As Tony pulls away, I’m dazed. He turns his head. He says something in Italian. I turn to find Dominic watching us, an eyebrow up as he also responds in Italian. I’m going to have to learn the language as of yesterday.
“This is Christy, my woman. She moved in today and will be here from now on.”
Dominic does that exhale laugh thing Tony does as he looks at me intently. “You sure you don’t want me to leave?”
Tony nods as he picks me up and sets me on wobbly legs. A smack of my ass sends me away from him. “Sit,” he orders me. To Dominic, “A scramble okay? Or I have some leftover gnocchi.”
Dominic takes off his suit jacket and puts it across the back of a chair. “Scramble sounds good.”
As I sit down across from Dominic, it’s a little weird how much he looks like his father. Dominic has dimples in both cheeks, while Tony only has one in his right. Their main difference is that Dominic is leaner, still muscular, no doubt. However, his chest isn’t quite as wide. It’s like seeing Tony only almost twenty years younger.
He looks directly at me, “Are you as young as I think you are?” The question is curious, yet there’s a slight edge to it I can’t define.
“I’m thirty as of a few months ago,” I admit. It’s hard not to shrink beneath his hard gaze, but I refuse to. If I do now, he’ll run over me without hesitation. I have no doubt he will anyway but I’m not going to back down at our first meeting.
His eyes run over me. A slight shake of his head. “What are you doing with my father?”
An espresso cup is set down in front of Dominic with a thump and a growl comes out of Tony. I don’t drop my eyes from blue eyes so like Tony’s it’s spooky. “Trying to be happy for the first time in my life.”
I don’t know where the words come from. I was supposed to be a smartass but I see I’ve surprised him as much as I have my self. He picks up the cup and swallows in one smooth movement. Setting the cup down he looks up at Tony then back to me. He shrugs. “I’m not calling someone almost five years younger than me ‘Mom.’ Just getting that out there now.”
Tony slaps the back of his head and says what sounds like a bad word in Italian. “My son, the comedian.”
I blush. “Christy is fine. Thanks.”
His eyes are on Tony behind me. “How long have you been seeing my father?”
This time I blush so badly my head swims a little. A small shrug. “I met him yesterday.”
Blue darkens as he studies me. “You met my father yesterday?”
I nod. I don’t dare say more, too afraid of what might come out.
His hands are steepled in front of him the same way Tony’s were last night. They are so alike, not just in looks but in mannerisms. “My father hasn’t fucked a woman the first day he met her in more than a decade. No woman aside from nonna has ever lived in this house. Maybe two or three have ever spent a night here. What’s so different about you?”
His eyes flick back to mine and hold, not letting me go. I’m trapped in his gaze.
Tony sets a plate down in front of both of us, breaking the scary moment. I look down unseeing at the scrambled eggs, sliced prosciutto, tomatoes, spinach, mushrooms, and goat cheese in a heap—far more than I could hope to eat. A small basket of fresh bread is set down, followed by glasses of orange juice.
Dominic says something in Italian.
Tony responds in English. “She knows, no need to speak Italian. I’ll be teaching her the language soon enough. Milos says he has it under control. His club shot up last night, the same night they hit Emilio indicates otherwise.”
“The Serbians are worse than the Bratva. These bastards have no fucking limits. It’s not enough to let Milos handle it. The longer they breathe air, the ti
ghter they hold onto what they’ve gained.” Dominic shakes his head. “Is what you got last night actionable?”
Sipping his orange juice, Tony nods. “It could be, if we move quickly enough on it. The problem will be in acting on it without making waves the way Johnny wants. He prefers this all be handled by Milos. It’s the reason why we’ve come to an agreement with Milos in the first place. Johnny wants him handling all the Eurotrash. I told him if someone hits us, we hit back, no one else. “
“I was talking with Che the other day. He gave me the name of someone who runs a security contracting company who might be able to help get the information we need and hit them without making waves.” Dominic finishes his orange juice. He gets up and is back again with the container, refilling mine as well as Tony’s before his own glass.
“Cesare has a man?” An eyebrow goes up.
I’m with Tony, surprised that his nephew would have someone like Dominic describes. Then again as a billionaire who runs a real estate—what can only be described as an empire—with his youngest brother Dante maybe it’s not surprising. I would imagine billionaires have different security concerns. All of Tony’s nephews, Cesare, Dante, and Enzo—who ran a billion-dollar hedge fund are notoriously press-shy never giving interviews and keeping their companies private. It didn’t stop the papers in Chicago from splashing them on the front of all the sections they managed to get even a tidbit of a story on the men for: business, lifestyle, and the front page because the men were gorgeous and the story of their parent’s murder-suicide was salacious. The papers loved to point at them as the American dream come true. They were men who made themselves billionaires, starting with next to nothing.
“More like a small army. They have over thirty thousand boots on the ground all over the world. He also has people plugged into operations here in the States. The main guy is a former Ranger. He’s into a hundred different countries and can get about anything you could want or need. Only thing is, his services are not cheap. However, I think he’ll be more than worth it in the end. I want to see what he can do first.” A shrug. “If he can deliver, I’ll go from there.”
“You’re not going to let Johnny in on it.” It’s not a question.