“I’m gonna come over.” She’d be busy all night, but he could think of nothing he’d rather do than sit at West Egg and watch her work. The food wasn’t bad; he could have dinner there, maybe convince her to take a minute and share the meal with him.
“That’s why I’m calling.”
He heard the change to his newly formed plan in her tone. “You don’t want me to.” Fuck, nobody was giving him what he wanted today.
“I do. But ... my mom showed up. She’s—she’s a lot, Tony. Like if Stevie Nicks and Courtney Love got shoved into a cloning machine together. I’m just giving you fair warning. My dad is here, and my mom, they’re on a tear together even though they hate each other, and I’m not ready for you to bear witness to the weirdness from which I arose.”
He was disappointed, but, strangely, also charmed. “I’m trying to picture the combination of Stevie Nicks and Courtney Love, and I can’t get there.”
“That is exactly my point. Now add in a dash of Kardashian and a sprinkle of Jackie Kennedy, and see what happens.”
“Whoa.”
“Yep. Like I said: she’s a lot. You already know Cain, who is his own special brand of difficult. She’s only here tonight, and then she’ll go back where she belongs. Can we hold off on any more family intros for a minute?”
“Yeah. I could probably use some time to get my feet under me after last night, anyway.”
“Okay. Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night works. Hey, Billy?”
“Yeah?”
“You know my family is weird, too. It’s different, but I’ll feel the same if you meet my mom and dad someday.”
There was a brief moment of quiet, dense as lead, before she said, carefully, “You still see your dad?”
Normally, he bristled when people talked about his parents, but he’d brought up the topic, and was surprised to find that he wanted to talk to Billy about it. A little. “He’s my old man. My folks are married, my little sister still lives at home. Yeah, I see him pretty often. We get along fair, most of the time.” After another brief, cumbersome pause, he added, “But he’s afraid of me now.”
~oOo~
With nowhere else he needed to be, and his family in his thoughts, Tony left CBSD and headed toward his folks’ house. He didn’t call and let his mom know he was coming because if he did, even if he was set to arrive in five minutes, she’d try to turn the visit into an event. He saw his family plenty, he thought, for a grown man who had a life of his own, but Ma considered it a gift every time he showed up, as if she were expecting that one day, things between him and his old man would break beyond repair, and Tony would turn his scarred back on them all.
Even when things were rocky with his father, she was glad to see Tony, like an illicit favor she’d been granted. Her only son hadn’t yet been driven away.
When he pulled up and didn’t see Kiki’s car in the driveway, though, he almost changed his mind. If his folks were the only ones home, that was too much focus on him, particularly in his recently shaky frame of mind.
Talking with Billy had settled him, though, despite the disappointment that he wouldn’t see her. What was it about her?
He put the Giulia back in gear, but just then, the front door opened, and his mother stepped out, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist. “Antony! Hi! What a great surprise!”
She was smiling and waving. That was a good sign. If she was in a good mood, things were likely calm. It made sense, too. There was usually a long stretch of peace between blowups.
Tony got out of the car. “Hey, Ma. Thought I’d drop by and see ya.” They met on the sidewalk, and he gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. “Mmm. You smell like focaccia.”
“That’s because I just made fresh. Did ya eat?”
“Not yet.”
She patted his back and stepped out of the embrace. “C’mon in. Your pop is grilling up some beautiful sirloins, and I got some potatoes roasting. Chiara is working late, so it’s just us tonight, but you know I can’t make a meal for two. Now it don’t have to be leftovers! And there’s a cheesecake from that new shop on the boardwalk. Dolcetto’s. You been?”
“No, not yet.” He knew it, and it was, in fact, in his work area, but he only went into businesses when they needed a good scare or something firmer. It wasn’t his job to collect the vigs, just to see to it that they got paid, and offer protection, or correction, when they needed it.
“It’s so good. I swear I’ve packed on ten pounds since it opened a few weeks back!”
The boardwalk made him think of Billy. What would she make of his family? They were such a middle-class dago cliché. Stay-at-home mom whose idea of decorating was weird little figurines, dried flowers, and gilt trim, who kept the plastic covers on the lampshades, put vinyl tablecloths with cheery prints over the tables, and stored linens in the plastic zipper baggies they came in. And an abusive, alcoholic, tradesman father, who spent most evenings in a recliner, in a beater and chinos, TV remote in one hand and a bottle in the other.
Billy came from crazy big money. Kennedy-level wealth. Kardashian-level. Nine zeroes territory. But her mother was, apparently, a rock chick. Made a kind of sense, since at some point she’d been into Cain enough to fuck him.
Thinking of the way she’d described her mother, Tony smiled a little to himself as he followed his own mother into the family home.
How would he similarly describe Sheryl Cioccolanti? Marge Simpson and June Cleaver? With a little Sophia Loren tossed in? She’d been hot in her youth.
Nah, that wasn’t the right mix. There was no right mix of famous people. His mother was unremarkable.
But he loved her like crazy.
At the top of the stairs, Tony hooked his arm over her plump shoulders and squeezed. “I love ya, Ma.”
Her grin was bright as a light bulb and she squeezed her arms around his waist. “I love you, too, baby! You’re in a good mood tonight!”
The funny thing—he was. Thinking about Billy again, just that springboard, jumping from her, to her mom, to his, had lightened his mind again. Just the mere thought of her made things better. That was fucking crazy.
“I am. Pop, too?”
“He is. Just wound up that big reno up near Greenback, and he’s taking a couple days off before he starts on a beach house addition. It’s a good summer, Antony. It’s been good.”
“I’m glad.”
She got him a ‘Gansett from the fridge, popped the cap, and handed it to him. “Here. Go on out and talk to him, why don’t you? I’ve got work to do in here.”
She shoved him toward the sliding glass door to the deck. Once again, Tony marveled at the way people were lining up lately to make him do what they wanted.
But he’d come over of his own free will, and if his mother was literally shoving him toward his father, she wasn’t worried about trouble.
“Does Pop need a beer?”
Grinning like a schoolgirl, his mom got another fresh from the fridge.
Tony took the beers to the deck, to willingly (semi-willingly) be alone with his old man for the first time since Tony had broken his face.
Standing at the grill, his father looked over his shoulder, and his eyebrows went up. “Antony. Hey.”
“Hey, Pop. Gotcha a freshie.”
“Thanks, son.” He took the bottle and raised it. Tony raised his as well. “What brings ya over?”
Tony settled in a padded deck chair. “I dunno. Had a free night, thought I’d check in, catch a meal if I could. Those steaks look great.”
“Matt Corti knows his cuts, no doubt about it.”
Matt Corti was Angie’s brother; he owned Corti Market, the main grocery in Quiet Cove, and a family business for decades. The Corti family was almost as big a deal in the Cove as the Paganos—and, in fact, they were actually one family, joined by marriage. Angie’s baby sister was married to one of Nick’s cousins.
“How ya been, Pop?”
His father finished fussing wi
th the meat for the moment. He brought his beer over and sat in another deck chair. “I been good. Got paid the balance on a big job I just finished, and I got another good job lined up to start next week—one of those richie beachers that wants everything to look like it got left out in the weather. More money than sense, I say. But that’ll keep the lights on awhile.”
“That’s great.”
“Son ...” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about what I did. With the gun. I was—shit, I had my head all twisted up about what you’d do when you came through that door. I was worried you were comin’ to kill me.”
Surprised that his father would bring that up at all, much less vault right into it, Tony took the bottle from his mouth without taking the drink he’d intended. He held his old man’s eyes for a second and sorted what he wanted to say.
“Pop, if I ever need to kill you, you won’t have to worry. You’ll be sure. And it won’t be hot. It’ll be cold.”
His father turned his attention to the back yard, and they were quiet for a long time. Tony studied his father, trying to read his thoughts, but his body was still and his face was blank. There was nothing to read.
When he finally spoke, his father’s voice was quiet and small. “I was only ever tryin’ to teach you to be a man, Antony. I was just tryin’ to teach you.”
Tony knew that for the lie it was. His father lashed out in anger. Always hot. Never cold. And what had he been doing to Tony’s mother? What lessons would he say he’d been trying to teach her? No, it was nothing but anger that powered his hands. Anger was the engine, and booze the key. He could pretty it up for himself if that helped him sleep at night and rise in the morning, but they all knew the truth.
It was a lie, but it wasn’t wrong. Tony had learned a lot from his father’s anger. He put his bottle to his mouth and took a long drink, and then met his old man’s eyes again. “And I am the man you taught me to be.”
The door slid open, and Tony’s mother stepped out. “How’s everybody doin’? I got about five minutes on the potatoes. How’s the meat looking, Rico?”
His father got up and checked the steaks. “Five minutes is about right, baby.”
“Perfect! You boys want to eat out here? Or should I set the table inside?”
“What do you think, son?”
As his father had, Tony shifted gears, back to familial cordiality. “I think outside. It’s a nice night.”
“I agree. You need help, Sher?”
“I got it, Pop.” Tony stood. He picked up the empty bottles. “C’mon, Ma. Let’s go in, and you can load me up.”
~oOo~
The next couple of days were pleasantly dull. The organization was poised for Bondaruk retaliation, but apparently the fronts were quiet so far. Sonny and Tim were proceeding with their plan to chick-ify the gym, so Tony avoided it. He was pouting, and he knew it, and he also knew they were right, but he needed some time to square things in his head. He hated being steamrolled. Sharks did not get steamrolled.
With no dark work to do, and taking a hiatus from training, Tony spent Wednesday and Thursday like a regular working stiff, rolling into the office at nine, scheduling shipments, grabbing lunch with Chubs, clocking out somewhere between four and six, when he ran out of things to schedule. He spent Wednesday evening at West Egg, and Wednesday night above it.
He could not get enough of Billy. He felt so good and calm around her he wanted to shrink her and keep her in his pocket, so he could have her all day long.
She was training her old man to work at the club, as her booker and assistant manager. Tony didn’t like it, but Billy didn’t care about his opinion on the matter. He thought hiring a recently-clean addict with a decades-long history of fucking up was a stupider gamble than going all in at the roulette tables in Atlantic City, but she merely stonewalled him when he brought it up. Wouldn’t even fight about it. Just no, nope, not your business.
But it could become his business, if Cain fucked up in any of several ways. And Tony very much did not want Billy in Pagano crosshairs again.
He’d let it drop; he was suddenly becoming used to not getting his way. But he meant to keep an eye on Cain Jones, for sure.
Late on Thursday afternoon, Tony was head-down, arranging an upcoming international shipment and three major shipments to go out over the weekend. It wasn’t earth-shattering stuff, usually, but he liked it, moving things around until they made sense. His dark work was so chaotic, he appreciated the controlled nature of his ‘regular’ job. It could get hectic, too, with weather and traffic and other variables mucking plans up, but the answers were always reachable, and rarely bloody.
His office was smack in the middle of the warehouse, all four walls half glass, so it wasn’t the most peaceful place in the building, but he liked that, too. He’d been a warehouse grunt back in the day, and he liked those guys. And it was useful to have his eyes on what was going on and coming off the trucks.
Because his walls were glass from the midpoint up, and because his attention had just been pulled by a small fracas going on in the warehouse, when Fezzig pulled a forklift back too far and nearly took out a fifteen-foot-high stack of pallets, Tony was looking right at Angie, his capo, and the COO of Pagano Brothers Shipping, as he strode to Tony’s office. Angie only came back here when he needed backup or had some other kind of dark job.
Tony struck a few more keys and finalized the last shipping schedule through the weekend. Friday would be, as it usually was, a day of fixing what broke and picking up any loose ends.
But Angie was coming for him, and that meant there would be a different kind of work for him instead. In the current climate, Tony guessed the Bondaruks had made their move, or Nick had gotten word they were about to.
Tony’s office door was open, so Angie leaned in without knocking. “Tone.”
“Angie. What d’you need?”
“Nick wants you. Let’s go.”
“The don?”
“Don’t be an asshole. Yes, the don. Get your ass moving. And fix your tie.”
Nick had called for him only once before—to talk to him about Hell’s Kitchen. That had been an honor. So this would be an honor, too, right?
Unless he’d done something wrong. Maybe he knew somehow that Tony had choked in the stairwell? And that maybe Keith was dead because of it?
Would Nick call him to his office if he’d fucked up? Tony was too small time for that. If Nick wanted him corrected—or worse—Angie would do it, and the don wouldn’t think about it twice.
Angie was staring impatiently. Tony stood and fixed his tie.
~ 18 ~
Billy locked the doors behind Derek and Felix, the last of the night’s staff to leave. Cain sat at the staff table, noshing on a platter of tapas Amir had put together for him before he’d left.
She went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles of Sam Adams. “I’m going up. I’ll see you in the morning.”
His mouth full, her father only grunted, yet he managed to convey his continuing displeasure with her romantic choices.
Billy offered him a banal smile. “Night, Cain.”
He swallowed. “Good night, Bill. See you in the light.”
Billy pushed into the club. The house lights were still up, and she didn’t go straight to her private door. Tony was waiting for her, ensconced at the table that had become his, in one of the quiet nooks along the side of the room. Where people sat when they wanted a little less noise and a little more privacy.
Each nook was like a tiny room, lined on three sides by a thickly cushioned velvet banquette, with a low, wide table at the center. The fourth wall, facing the club, was hung with shimmery drapes that could be drawn closed for even more privacy. The drapes were transparent, however. Billy didn’t want her clientele doing anything X-rated, or otherwise illegal, so she and her security team paid attention when someone drew the drapes closed. Still, the effect within was intimate and comparatively quiet.
The drapes were open in all
the nooks, now that the club was closed. Tony watched Billy come. His arms were stretched out along the top of the banquette. His tie was off and his shirt open to the third button, showing a tempting glimpse of his chest hair and a glint of his crucifix; he looked confident and gorgeous. He smiled smugly as she came to the nook and handed him a bottle.
This was a highlight of her day: having him here in the club, watching her work, then meeting up with him in the quiet after closing. Though she spent only a few minutes at a time actually with him while the club was open, always his eyes were on her, and always he seemed content to be watching her. Not spying, not being nosy. Just wanting to see her. The feeling charged her up full.
“You ready to go up?”
He patted the seat at his hip. “Sit with me for a minute. Now that it’s quiet, I want to talk.”
She kicked off her pumps and slid in beside him. His arm curled over her shoulder at once. This Tony did not scare her at all. This Tony was warm and caring. She hoped they had set the other Tony well behind them.
He leaned in for a kiss, which she happily bestowed. For a while, they wrapped around each other and let their bodies do the communicating.
When they stopped for a breath, Billy chuckled. “Didn’t you say you wanted to talk?”
“Oh, right. Yeah.” He put his smiling mouth at the crook of her neck, then trailed down her chest, flicking his tongue over her skin, laying her back on the banquette as he did. “I like this top. There’s so much of you to taste.”
It was a silver lamé halter. She’d been sexing up her wardrobe a little for Tony’s hungry eyes. Still slutty Katharine Hepburn, but with an extra horny twist.
But he had something to talk about, and they weren’t doing any talking. “Tony!” she laughed. “What’s up? Is there a problem?”
He leaned up. “No problem. It’s good. I had a meeting with Nick today. He invited me to dinner at Dominic’s tomorrow night. I’m supposed to bring a date, so you’re invited to dinner with Nick, too.”
Holy shit.
Billy pushed him back and sat up. She took a long drink from the beer she’d almost forgotten about. “By ‘Nick’ you mean Pagano, I assume. There’s no other Nick it might be?”
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