by Jolie Day
“Oh, you know I can’t help it,” he huffed. “You’re my baby girl and I’m gonna worry about you until the day I die. You know that.”
“Yes, I do,” Brooke sighed. “Just don’t overstress yourself, alright? And make sure you take those heart pills with your lunch. They’re important and I don’t want to have to worry too much about you, too, okay?”
“Alright, alright,” he chuckled. “I’ve got them right here. You have fun on your date. And be careful. If that boy places one hand…” He gave her a warning look and Brooke nodded, solemnly, pulling out her pepper spray.
“I’m armed, Pop,” she said. “Now, go to work before you’re late.”
“See you later, pumpkin,” he called over his shoulder as he wheeled himself toward the front door. Brooke watched him go with a smile.
Almost as if he was watching, Brooke’s phone chirped with a text from Anthony the second she heard the door close behind her father.
Heading into the city now. What’s your address?
Brooke nearly sent him to address of her apartment, before thinking better of it and sending him the address of the café on the corner. She received a reply within seconds.
On my way.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her overnight bag, filled with her work uniform and an outfit for the next day (just in case) and made her way out, her heart thrumming a rapid rhythm against her ribcage, though not unpleasantly so.
*****
Anthony showed up in a long, black limousine this time and Brooke felt terribly underdressed in a simple sundress and sandals. He assured her that she looked perfect and practically pulled her into his lap, pressing sucking kisses to her neck and making her moan all the way to their destination. Brooke wanted to tell him to just forget the date and take her home when the limo stopped, almost tossing her from his lap. Thankfully, Anthony’s arms tightened around her and she practically purred in his arms, making him chuckle as he set her aside and opened the door.
When he helped her out, Brooke’s eyes widened at the sight of the sprawling hotel before them, her mouth gaping open. She’d heard of this place in celebrity rags and on TV, but she’d never seen it up close before. She’d never even been to this neighborhood before.
They were in SoHo, where celebrities tended to buy their expensive loft apartments and throw lavish parties, where they posed for pictures for paparazzi and drank too much. Brooke’s father had always disapproved of this place and Brooke had been banned from coming there as an adolescent.
She felt like a teenager again, breaking her father’s rules as she wrapped her arm around Anthony’s and followed him inside to a beautifully set dining room, which faced the sun as it began to rise over the New York City skyline. It was absolutely breathtaking.
“Mr. Dunham!” the host exclaimed, greeting Anthony with a warm smile and a firm handshake. “How are you today, sir? I see you have company. Madam.” He kissed Brooke’s hand before she could even open her mouth, his energy refreshing for so early in the morning. “Can I get you your usual table, sir?”
“Yes, thank you, Jace,” Anthony replied, smiling in amusement as the man led the couple to a table by the large, eastern-facing windows. Anthony handed the man a large bill, before pulling out one of the chairs for Brooke.
“What a gentleman,” she teased as she sat down.
“What can I say?” Anthony laughed. “My father taught me right.”
“Oh, you were raised by your father?” Brooke asked.
“And my mother,” he said. “But my father was a little bit more strict about the gentleman stuff. He said that’s how he hooked my mother and never looked back.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Crazy old man.”
“He sounds sweet.”
“I guess you could say that,” Anthony said. “If you didn’t know him.”
He picked up his menu after that and Brooke guessed that their conversation was over. She cleared her throat and picked up her own menu, looking over her options. Every single breakfast platter had a cost that was in the double digits. She bit her lip.
“Don’t worry about it,” Anthony said. “They’ll just charge it to my room.”
“But I’ve already spent so much of your money,” Brooke protested.
“Brooke, I own a casino and many other lucrative establishments. There is no shortage of money in my possession, alright? Don’t worry about it. Just order and enjoy yourself a nice breakfast. You deserve it.”
“I do?” she asked. “How come?”
Anthony opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, they were approached by a man in a leather coat, with a shirt and tie beneath it. His hair was slicked back and greasy-looking. He had a lopsided grin that made Brooke’s skin crawl. Without asking, he pulled out a chair next to Anthony and sat down.
“How’s it goin’, Tony boy?” he asked, in a thick Jersey accent. “The boss has been askin’ about you.”
“Has he now?” Anthony replied, looking quite annoyed.
“Yeah,” the man said. “He wants to know how business is goin’ at your little casino. Says he’d like to know how his investment in the place is bein’ spent.”
“He hasn’t made any investments,” Anthony retorted, looking back at the menu. “I suggest the breakfast platter,” he said to Brooke. “It comes with everything on it; like a sampler.”
“That sounds—”
“Delicious,” the man said. “You don’t mind if I pick off a little bit, do ya? I haven’t had anything to eat all night.”
“Actually,” Anthony replied. “I do.” He looked back at Brooke. “Why don’t you head upstairs?” he suggested, handing her a room key. “Order room service and whatever else you want. I have some business to attend to with this vulture.” He glared at the other man, who just gave him a wide grin. He squeezed Brooke’s hand.
Brooke placed a kiss against his temple, stood, and made her way out of the dining room. Before she exited, however, she happened to turn back to look at Anthony…just as he slid a thick envelope across the table. She furrowed her brow as something thick formed in her stomach.
What’s going on?
*****
After waiting in the hotel room for over an hour, Brooke received a phone call from Anthony letting her know that he would not be able to join her after all. Upon his insistence, she sent Tessa a text and invited her over to keep her company.
“I knew it,” Tessa said the moment Brooke opened the door. The other woman was smirking triumphantly as she sauntered into the hotel suite. Her eyes and mouth practically gaped as she took in every nook and cranny of the large main room. Brooke had done exactly the same thing when she first stepped inside. She’d gotten over it pretty quickly, though; after seeing where Anthony actually lived, it was no surprise that he could afford a hotel room in SoHo.
“Champagne?” Brooke offered, handing her a flute and holding up the chilled bottle. She had found several of them in a wine fridge when she was surveying the kitchen and had decided that a glass or two with her breakfast wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world—especially after the morning she’d had.
She was still confused by the interaction between Anthony and that other man. She’d texted Tessa not long after, to talk it out, before inviting her over.
“He bought you champagne?” Tessa gasped. “That is some fancy shit. Yes, please.” Brooke poured her a flute and refilled her own, downing it. “You okay, rookie?”
“Yeah,” Brooke sighed. “It’s just…this is all so surreal.”
“I know what you mean,” Tessa said. “I had a rich guy on the line once. It was all limousines and fancy parties and expensive lingerie with caviar and foie gras…” She sighed blissfully as she took a sip of her champagne. “It was fantastic.”
“What happened?” Brooke asked.
“I’m not much for keeping what I catch, you know? I’m more a catch and release type.” She took another sip. “I haven’t gotten a bite in a while, though. Count yourself lucky th
at you’ve got a catch like Mr. D. He’s somethin’ else; a real gentleman.”
“Is he?”
“Girl, look at where you’re standing, okay? Besides that, you went shopping on his dime and he treated you to a fancy breakfast in one of the nicest hotels in Manhattan. The man’s a real fuckin’ prince, I’ll tell you that. Don’t release too soon, okay?”
“I don’t know that I’m the one fishing,” Brooke admitted, draping herself in one of the lounge chairs in the living room.
Tessa snatched the champagne bottle off the counter and sat in the adjacent chair, her feet hanging over one of the arms. “Then I advise that you take full advantage. Especially since…” She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head when Brooke turned toward her.
“Especially since what?” Brooke asked.
“Nothing,” Tessa said. “Forget I said anything. I’m already buzzed from this incredibly bubbly champagne. Obviously, I’m not thinking clearly.” She downed her next glass and went to pour herself some more, but the bottle was torn out of her hand by Brooke. “Hey!”
Brooke ignored her, pouring what remained in the bottle into her own flute and took a tiny sip, before rounding at Tessa and pointing at her with the neck of the bottle.
“Tell me what you were going to say,” she demanded.
“I’d rather not,” Tessa retorted, “lest you break that bottle over my head.”
Brooke rolled her eyes and allowed the bottle to drop with a faint thump to the ground. She narrowed her gaze at Tessa, waiting patiently, though the expression on her face was stern and no-nonsense. She lifted one eyebrow and Tessa groaned.
“It’s just a rumor,” she insisted. “It’s not even worth getting into, to be honest.”
“What isn’t?” Brooke pushed.
Tessa shook her head. “Please, rookie, let’s not—”
“Tessa.”
“Fine.” Tessa took a deep breath and set her champagne flute down on the end table behind her, before straightening up in her chair. “They say that Mr. D…used to work for the Bianchi family.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Brooke, but she couldn’t exactly place it. She shrugged at Tessa and shook her head.
“The Bianchi family is part of a rather large…organization. An Italian organization.” Brooke blinked blankly at her and Tessa groaned. “Rumor has it that the head of the Bianchi family, Carmine Bianchi, is also the Godfather of the Italian mob. The mafia, rookie. Ever heard of them? I thought your dad was a cop. Didn’t he work in Vice or something.”
“He was an officer,” Brooke confirmed. “Not a detective. That didn’t stop him from going undercover, though.” She took another long sip of her champagne as flashes of the night her father was paralyzed flittered behind her eyes.
“Yeah, well, if he’s ever dealt with the Bianchi family—like ever—chances are he wouldn’t want you seeing one of their ex-members.”
“Ex-members?” Brooke asked. “I thought you couldn’t leave the mafia. Isn’t it like some kind of betrayal?”
“You can probably buy your way out,” Tessa offered. “Or maybe he’s still in touch. Maybe that’s how he can afford such lavish things. Either way, you seem to have it made here, sweetheart.” She clinked her empty glass against Brooke’s half-empty one. “Congrats on getting caught by a big fisherman.”
“Thanks,” Brooke replied, weakly, as something unpleasant began to churn in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Ten
It had been days, since she last spoke to Anthony and Brooke was trying not to hate that fact. She hadn’t seen him after she left the suite with Tessa. He’d never come back to see if she was okay or to explain what she might have seen during their ejected breakfast.
Instead, Brooke and Tessa had fallen, tipsily, into the king-sized bed in the suite’s master bedroom, and fallen asleep. Neither of them had gotten any rest after their shifts the night before so it was nice that they could sink into such a soft mattress before work. Tessa seemed to have slept soundly, snoring up a storm as she pressed her face into the pillow next to Brooke’s and draped one arm across her friend’s waist.
Brooke, on the other hand, while welcoming the comforting arm of her friend, had taken much longer to drift off. Thoughts of Anthony and his involvement with the mob had her mind whirring for almost an hour, before she finally found herself in a dream.
At first, Brooke was on a tropical island, lounging in a hammock with Anthony at her side, her head pressed to his chest as she listened to his heartbeat and basked in the warm glow from the sun. She closed her eyes for only a second in the dream, but when they reopened, she found her father just a few feet away, crumpled on the floor. His wheelchair was nowhere to be found and he wasn’t moving at all. Brooke cried out for help, but nobody came and she stayed, kneeling there, until she woke up to hear her alarm blaring.
Relaxing herself after the confusing and upsetting dream, Brooke had woken Tessa and the two got ready for work. Tessa drove them across the bridge into Jersey and Brooke spent the entire ride trying to put the dream out of her head.
That had been two days ago and, since then, Anthony had not even smiled at her—not that he’d come out onto the floor, at all. But usually, if they ran into each other in the hall, he would smirk her way or wink at her and Brooke would find herself blushing.
But, not any more.
Now, he usually had a file in his hand or a phone pressed to his ear and he seemed to be doing his very best to ignore her. Brooke had tried to be strong about it and convince herself that it didn’t bother her, but she wasn’t fooling anybody.
It bothered her a great deal.
She didn’t let it interfere with her work, though. Her fingers were swift and sure as she shuffled and dealt cards out. She took a few pages from Tessa’s book and made light, friendly conversation with her patrons, learning more about their lives as she took their money.
One man had seven children and gambled what little he could spare to be able to afford braces and new glasses and piano lessons. He was independently wealthy, but with all those kids, it was hard to keep the wealth he needed to get by and sustain his big happy family.
Another woman was single and unhappy. She spent the money that she won on plastic surgery to make herself look ‘younger’, though, in Brooke’s opinion, all she was doing was making herself look far worse and like some kind of deformed Barbie doll.
But even their stories of running after booger-nosed babies with tissues and how the doctor took five years(!) off their chins didn’t stop Brooke’s mind from wandering to a certain man, who was probably sitting upstairs in his office, dealing with whatever the owner of a highly-popular casino had to deal with.
Or one of the loyal workers to a mafia.
The very thought made Brooke’s stomach churn and she was almost too preoccupied by her thoughts to notice the manager calling her name from just a few feet away.
“Miss Abernathy? Miss Abernathy!”
She jumped, startled and turned toward the voice, blinking up at the familiar manager.
“Yes?” she asked, feeling suddenly guilty for not paying enough attention.
“Well,” the manager replied, “now that I’ve got your attention; you have a break coming soon, don’t you?”
Brooke looked at her watch and nodded. “Should be in about five minutes.”
“Okay, good.” He placed a file down on her table, out of the way of the poker game. “Bring this up to Mr. Dunham’s office. You can add five minutes to your break if you do.”
“Oh,” Brooke said, blushing, “you can’t…?”
“I’m swamped,” the manager said, dismissing her with a brush of his hand in her direction. “I’d really appreciate the help if you’re up to it.”
“Um, of course, sir,” Brooke sighed. “I wouldn’t mind a single bit.”
“Thanks, rookie,” the manager said. “You’re swell.”
Brooke sighed and shook her head. “Don’t mention it,” she ret
orted, looking down at the manila envelope. “Don’t mention it.”
*****
When it was time for her break, Brooke gave up her table to the next dealer and grabbed the envelope, making her way toward the elevator to deliver it. She felt butterflies fill her stomach with every step closer to the office and she prayed that she could just leave the damn thing with the secretary instead of having to see Anthony after so many days of radio silence.
No such luck.
There was nobody at the secretary’s desk to shepherd her through the door and Brooke thought about turning around and just coming back at a later time, when she was there again, but then she heard voices. Looking toward Mr. Dunham’s inner-office door, she found the door cracked open, which was odd. She was made to believe that it remained locked at all times, until the secretary unlocked it for a visitor, or Mr. D welcomed them in himself.
Neither was the case.
Walking closer to the door, the voices became clearer.
“You need to start showing some more loyalty to the family, Tony.”
“I’ve shown plenty of loyalty, CJ,” Mr. Dunham replied, coldly. “All that money I gave you must be worth something to your father.”
“It is, but it ain’t exactly what I’d call loyalty, Tony. Loyalty is you coming back to stand at Dad’s side once again. Loyalty is you giving up all this foolish pride of yours and—”
Conversation stopped when Brooke accidentally fell into the door, losing her balance for a second. She was so startled by this, that the envelope dropped from her hands to the ground and she gasped, looking up with wide eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.
She caught Anthony’s eyes first and they were already filled with fire when they locked on hers. “Brooke,” he said, his voice deep and warning. “Leave.” There was no malice behind the simple word; just warning.
“No,” one of the other men—CJ—contradicted, with a charming grin. “Stay, dear. I believe that what you hold in your hand belongs to me, does it not?” He looked to Anthony, who clenched his jaw and nodded. Brooke straightened up and offered CJ the enveloped, holding it with the very tips of her fingers so that they wouldn’t brush his on accident.