Chapter Two

~ Vittorio ~

"Who are you?"

I took a moment to look the man over before giving him an answer. I had to admit, this Anthony D'Angelo was not what I expected. I could see glimpses of his father in his straight Roman nose and the scruff along the firm cut of his jaw, but he must have gotten his honey-colored eyes from his mother.

I wasn't sure how I felt about the earring.

"My name is Vittorio Antonelli," I finally answered. "I'm here to talk to you about your father."

The man snorted as he pulled his backpack off and dropped it on the floor next to the door. "I have no idea who that is."

My eyebrows lifted. "You don't know who your father is?"

"Well, my mother was a whore, so..."

"Was?"

Had the woman died?

"She took off with one of her customers when I was about twelve. Never saw her again. I figure she's either living the life of her dreams or dead in a ditch somewhere. Doesn't matter one way or another. As long as she never comes back, she can do whatever she wants."

There was a lot of anger and resentment in that statement.

"Who did you live with if your mother took off?"

Anthony's eyebrow snapped together. "What's it to you?"

"Just a question."

"Fine." Anthony's honeyed eyes rolled. "I was placed in state custody and went through ten different fosters homes over the next two years. When I was fourteen, I met my foster mom and lived with her until I turned eighteen." He crossed his arms and glared, raising one dark eyebrow. "Satisfied?"

"Why so many foster homes?" And why had this not been in any of the reports I'd received?

"None of your damn business," Anthony snapped. "Now, tell me why you are here. What does my father want with me?"

Now came the hard part.

"I'm afraid your father passed away two months ago."

Anthony stared at me for a moment, silent and unmoving. I could tell nothing from his blank expression, and that bothered me. I could usually read people better than this.

"Okay, fine, you told me," Anthony finally said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is there anything else?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about him dismissing his father's death so easily, but I had bigger things to deal with right now.

"There is."

Anthony drew in a heavy breath that seemed to move his entire body and then reached up to rub the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"Look." He planted his hands on his hips and gave me another one of his death glares. "I've been working all day. I'm tired. I still have to eat, shower, and try to get a couple of hours of sleep before I have to get up and go to work again. Unless its life or death, I'm not interested."

"The death part has already happened," I pointed out. "Your father is dead, remember?"

Anthony squinted at me. "Is that supposed to mean something to me? I don't even know this guy's name. My mother never named him, not even on my birth certificate. Why should I care about some stranger that hasn't ever spoken a single word to me?"

Anthony took a quick step back when I suddenly stood up. I realized immediately that I was several inches taller than him.

Strange, he seemed bigger.

"You may not care, but I do. I've spent the last fifteen years of my life serving your father."

"I'm happy for you," Anthony replied. "What does it have to do with me?"

I grit my teeth to not lash out at the guy. He was being very defensive and it was making this conversation a lot harder than it had to be.

"Two months ago, the entire D'Angelo family gathered for the wedding of one of your father's nieces. She was your cousin."

Anthony's brow furrowed. "Was?" he asked just as I had a few minutes ago.

"Someone placed a bomb in the wedding venue. Every member of the D'Angelo family was killed, including your father."

"How...?" Anthony swallowed hard. "How many?"

"Fifty members of the D'Angelo family and another thirty security guards that were there to protect the family." Even after two months, I still reeled with shock every time I thought about how many people had died. "The bomb killed everyone."

"Oh, my god," Anthony whispered. "Who would do something like that?"

I narrowed my eyes at the man. "You really know nothing about your father?"

Anthony shook his head. "My mother refused to discuss him and grew violent any time that I asked." He shrugged as if the comment about violence meant nothing. "I learned not to ask."

"Your father was the head of the D'Angelo family in Italy."

Anthony just stared at me as if he couldn't comprehend what I had just said. "And that means what?"

"The D'Angelo family is mafia."

Anthony seemed to digest that knowledge for a moment before asking, "Was it a rival mafia family then?"

"We suspect so," I answered, "but we're still gathering information."

"Who is we?"

"Carmine Antonelli, my uncle. He was your father's consigliere ."

"I don't know that word."

He didn't know Italian? How was that possible? He was Italian. He lived in a city inundated with Italians, American born and immigrants.

"Carmine was your father's advisor," I finally said.

"What did you do for my father?" Anthony asked.

"In mafia terms, I was the D'Angelo family underboss. I was basically second-in-command, but I took care of most of the day to day operations and made sure your father's orders were carried out."

That was the simple explanation for what I did for Don D'Angelo. The more in-depth answer would take too long to explain, especially when I was here for another reason.

"In my world, only a blood relative can take over the D'Angelo family. You are the last member of the D'Angelo bloodline, which makes you the new head of the family."

Anthony's lips parted and a small gasp of breath came out of his mouth. "You have lost your damn mind."

"While I agree with you in part, that does not change the fact that you are now Don D'Angelo."

I was pretty sure that Anthony's snort was appropriate under the circumstances. I didn't see how this guy could be the new head of the family either. He didn't even speak Italian.

We'd need to change that.

There were a lot of things that we'd need to change. Increasing his protection detail was at the top of the list. Anthony clearly needed the extra security. I doubted he'd ever seen a gun let alone shot one.

"So, what does that mean?" Anthony asked. "Can't I just hand this position over to someone else?"

"No," I said firmly. "Only the direct bloodline can run the family."

"I'm not mafia."

"You are now."

"But, I—"

"Look, just pack your things, grab your passport, and I'll take you back to the family estate in Italy for a couple of weeks. You can take a look around and see how we do things. If you totally hate it, we'll figure something out."

"Why would I have a passport?" Anthony asked. "I can barely afford food. Traveling anywhere outside the six city blocks I live in is like a pipe dream."

"We can get you a passport and you can consider this a vacation or something."

Anthony shook his head. "I really can't. My bosses would never let me have that much time off."

I squinted at the man, beyond confused. "You do realize that you are now a billionaire, right?"

Anthony paled to that of a white sheet. "B-B-Billionaire?"

"Billionaire," I said slowly. "Yes, you are the sole beneficiary of the entire D'Angelo family holdings. That makes you a billionaire. You don't have to work whatever job you've been working anymore."

"Jobs," Anthony answered absently as if he was still reeling from what he'd just learned. "I have three jobs."

Damn.

"Well, you don't have to work any of them anymore."

I was a little shocked that the man was working three jobs when his father had been a billionaire. He should have been living in the lap of luxury, illegitimate son or now.

"What happened to the money your father was sending you?" He might not have lived in the lap of luxury with it, but he should have been better off than he seemed now.

"What money?"

I guess that answered that.

"When your father learned of your birth, he arranged to have money sent to you every month for your care."

"Yeah, I never saw a penny of it."

After learning about his mother, I was not surprised.

"I don't know what happened to it, but I can guess. Don D'Angelo might not have been able to be in your life, but he did do the best he could to support you."

"Can you tell me about him?" Anthony asked.

"What would you like to know?"

He shrugged.

"Well, he was very protective of his family."

"Family?" Anthony asked. "Did I have siblings?"

I tried to hide my wince, but I guess I didn't do a very good job of it. Anthony sighed as he rubbed his forehead.

"You had two brothers and a sister. The oldest was being trained to take over for your father when he retired, but now..." There really wasn't much else to say on that subject. It would never happen. A bomb had seen to that.

"How old was he?" Anthony whispered.

"Antonio? He was twenty-three."

"Are you saying that he was younger than me? I was the oldest out of all of them?"

"Of your half-siblings, yes," I replied. "A few of your cousins were older."

"But you said my brother was taking over," Anthony pointed out. "Why didn't one of them if they were older."

I grimaced before stating, "Don D'Angelo wanted his son to take over the family."

A burst of laughter shot out of Anthony's mouth. "I guess the joke is on him then. The son he ignored will be the one taking over the family."

Yeah, I still wasn't sure how I felt about that. Even if he was illegitimate, Anthony was still Don D'Angelo's son. He should have been taken in and raised in the family, not abandoned and left to grow up in foster care.

"So, I'm rich?"

I blinked in surprise—or maybe shock—before nodding. "There are some papers that need to be signed, but yeah, you're rich."

"Oh, thank god," Anthony groaned as he walked toward the only bed in the place. If you could call it a bed. It didn't look wide enough for a cat let alone a full grown man. "I can sleep in."

I stood there astounded at the direction this conversation had gone in and watched as Anthony took off his jacket, kicked off his boots, and then face planted in the mattress.

"You can see yourself out," he barely got out before he was snoring.

What the hell?