I’m the only one who isn’t crying.
I just stare at my father, my heart in my throat. He can’t die. He can’t fucking die. I can’t lose him now. I’m not ready. There’s so much that I still need to learn from him. I want him to be at my wedding. If I ever manage to have kids, I want him to be their nonno.
I want him to see this hotel get built. Our hotel.
I’m going to make it happen.
That shithead Russo doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.
Chapter 45
Nick
It takes another two days for me to get in to see Marco Russo. He works in a skyscraper in midtown on the thirty-ninth floor—his office has probably got a great view. He and Pop have known each other for at least twenty years, and I know they’ve been doing business together that whole time. I wouldn’t say they’re friends, but they’re more than acquaintances. I’m sure Russo gave Pop a good price on the job in exchange for the flexible timeline. But now the flexible timeline is turning into an eternity.
Right away, things don’t go so well. I can’t reach the button for the thirty-ninth floor in the elevator, for starters. Usually if I stretch enough, I can get to it. But I’ve got my left hand on the pushrim of my chair and I’m stretching as much as I can with my right arm and I’m still at least two inches short. I finally dig a pen out of the small briefcase I’ve got on my lap and use it to hit the button. But all the stretching sets off a muscle spasm in my left leg. I do my damnedest to get it to calm down before I step into Russo’s office.
My ears are popping by the time I get to the top floor. I wheel myself out and make my way laboriously down the long carpeted hallway to Russo’s office. The glass doors are shut and I can tell right away that they weigh a ton. Russo’s gorgeous twenty-year-old receptionist has to hold the door open for me.
“You must be Nicolas Moretti,” she says in a voice that’s only slightly condescending. “You can go right in.” She quickly adds, “I’ll get the door for you.”
Marco Russo is seated behind an expensive-looking mahogany desk, but he stands when I wheel myself in. Russo is built like my father, with broad shoulders, a stocky build, and protruding midsection—but that’s where the similarity ends. Instead of Pop’s penetrating gaze, Russo has small, beady eyes. Instead of my father’s silver hair, Russo looks like he dumped shoe polish on his thinning hair. I can see Russo’s shrewd eyes taking in my appearance.
“Little Nico Moretti!” Russo says. I cringe. “I haven’t seen you since you were five years old! How are ya, kid?”
“Fine,” I say tightly.
“I don’t remember you having the ride before,” he comments. “What happened to you?” He grins and winks at me. “Piss off the wrong people?”
I’d bet my left ball that Russo knows exactly what happened to me. “Mr. Russo,” I begin.
“Nice suit,” he interrupts me. He actually leans forward and feels the material. He’s standing over me now, which I don’t appreciate, considering I can’t stand at all. “What is it? Armani?”
Yeah, it’s Armani. Valerie picked it out for me, so I know it’s nice. The girl has expensive taste. Like Pop always said, you dress how you want to be treated.
“Mr. Russo,” I say, more firmly this time. “I’d like to talk to you about the job we contracted you to do at the hotel we’re building.”
The smile slips from Russo’s face. “You’re not much for small talk, are you, kid?”
“This isn’t a social visit.” I frown at him. “Your workers walked out on the job before it was completed.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I need them elsewhere.”
“But we had a deal. We gave you an advance.”
Russo paces across his office, before he ends up behind his desk. But he doesn’t sit, like I want him to. “This hotel business… it isn’t actually any of your concern. It’s between me and your father.”
“Actually, it is my business.” I keep my eyes trained on Russo. “My father put me in charge of this project and I’m the co-owner.”
“Right.” Russo waves a hand like everything I said isn’t important. “But the deal I made was with Angelo.”
“As you may have heard,” I say, “my father is in the hospital right now. It’s not clear when or if he’ll be able to come back to work.” I don’t allow my voice to choke on those words. “In the meantime, I feel that you and I should make arrangements to bring your staff back into the hotel and finish the job in a timely fashion.”
“Finish the job in a timely fashion.” Russo’s voice is mocking. “Is that how they teach you to talk at Harvard Business School? What a load of shit. Your dad and I didn’t need business school.”
I ignore his comment. “Mr. Russo, I’m prepared to offer you another contract that I had our attorney draw up.” I tap on the briefcase on my lap. “It’s a more generous offer than the contract with my father, but there are strict deadlines that you must meet.”
You’re better off making people happy than putting the squeeze on them. Make ‘em happy first. If that don’t work, you got no other choice.
“No.” Russo shakes his head. “I don’t do deadlines, kid.”
“Well, then let me void the contract,” I say. “Return the advance and I’ll find another contractor.”
His lips twist into a grimace. “You really got some nerve. You’ll find another contractor? Like hell you will. Angelo made a deal with me.”
“Then do the job we hired you to do,” I say in a slow, controlled voice.
Russo’s eyes narrow at me. “I think you better leave. If your father got a problem with my work, tell him to get on the phone himself and call me. Tell him I don’t want to deal with his pansy ass son.” He looks down at me and snorts. “Or if I gotta deal with one of you, tell him to send Antonio. At least he’s not a fucking cripple.”
I’m seething inside, but I don’t let him see it. I wanted this meeting to go well. But I knew it wouldn’t. Russo’s not the only one who did his research—I had a feeling that he wasn’t going to be open to any of my offers. I had a feeling that it would come to this.
If that don’t work, you got no other choice.
Jessie
Every morning, Seth and I leave at the exact same time. Both of us have flexible schedules, so we do it that way on purpose. Seth has been working late hours, so we don’t know what time he’ll be home, but at least we get to see each other in the morning. Sometimes we even shower together. Seth loves communal showers and always tries to turn them into a sex romp. I was into it for a while, until I slipped and got a concussion.
It’s a beautiful day today and Seth is holding my hand as we walk together. Can I just say that I always find it a little weird to be holding hands with a guy you like? I love Seth, but holding hands seems like something that a little kid should be doing with his mom so that he doesn’t scurry off into traffic.
“You never wear your hair down anymore,” Seth comments when we’re a block away from the subway station.
I pat the spider clip holding my hair together in the back. It’s become partially unraveled during the walk to the station—I’ll have to fix it when I get to work. “I’m trying to be a professional, mister.”
“Yeah, but I like it down,” he says. “It’s sexier.”
“Exactly,” I say. “I can do without the hoots and hollers on my way to work.”
Seth backs away from me, folds his arms across his chest, and puts a surly expression on his face. “Hey, baby, you lookin’ fine today! You wanna come over and make out with me?”
I smack him in the arm. “No, thank you.”
“Aw, come on, baby…” Then he grabs me and pulls me in for a kiss while I laugh and struggle under his grip. But when his lips are on mine, I relax. The kisses with Seth are still pretty good. We have our problems like every couple, but in general, we have a good relationship. Seth’s definitely not perfect—he has a temper and lashes out when he’s stressed, but everyone has their is
sues. I sure do.
When I break away from Seth, I realize that a pretty, dark-haired girl in a fitted dress suit is standing several yards away, staring at us. I get an uneasy feeling until I recognize who I’m looking at.
Oh my God, it’s Chrissy Cagliari!
“Chrissy!” I scream.
My former best friend’s face lights up in a smile. “I thought that was you, Jess!”
She runs over to me and we hug, even though neither of us are really huggy people. I haven’t seen Chrissy in a million years. Somehow during college, we lost track of each other. She went her own way while I was doing the college thing.
“You look great, Jess!” Chrissy comments.
“So do you,” I say. She really does. Chrissy was always pretty in high school, but now she’s at another level of pretty, with that glossy dark hair, flawless skin, and tight little body.
Chrissy gives Seth a once-over while he stands there, some combination of amused and uncomfortable. “And who is this cutie that you were sucking face with on the street, young lady?” Chrissy says.
“This is Seth,” I tell her.
“I see,” Chrissy says as she shakes Seth’s hand. “And how long has this been going on?”
“Since college,” I say, and I find my face turning red. I never told Chrissy about Seth, even back when we were keeping in touch. Now I feel like I should have.
“I actually need to run.” Seth leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “I’ve got a client in half an hour. I’ll let you two catch up.”
Chrissy watches Seth jog off in the direction of the subway station, an appraising look in her eyes. “Client,” she muses. “Sounds like he does something important.”
“He’s a lawyer,” I say. Albeit, an unsuccessful lawyer. But that will change. His practice will take off—I’m sure of it. Although some days I’m incredibly frustrated with him. His partner is a lazy idiot, and he’s paying for a secretary who does nothing. He doesn’t spend time figuring out how to promote himself, so the business he gets is few and far between. And the fact that he doesn’t get much repeat business makes me wonder about the quality of his own work. He’s had a few court cases and lost them all.
“And how about you?” Chrissy grins at me. “Let me guess—you’re in a choir.”
“A choir!” I roll my eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m just a data analyst.”
“Oh.” Chrissy tugs at the collar of her dress shirt. I notice now that she’s dressed very smartly in a tailored blouse and pencil skirt. She doesn’t look like she’s going somewhere to waitress or bartend.
“Where do you work now?” I ask her.
She smiles crookedly. “Actually, I got a job working for Nick Moretti. Just started about a month ago.”
When she says that name, all the air leaves my body. It takes me a few seconds to process that information. Chrissy is working for Nick Moretti. In what universe is such a thing possible? It’s pretty clear he’s far from being a bum in front of my building.
“That’s nice,” I manage.
Chrissy bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Jess, you should see your face! You got red like a beet the second I said his name.” She glances down the street, where Seth has long since disappeared. “You’re not still thinking of Nick after all these years when you got that nice lawyer?”
“No,” I murmur. But I know my face is still red.
“Well, I wouldn’t blame you…”
If she had any idea… “I’m not.”
She studies my face. “You’re curious though, aren’t you? You wanna know how he’s doing.”
I shrug, trying to act like I don’t care. Even though I’m clearly fooling nobody. “I guess so. I mean, just in a general sort of way.”
“You remember how hot he was back in high school?” Chrissy grins at me. “Well, he’s hotter now. Not sure how it’s possible, but goddamn.”
“Oh.”
That’s the opposite of what I wanted to hear. Nick’s still really hot. He’s successful enough to hire Chrissy. And he clearly has no desire to speak to me, because I haven’t heard one word from him since I left for college.
Of course, there’s one other thing I’m wondering about. Something that’s been nagging me for the last decade. Nick had been shot and injured badly. I was never certain whether or not he ever recovered…
“He still can’t walk,” Chrissy says. The smile has left her face now. “That’s what you were wondering, wasn’t it? Well, he can’t. He uses a wheelchair all the time.”
“Oh,” I say weakly.
I try to picture Nick Moretti confined to a wheelchair. I can’t do it.
“He’s getting to be a hot shot in the real estate world,” Chrissy says. “He’s fucking smart. Knows how to deal with people. Makes good decisions.”
“I knew he’d be successful,” I say. I always imagined a life like that for Nick. I just imagined myself being part of it—it’s hard to face the reality that I never will be. I bite my lip. “Did he… ask you about me?”
She hesitates for a second. “No. He didn’t.”
Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s moved on to bigger things. I’m the one who’s still stuck on a guy I loved back in high school.
“But,” she adds, “I think he wanted to. He just…”
She doesn’t complete the sentence, but I can imagine what she was going to say. He just doesn’t care that much.
“Do you want his number?” she asks me.
“No,” I say too quickly. I can’t even imagine how pathetic it would seem if I called him after all these years. Maybe he doesn’t even remember me.
Actually, no. I’m sure he remembers me. Still.
On top of that, he probably isn’t even single. Chrissy doesn’t say either way, but if he’s really that hot and wealthy, how could he be? He’s probably got more women than he knows what to do with.
And I’ve got Seth. Seth is the one I’m meant to be with—I’m sure of it now. It’s time to move on from Nick Moretti once and for all.
Chapter 46
Nick
“How you doing, Nico?”
I’m at Jack Kahn’s office in Manhattan. I didn’t make an appointment—I just dropped in. When you’ve known a guy since before you could read, you don’t need to make appointments.
Jack’s office is tiny, even though he must pull in seven figures a year. It’s where he started out and he doesn’t like change. Pop says that’s what makes Jack loyal. That and the fact that he’s been working for Pop since he got out of law school. Compared with Russo’s high budget furniture, everything in Jack’s office looks like it’s been there since his law school graduation and was probably secondhand back then. Even Jack’s clothes look secondhand—he never listened to Pop’s advice on that. Jack himself looks too thin, as usual, and he’s got circles under his eyes that probably mirror my own.
“Hanging in there,” I tell him.
“He’s going to pull through,” Jack says with confidence I don’t feel. “Angelo’s tough. You know that.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. He didn’t look so tough when I saw him this morning. The doctors said he’s got pneumonia now from the ventilator and they’re shooting antibiotics through his veins. Ma won’t leave his side.
“What’s going on, Nico?” Jack says. “Is there something you need?”
Jack is my father’s most trusted friend. And now that Pop is down for the count, I’ve got to trust him too.
“The contractor stalled on the paint job for the hotel,” I explain. “They pulled out completely. Marco Russo says he won’t go back to work until Pop calls him.”
Jack’s face fills with sadness. “So just hang in there. In another few weeks, he’ll be good to make the call. Let him deal with them.”
I shake my head. “This is my project, Jack. I want to deal with it.”
“Nico,” Jack says, “your father is ill now. Is this really the time to be worrying about all this?”
“The a
sshole is taking advantage of what happened to Pop,” I say through my teeth. “I want to deal with this. Right now.”
He looks at me a long time. “So do you need help with a new contract?”
“No, I already had another one drawn up.” I flash him an apologetic look. “One of my own guys did it. Sorry, Jack.”
He laughs. “No, that’s okay.” He gestures at the towering stack of papers on his desk. “I got enough to do. Believe me. Anyway, so what do you need help with then?”
I look him straight in the eyes. “I want you to tell me how to get in touch with Eddie.”
Jack freezes. He shifts in his seat, his eyes now avoiding mine. “Who?”
“Come on, Jack.” I shake my head at him. “Don’t bullshit me. I lived in that house for twenty years. You think I don’t know about Eddie?”
He runs a hand through his hair, which has started graying at the temples. “I’m sorry, Nico. I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Jack raises his eyebrows at me. “For starters, your father would kill me if I got you in touch with Eddie. Really, Nico… you don’t want to go down that path.”
“Just tell me his last name,” I say.
He heaves a sigh. “Your father will be well again soon. Before you know it. Just be patient—I’m telling you.”
“If it’s not Eddie,” I say, “then it’ll be someone else. Someone not as good or trustworthy. But I’ve made up my mind. I need to send a message to Russo and everyone else.”
Jack chews on his lip, struggling with the decision. He sighs loudly. “Romero,” he says. “His name is Eduardo Romero. And I swear to God, you better never tell your father that you heard it from me.”
Jessie
I search for Nick on Google. I can’t stand it another minute.
Chrissy was not in any way exaggerating. Nick is obviously doing really, really well. He’s about as far away from being a bum begging for spare change as you can get. He apparently acquired a bunch of properties and is involved in building this fancy hotel right in the middle of the city. He must be loaded—even more than his father was.
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