3. Angelo

Chapter 3

Angelo

" I t's fucking great to see you on the outside, Angelo." Tommy hands me a glass of champagne. He's grinning huge, one hand on his pretty girlfriend's leg, but I'm pretty sure she's high as shit and doesn't even know where we are right now. "Here's to freedom."

We touch glasses and I drink. My mind's half in this room and half on the mouthy, gorgeous little waitress I spooked out in the hall. She was standing in front of the door and looked like she was trying to figure out how she was going to get it open with her hands full, and when I offered to help, she nearly dropped all her shit.

Then she has the gall to give me some sarcastic comment.

Coming from anyone else, I might be annoyed. Except that girl is beyond beautiful, and there's something about the spark I felt that I can't really shake.

I've been away from women for too long.

Tommy's chick is slender and waifish. She's got the whole skinny supermodel thing going for her. But that waitress is everything: on the small side, maybe five-foot-four at most, with thick dark hair and beautiful olive skin. She's got a fantastic figure which that lewd little outfit only accentuates, and I feel my blood thrumming through my veins, and I keep on thinking about that brief encounter in the hall.

I've been locked up for too long. I need to get some pussy and soon, because I sure as hell can't let myself get distracted by random fucking waitresses right now.

I plaster a smile on my face and listen to Tommy talk about all the shit he's been doing here at Cage since I went away. I pretend like I'm happy about it and compliment the decor, even though I find this whole fucking fake Greco-Roman shit tacky and obscene. Back in my day, Cage felt like what it was: a grimy, dark, steamy den of sin, not this old-world rich person garbage. But it's not my club anymore.

I drink my champagne like I'm just having a good old catch-up with a friend, while internally I keep thinking about Paulie's head blown to pieces, his blood staining the white couch.

"The Don's been very good to me," Tommy says, starting to relax now. His girl's practically nodding off against his shoulder and he doesn't even notice. "Cage has been growing big time over the years. I tapped into a high-end market and I've been providing my customers with everything they could need, from girls to drugs to everything in between, no questions asked, no judgment. Cage isn't just for dancing anymore. It's an everything club, and it's highly exclusive."

I grind my jaw and nod along. I built Cage—it was my pet project back in the day—and I took it from nothing to a thriving business in my early fucking twenties when Tommy was still barely a goon with a gun and a penchant for punching guys in the mouth. If I hadn't gone down for five years, Tommy wouldn't be anywhere near the top of Cage right now, except someone had to step up and take over when I got arrested and it made sense for that to be Tommy. I guess back then my father saw something in him, and now here he is, five years later, thriving and on top of the world with a pretty addict girlfriend on his arm and an expensive diamond-studded gold chain around his neck.

Old Tommy's doing great for himself. While I rotted in prison.

I'm tempted to start asking him my questions like I did with Paulie yesterday, but I have to be a little more careful here. With Paulie, it was simple, since he wasn't involved much in Famiglia business anymore, which made him fair game. However, Tommy's connected, he's a made man, and I can't just murder him without good reason.

Not yet anyway.

Besides, Tommy knows things. He's been around for the last five years, and I know my former lieutenant was always good about gathering information. If I kill him, I'll lose whatever he's got locked up in that head of his, and I'm not ready for that.

We catch up some more. I tell him about all the good friends I made in prison and he pretends like he's interested in my jail stories. After a while, the waitress comes back again and replaces the champagne bottle. I can't keep my fucking eyes off her, and Tommy must notice, because once she's gone, he leans over and whispers, "That's my girl's sister. Can you believe it? They look nothing alike, but it's fucking true. Right, Serena?" He elbows his girlfriend and she blinks a few times. "Claudia's your sister?"

"Is Claudia here?" Serena says, sounding spaced out and barely with it.

"You fucking—I said, Claudia's your sister, right? And you look nothing alike?"

Serena's smile is dull as she leans back. "Claudia's the best sister ever," she murmurs.

Tommy rolls his eyes and looks back at me. "I bet shit was a little tough for you in prison, yeah? None of those old-fashioned conjugal visits, right?" He cocks his head to the side and gets a sly look. "I could call the girl back in here if you're interested."

I clench my jaw and take a deep breath. Rage billows up and I'm tempted to strangle Tommy here and now. I don't know what it is, but the way he's talking about that girl Claudia drives me absolutely goddamn mad with blind fury. Fuck what he knows and fuck his protection. I'm Angelo Bianco—I can murder this prick and my brother the Don will just have to live with that.

But I take a long drink and force myself to calm down.

I'm not going to ruin years of planning for some random fucking waitress.

"No, thanks," I tell Tommy and he shrugs like I can always change my mind.

"You hear about what happened to Paulie?" The abrupt shift in conversation is a surprise as he leans back and crosses his legs. "Apparently, someone broke into his house, murdered him, and tried to rob his wife, but they got away. Don't know how, but it's pretty fucked. Shot him right in the dick. Who the fuck would do that?"

I keep my face straight. "I hadn't heard. Paulie's been getting up to some dangerous shit since I went away?"

"Nah, he kept his head down, which is the weird thing. He was trying to go legit, you know? Had that pretty little wife, but I guess she's all messed up now." He snorts like it's funny. "Paulie always was pathetic."

It takes all my mental effort not to strangle him. I may have murdered the prick, but Paulie was still my friend, and I don't want to hear anyone talking shit about the dead like this.

He goes back to chatting about all the new bits of Cage like I actually want to hear how this grubby little traitorous fuck is ruining my baby.

And all the while, I'm thinking about the girl. About how Serena looks nothing like her sister—they're polar opposites, if anything—but mostly about how soft her skin was when I touched her and kept that tray from tipping over.

She comes back for a third time. I do my best not to stare but I still can't help it. That fucking little bra doesn't cover much, and I love the way the chains around her middle sparkle in the low light. Her ass is round, but it's her lips, her eyes, her round cheeks and thick hair that really grab my attention. She's a little Italian goddess, built like heaven.

"Claudia, girl, your sister was just telling me how you've been doing an extra good job," Tommy says as she passes in front of him to collect an empty glass. He reaches out and pats her hip affectionately and she stiffens like a rabbit staring down a hungry fox. She freezes, jaw clamped tight.

My blood fucking boils. I want to get up and break that wrist. He's being way too familiar, and Serena doesn't seem to notice—or if she does, the girl's way too high to care.

"Thank you, Mr. Fiore," Claudia says, looking down at the floor, and presses her lips together so tight they turn white.

"I was thinking since you and your sister have a certain, you know, special relationship—" Tommy winks at me, grinning like an idiot. Serena's smiling and rolling her eyes like she's heard all this before, and it makes me fucking sick. "You know, I've been saying for a while now, if you ever wanted to make some extra money?—"

Claudia's full body flushes pink. Her embarrassment is palpable, and I can tell she's struggling not to show her anger as she pretends to smile and laugh at the joke . Hilarious, a threesome with her sister, what a great fucking joke . She squirms from Tommy's grip and steps away, and Tommy's about to say something else when I cut in, unable to keep my mouth shut.

"Why don't we let the girl do her job," I say and stare at my former lieutenant.

It's a clear challenge to his control here, and he doesn't even miss a beat.

He stares right back.

In the old days, he would've balked. He would've looked away. Tommy Fiore was a thug and a killer, but he was obedient and he knew his place.

Now, he's got a smile on his face, a pretty addict on his arm, an oversized ego, and a club under his belt.

My fucking club.

"Claudia knows I'm just teasing. Right, Claud? I mean, I'd be happy to fuck both you and your sister at the same time?—"

I nearly get up and kill him right there. If I still had that revolver, I'd shoot him in the face.

But Claudia cuts him off. "Sure, Mr. Fiore. I know you're kidding. You love to joke around."

Tommy keeps right on watching me, a smug little grin on his face, like he knows he's got something I want and he's going to fuck with me because of it.

Except as he's busy pretending like he's a bigshot, he doesn't notice the look Claudia gives him.

It's pure, utter revulsion.

I know what hate feels like. I've been steeped in hate for five long years imagining all the ways I can get back at the men that betrayed me and got me locked up. I've seen and felt true spite in prison, I've seen all the different ways men learn how to hate each other, and I thought I understood how deep it could go.

But the way the girl's looking at Tommy is an entirely new level.

It's like he's the purest form of evil in the world. It's like he's a jungle parasite and she wants to stomp him out with her boot. She's looking at him like she'd happily slice his throat and smile and laugh as his blood pumps all over her hands.

Then the look's gone and Tommy's drinking his whiskey and the girl hurries from the lounge like nothing just happened.

But an idea hits me.

It's a bad idea, probably an idea born of lust mixed with a mild obsession, but it nags at me for the rest of the meeting. I keep thinking about that look on Claudia's face, the depth of her disgust, the pure white-hot loathing, and I wonder if I can use it.

By the time I leave my former lieutenant to keep on running the club that I built with my own fucking hands, I decide that sometimes plans need to change in light of new information.