Chapter Three

~ Anthony ~

God hated me.

I was sure of it.

I groaned as I rolled over and sat up. I wanted to yell at whoever was making all that noise, but the sight of several men dressed in black suits packing up my apartment was a little more alarming.

I narrowed my eyes as I pinned them on one specific suit that I remembered very well. "Did you pick up your garbage?"

Everyone in the room froze in place and then they all turned to look at me like some animated horror movie. I refuse to let them know how unnerving it was.

"Well?" I asked in a haughty tone. "This is my neighborhood and I am damn sure not going to clean up your cigarette butts because you're too damn lazy. You shouldn't be smoking in the first place."

"No, sir, Don D'Angelo," the man gave me a quick bow, bending almost in half. "I'll do it right now."

Oh, right. Don D'Angelo. I'd forgotten that part. Well, I hadn't forgotten. I'd thought it was all a dream my crazy ass had conjured up in my sleep. I still wasn't positive I wasn't dreaming.

One of the suits walked up to the side of the bed and gave me a bow just like the other guy, but he didn't bend in half, just bent his head down. "Good afternoon, Don D'Angelo. My name is Mateo. Can I get you some coffee?"

I perked up. "Coffee?"

"How do you take it, sir?"

If I was dreaming, I was going to dream big. "Large iced double mocha, extra shot of espresso, extra sweet with dark chocolate, whip, no drizzle."

Mateo's eyes widened for a moment before he schooled his features. "Of course, sir. I'll get it for you right away."

I almost snorted. Good luck finding a coffee shop in this neighborhood. He'd have to drive at least ten blocks to find the nearest coffee shop, and I do mean drive. Guy like him? He'd be mugged before he reached the end of the block.

I flipped the blankets back, frowning when I saw I was only dressed in my boxers. I don't remember going to bed in boxers. I didn't own any boxers, and even if I did, who the hell wore silk boxers?

Whatever.

I absently scratched my chest, yawning as I stood and started for the bathroom. Room full of suits or not, a guy had needs, and this guy needed to pee.

I quickly took care of business, washed my hands, and then stared at myself in the mirror. I actually looked better than I had in awhile. Must have been all the sleep, which had been sorely lacking as of late.

I jumped when there was a sudden knock on the bathroom door. "Yes?"

"I have clothes and a shower kit for you, sir."

It sounded like Mateo, but I thought he had gone for coffee.

I reached over and pulled the door open.

It was Mateo.

"Your coffee is on the way, sir. It should be here by the time you get out of the shower." He held up a suit bag and a small black shaving bag. "Vito asked me to give these to you."

"Vito?" Who the hell was that?

"My apologies, sir," Mateo replied. "Vittorio Antonelli. I believe you met him last night."

"Oh, right, him." I squinted at suit guy. "He's real?"

Mateo smiled as if my words amused him. "Yes, sir, very real."

Huh.

I had been convinced that he was a figment of my imagination. A really sexy, yet totally scary figment.

I needed more sleep.

I took the suit bag and the shaving kit and then shut the door. I hung the suit on the back of the door and placed the shaving kit on the counter before opening it up. Razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste, and some high end looking cologne I had never heard of, but it smelled nice.

I left it all in the bag and climbing into my itty bitty shower. It kind of reminded me of a Borg maturation chamber. It was so small, if I put my hands on my waist and stuck my elbows out, I would touch both sides of the shower stall. I wasn't about to complain, though. Mine was one of the few apartments in the building that had their own bathroom.

I paid extra for that privilege.

I washed my hair and then did a quick scrub down on my body before turning the shower off and climbing out. The towel was still hanging on the bar so the suits must not have packed this room yet.

I dried off and then wrapped the towel around my waist and tucked the end in so it wouldn't fall of. I grabbed the shaving cream and lathered up the airs I wanted to touch on and began shaving.

There was no way in hell I was touching my mustache or the low cut beard that went along the edge of my jaw line. It took me too long to grow the damn things.

I was pulling the razor along the edge of my jaw when someone knocked on the door. The sudden sound made me jerk, digging the edge of the razor into my skin.

"Fuck!" I dropped the razor onto the counter and grabbed some toiler paper to dab at the small trail of blood trickling down my neck.

"Sir?"

I growled as I reached over and yanked the door open. "What?"

Mateo's eyes rounded as he held up a clear plastic cup with brown liquid and ice in it. "Um, your coffee, sir."

"Hold onto it," I stated. "I'll be out in a few minutes." I closed the door and then jerked it back open just as fast. "And don't knock on the door again."

I slammed the door this time and then went back to dabbing at my neck. Once the bleeding had stopped, I finished shaving and then washed my face and neck.

I refuse to put a piece of toilet paper on my cut.

I wasn't going to be one of those guys.

Once I was all cleaned up, I placed everything back into the bag and closed it. I eyed the suit bag for a moment before reaching over and pulling the zipper down. Considering everyone out there was wearing a dark suit, I couldn't wait to see what they had found for me to wear.

"Okay," I whispered to myself as I looked at the trim cut black suit. "I'm impressed."

One of the jobs I had when I was younger was cleaning a clothing design factory after hours. It was rather high end so I'd seen a lot of different materials during that time and seen what the designers did with them. I knew quality when I saw it. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say this suit cost more than I made in a year.

God, that was so sad.

I happily pulled the black suit out of the bag and put it on.

I ditched the tie.

Blah!

When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I was stunned. I feathered the collar of the white shirt and then smiled to myself. I didn't know if it was the near perfect cut of the suit or the design, but I looked damn good.

I grabbed the suit bag and the shaving kit and then opened the door and stepped out into relative silence. Granted, the studio wasn't that big, but I still looked around. Except for Mateo, it was empty.

"Where'd everyone go?"

Mateo turned away from the window and looked me up and down. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because he sent me a smile. "They are waiting downstairs, sir."

"Tony."

Sir made me shudder.

Mateo's brow crinkled. "Sir?"

Yep, shudder.

"Call me Tony," I explained. "Don't call me sir. I work for a living."

I think.

Did I still work?

"So, where's my stuff?" It might not be much, and it certainly wasn't worth much, but it was still mine. I'd worked hard for every single item. I wasn't about to give it up just because I was floating around in some weird dream world.

"It has been packed up and is now being driven to the airport so you can take it to Italy with you," Mateo replied. "Vito said you'd want to take everything with you."

"They're not coming back for the furniture, are they?" I asked. "Because none of that is mine. This place came furnished."

"No, sir...I mean, Mr. Tony. We just packed your personal items."

Yeah, Mr. Tony wasn't much better than sir, but I doubted I could get Mateo to change it.

"Where is Vito?"

"He's in a meeting at the moment, but he should be here soon."

"I'm here," Vito said as he walked into the apartment. He stopped for a moment and stared at me. When it just went on and on, I started to grow nervous.

"I'm not wearing the tie."

Vito shook his head. "If that is your choice, sir."

I rolled my eyes.

"We have an appointment in twenty minutes to get your passport," Vito stated. "After that, we have to meet with the head of the Borelli family."

I gulped as a sudden fear slithered down my spine. "Vinnie Borelli?"

"You've heard of him?"

"Anybody that has set foot inside of New York City has heard of Vinnie Borelli. He runs Manhattan."

He was not a man to be messed with. He'd had a huge hand in the downfall of the O'Donnells, the Irish crime family that had run Queens for decades.

"Why do we have to meet with him?" That was one meeting I'd avoid if I could. I liked breathing.

"It's just a courtesy call," Vito said. "While we have different families, it's polite to visit when in the same city."

"I've lived here all of my life and never once have I had to meet with a mob boss." I'd kind of like to keep it that way.

"You are now a mob boss," Vito pointed out. "That means you have to make a courtesy call to keep peace between the families."

" Fiiinne ."

"Don't worry, beyond pleasantries, you won't have to talk to him. We shouldn't even be there for more than thirty minutes."

Thirty minutes was way too long for my comfort.

"Boris!" Vito called out.

My eyes widened when a massive form filled my doorway, blocking out every bit of light. I took a cautious step back. He was all bulging muscle inside of a dark suit that was straining at the seams.

God, did this guy even have a neck?

There was a slight upturn of Vito's lips as he said, "This is Boris. He's your new bodyguard. His sole purpose is to make sure no one hurts you or attempts to kidnap you. Do not go anywhere without him. If someone tries to separate you, ignore them."

I wasn't sure how I felt about having someone whose sole purpose was to keep me safe, even at the detriment of their own life, but if anyone could to it, it was this guy.

Pretty sure he could fight a bus and win.

I sent him what I hoped came across as a friendly smile and not an "I'm terrified out of my mind" smile. Boris nodded once and then clasped his hands together in front of his body and took up a position by the door. He was like a statue.

I wasn't even sure he was breathing.

I watched him for a moment before returning my attention to Vito. "So, what's the plan here? We get my passport and meet with this Borelli guy and then what?"

"Your jet is currently on standby at the executive hangar at the airport. Once we have your passport and we finish meeting with Borelli, we'll board the jet and fly home to Italy."

"I have a jet?"

"You have four jets, sir."

My left eye twitched. "Why would I need four jets?"

One would be more than enough, wouldn't it?

Vito sighed. "One is always on standby for you. One is on standby in case your main airplane needs servicing."

"And the other two?"

"For use by other members of your organization."

Yeah, that eye twitch wasn't going to go away anytime soon. "Just how many members are there in my organization?"

Vito glanced at Mateo.

I had no idea why.

"There are different levels inside the organization, Mr. Tony," Mateo explained. "In the upper level or inner circle are you, your underboss, or Vito, and his uncle, your consigliere . You also have your own security force which is twelve men. They work in teams of four on a rotating schedule."

"Is Boris one of them?"

"No," Vito stated. "Boris is always at your side. He's your personal bodyguard. The other twelve men keep you safe at home and when you are on the road. They are always around, but you won't see much of them. Boris, on the other hand, goes everywhere with you."

"Okay." I glanced back to Mateo. "Go on."

"Directly under the inner circle level you have three caporegimes or capos as you Americans like to say."

"And what do they do?" I asked.

"They report directly to your underboss and he reports to you. They each run a crew of about twenty soldiers. They are considered middle management. At the bottom, are the associates or worker bees. These are people that are not officially part of the organization, but often work with us on different things."

"That still doesn't tell me how many people are in my organization."

"We're still dealing with the fallout from the bombing," Vito said. "Above and beyond the family, we also lost over thirty men, including one of your capos. We're still restructuring the organization and hiring more men."

"We had about two hundred people on our permanent payroll before the bombing," Mateo stated. "We're down to a hundred and seventy at the moment."

That was a lot of people.

"And all these people work for me?"

"Yes, sir."

I let that one slide.

"That number does not include your household staff, sir," Mateo pointed out.

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I have a staff?"

Mateo smiled and clasped his hands together in front of him like Boris had. "Your main home in Italy is a twenty-three bedroom villa, sir. You also have a vacation villa on Lake Como, an estate outside of Paris, one in Tahiti, and a penthouse in London. You have to have a staff."

I was never going to get used to being rich.