months thereafter. Currently, the worst thing on his record is a seven-year-old DUI as a result of .09 BAC. As long as it stays that way, Antonio has no problem showing up to celebrate the occasional birthday. Five (or two) hours is his limit.

He trots to his car and connects his phone to the speaker system. There are a few trills too many, but eventually Nathan picks up. Antonio doesn’t even let him get a greeting out before he says, “Don’t let me down, Nathan…”