Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Anthony

I hadn't exactly anticipated a boxing gym for our first meeting. Let alone to be forced into the ring and expected to fight her.

Granted, yeah, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to suit her personality. And if she hadn't made me get in the ring, I never would have learned just how hot it would be when a gorgeous woman was circling you, looking for an opening to lunge at you.

I actually was questioning what it said about me that I was finding it so hot until I moved inward, and pressed the glove to Saylor's chin, and watched as desire sparked in her dark eyes as well.

It wasn't just me.

Though, that did seem to only complicate shit.

I hadn't told Lorenzo about the little run-in with the gorgeous woman. Because, quite frankly, it wouldn't exactly look good on me to have him know that I'd been stupid enough on a stakeout not to lock my doors.

I had let him know that I'd seen the guys moving a cache of weapons into their basement. Enough to cause some serious issues if their next move was to try to take a stand against us.

He'd agreed that it was way too soon to know, that it could just be that they were trying to establish an arms trade in the area, in which case we would need a meeting to establish what percentage they kicked up to the Family, but it wouldn't mean that we had to dispatch guards to the wives and kids and sisters, or that we needed to formulate a plan to try to take any of them out.

So the job was the same.

Find out more information about them.

Report back when I had it.

I figured that anyone who was doing this job would be reaching out to sources to try to figure out more information, so there was no reason for me to be feeling guilty about using Saylor as a source as well.

This was the kind of shit I would be expected to make snap judgments on when I was the head of my own crew. I might as well start feeling comfortable about it now.

I was glad for a couple of minutes to put myself back together as Saylor rushed off to go get cleaned up.

Hell, I was even thankful for her mother's company, because it kept me from turning and watching her daughter's ass as she walked away.

"So, Anthony, you and my daughter are working together, I hear," she said as she led me over toward a small area set up as a smoothie bar, though it seemed to be self-serve with access to the protein powders, supplements, and the fruit and vegetables in the fridge.

"I, ah, yeah," I said, not wanting to out Saylor as an arms dealer in front of her mother, so I didn't say anything beyond that.

"Oh, don't tense up," she said, shooting me a smile as she went to the fridge, pulling out a pre-made pink-colored smoothie. She waved one at me in a silent question, and I went ahead and nodded, being raised not to turn down a nice offer. Especially from someone's mother. God, my own ma would whip my ass with a kitchen spatula if she heard I'd turned down a drink. "I know all about my daughter's… career path," she said, handing me a smoothie as she sat down at the table.

I moved to sit too, glad when I found the smoothie was strawberry and banana, and not some monstrosity filled with vegetables they claimed you couldn't taste, but you absolutely could.

"So you know about last night?" I asked.

"About the theft, the stakeout, the carjacking, and the diner? Yes, yes, I know about that," she said, shooting me a grin.

She really was gorgeous. Mother and daughter were practically identical, save for the passing of years and the changes those made.

But if this was what Saylor was going to look like in another fifteen or twenty years, she was still going to be a knockout.

"Yeah, about all of that," I agreed.

"I feel like I should apologize for my daughter's bad behavior," she said.

"In her defense, it was a sort of life-or-death situation," I said, wincing only when the words were out of my mouth and I realized how they might be taken by the person-who'd-almost-gotten-killed's mother.

"It's sweet that you feel compelled to defend her," Sam said. "But I think we both know my daughter is one bad day away from pulling out a gun on the subway if someone just looks at her too long."

A snorting laugh escaped me at that.

"Well, I don't know her that well," I admitted.

"I do. Trust me. She's definitely an ‘act first, ask questions later' kind of woman."

"It's probably an asset in her field."

"It's probably in her blood thanks to me."

"You?" I asked, dubious. She seemed a lot more level than her daughter.

"Marriage and motherhood sanded down some of my sharper edges," she admitted. "But when I was young? I was constantly getting myself into trouble. It's why Saylor could never get away with anything when she was a teenager. Before her, there was me. And I knew exactly what she was up to."

"My mom never let us get away with shit either," I admitted.

"Really?" Sam asked, head tipped to the side. "A mafia mom didn't let her kids get away with anything?"

So, Saylor told her mom everything.

Interesting.

"Not if it involved trying to sneak out, drink, smoke, or anything else she wouldn't approve of."

"I like—oh, excuse me, one second," she said as someone came in and moved toward the front desk.

I cleaned up our empty smoothies then moved to stand, glancing occasionally back toward the hallway that led to the locker rooms. Where I couldn't seem to stop my mind from imagining Saylor. In a shower. Naked. Water running down her…

"So, I wouldn't be a good mother if I didn't tell you at least one early childhood embarrassing story about Saylor, right?"

"I mean, that does seem to be the way this is supposed to work," I agreed. Even if I knew that was for dates, not business arrangements. What can I say? I wanted to know a funny story about someone as serious as Saylor.

"Well, she's always loved everything Halloween since she was really little. And I probably let her watch some movies that were a little age-inappropriate. She especially liked ones about bad witches. Well, one day, we were in the grocery store and an older lady was there wearing a cape. It was winter," Sam said, shrugging. "And she… had a pretty prominent wart on her nose…"

"Oh no," I said, smiling already at how this story could go.

"I was a little distracted by my baby at the time, so I didn't notice she was looking at her all horrified until she yelled at the top of her lungs It's a witch! A witch! She's gonna eat me and my brother! "

"I don't want to know what you just told him," Saylor's voice cut into my laugh, and I turned to find her standing there with her wet hair in a clip, her eyes staring daggers into her mother.

"It was the witch story," Sam said, smiling, enjoying her daughter's discomfort.

"I was six," Saylor insisted. "And I probably shouldn't have known about the fact that witches eat children. Virgins, I will specify."

"Oh, you didn't even know what that word meant," Sam said, brushing that away. "Well, I will let the two of you get going. Anthony, it was a pleasure to meet you. If you are ever looking for a new gym—"

"There are about ten thousand of them in the city," Saylor interjected, moving between the two of us to make her way to the front door.

"I like your mom," I told Saylor as we moved out onto the street in Hell's Kitchen. Not too far from where she'd had me drop her off the night before. Not, I will add, in front of her apartment. I know this because as I was driving away, I saw her move back from the door she was standing at and start walking.

"Everyone does," she agreed, turning, and starting to walk.

"Has she always owned the gym?"

"Ever since she married my father. After he died, she took it over."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling like I'd pressed a sore spot.

"Don't be. I never really even knew my father. He died in the ring," she admitted. "Too many concussions," she added, thinking I was going to ask. "The sad part, for my mom, was it was his last fight. He was going to retire just to run the gym and raise us. She's literally never dated since."

"My mother never dated after my father died either," I admitted. "She said she had her soulmate, and that no one else could ever come close, so why bother?"

"That's… really similar to what my mom said," Saylor admitted, glancing over at me. "I personally don't get it. Maybe she's just like me; she likes being alone."

That wasn't it.

But I felt like there was no arguing with her about it, trying to explain that love like that existed, that I'd been seeing it happen again and again in my own family for years.

Lorenzo and Giana, Santi and Alessa, Brio and Ezmeray, Primo and Isabella, Emilio and Avery, Cesare and Mere, Cosimo and Halle, Salvatore and Whitney, Silvano and Millie, Mira and Vissi, and Renzo and Lore.

I was fucking surrounded by that shit.

I knew it was real.

I knew that if any one of those people lost their partner, they would be just like Saylor's mom. Dedicating the rest of their life to their memory and love.

"Is your brother married?" I asked.

"No," she said, the sound clipped.

That, it seemed, was me pressing on a wound.

So I let it drop as I matched her stride until she was heading toward the steps of the subway platform.

"Why didn't we just take the truck?"

"Because that truck should be hidden away from view for the time being," she said, looking back at me like I was an idiot for not realizing that.

The worst part was that she wasn't exactly wrong. I'd brought it because I thought there might be the need for a quick getaway.

I said nothing as I jogged down the steps with her, then moved with her toward the edge of the platform while she glanced down the tunnel, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

Something must have caught her peripheral vision, because the next thing I knew, she was grabbing me, turning with me, my arms instinctively going to her forearms, holding onto her as she literally moved me out of the way just in time to get out of the way of two assholes fighting.

If they'd hit me, I would be down on the fucking tracks.

"Christ," I swore, heart pumping even if the danger was gone.

"Have you had your eyes checked recently?" Saylor asked, her hands still holding onto me as she squinted up at me. "Peripheral and everything?"

"My eyes are fine," I admitted. "I just have… bad luck," I said, shaking my head at the phrase. "Shot, stabbed, shot, major car accident, nearly had my throat slit by my barber…"

"Coffee to the chest, car door to the head…" she filled in for me.

"Exactly," I agreed, exhaling hard. "It used to be a running joke in the family. Now I think everyone thinks I'm cursed or some shit."

"I use the subway like four to ten times a day, every single day, and I've never almost been pushed onto the tracks, so they might be onto something," she said. Only then did she realize she was still holding onto me, dropping me like I'd burned her as one of the guys knocked the other on his ass, then took off at a dead run.

I was slower releasing her, so she yanked away and turned, then took several steps away.

It was as we were stepping into the subway car that I realized I'd left my jacket back at her mother's gym.

A small smile tugged at my lips at the idea of having another excuse to see her again if, for some reason, after this meeting, she decided we didn't need to work together anymore.

"Try not to laugh at his alpaca haircut," Saylor warned as she raised her hand to knock on the door.

"Hey!" a young guy answered the door, his hair flopping anytime he moved. And, honestly, I wouldn't have even thought twice about it if it hadn't been for her warning. But now with the mental image of a fucking alpaca going on, it was taking every fucking thing I had not to bust out laughing. "I got something special cooking for you," the kid declared.

"Let me guess… pizza rolls," Saylor said as she invited herself inside.

"Specialty ones," the kid declared, bouncing on his feet.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what that might mean," she admitted.

"They're orange chicken!" he declared, beaming at her.

She wasn't made of stone, it seemed, because some of her ice thawed at his enthusiasm. "That's nice of you," she said. "Anthony, this is Keith. Keith, this is Anthony—"

"Costa," Keith cut her off as he thrust an arm out to me, eager in everything he did, it seemed. He shook my hand like I was some sort of fucking celebrity or something. "Know all about you, man," he said, nodding enthusiastically.

"That's… troubling," I decided.

"All good things! Well, mostly. What'd you do to your head? Big, scary guy?" he asked, enthusiastic likely because his video games made violent scenarios seem fun.

"Yeah, two-ton, at least," Saylor said, shooting me an amused look. "Anyway. The Czechs—where are you going?" she asked as Keith rushed past her, away from his desk, and closer to his makeshift kitchen.

"The rolls," Keith declared, rushing to open his toaster oven, then taking out the rolls to place them evenly in three separate bowls.

"He portioned some for you too," she said under her breath.

"Lucky me," I agreed just as quietly.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Keith asked when we didn't immediately dive in.

"For them to cool," Saylor said. "Trust me, you don't want to give this guy anything hot. With his luck, he'll get third-degree burns in his mouth.

"Oh, right. Right. How's your dog?" Keith asked, making his way to his desk chair, but swiveling it to face us as he poked a roll into his mouth.

"She's fine."

"What did you name her?" he asked. When she didn't immediately answer, his eyes went buggy. "You didn't name her yet?" he exclaimed, seeming genuinely offended by the idea.

"I don't know what to name her," Saylor said, shrugging.

"Get a baby name book!" Keith said, brightening at the prospect. "They have them at the newspaper stand down the block."

"Good to know. Now, back to these guys…" Saylor said, as determined to keep Keith on task as he was to veer off of it.

"Not till you try the rolls," Keith said, giving her the stern look of a parent to a kid who declared dinner was gross without even tasting it.

"Happy?" she asked, popping one into her mouth and forcing a smile as she chewed. And I watched her soul die in her eyes. "Tell Ant to try his," she demanded, catching my amused look.

Too bad for her, I was a connoisseur of weird-ass frozen foods. Whenever I ran out of the frozen meals my mom or aunts had dropped off because I was always too busy working to cook for myself, I took myself down the frozen food aisle and grabbed random shit. To varying degrees of success. But if you're hungry enough, you'll choke just about anything down. So that was what I did with the rolls, managing to swallow them down after only maybe biting them once or twice.

"Great," I declared as Saylor tried not to laugh.

"I told you!" Keith said, nodding, happy enough to turn back to his computer setup. "Alright. So. The Czech guys are ghosts."

"What do you mean they're ghosts?" Saylor asked, quickly dropping two of her rolls into my bowl right before Keith whipped back around. "They own a house. Or rent it at least. Where's the paperwork for that?"

"That's the thing," Keith said, shrugging. "They don't own or rent it. Someone named…" he said, turning back to the computer to click around, "Antal Kovacs owns it. As far as I can tell, he has dual citizenship and is currently in Hungary visiting his new niece. Cute, right?" he asked, waving at his screen where he had Antal's social media up."

"Wait, so are they subletting?" Saylor asked.

"From what I can tell, no."

"They're… squatting?" she asked, brows pinched.

"Seems like it. Best guess is they've watched this Antal guy and know that when he goes home to Hungary, he's usually there a month or two. Figured they could use his place in the interim. Fucked up, right? Or maybe smart. You know how people get squatters rights. Hard to make ‘em move once they're in."

"With the amount of weapons they are storing there, they don't need to get the law involved," Saylor grumbled to herself.

"So, there's no trace of these guys before this?"

"I didn't say that," Keith said. "From what I can tell, these guys are an offshoot of a much more established crew from Staten Island. But I don't think they're connected anymore."

"Staten Island, huh?" I asked, choking down the last of the rolls.

"What are you thinking?" Saylor asked.

"That the Morelli Family runs Staten Island. If anyone would have information on them, it's that crew. The original crew has to pay a kick-up to the Family if they want to operate there."

"So we talk to them," Saylor said, nodding, glad to have a next move. While I considered how much I liked the sound of her saying we .

"This is exciting," Keith said, smiling as he glanced between us. "Like a movie."

"Except it's real life," Saylor reminded him.

"Which only makes it cooler," Keith said. "Can I come with you?"

"This isn't a ride-along," Saylor said, shaking her head at him.

"Well… can you come and tell me what they had to say at least?"

"Sure, kid," I agreed, nodding, getting a sideways look from Saylor that I ignored. "Thanks for your help. But we gotta go and let out the dog before she goes on the floor," I told him, having no idea if that was true, but feeling like it was the only way out of this place.

"Oh, right right. Yeah. Get the baby name book," he said, nodding emphatically at Saylor.

"Will do," she agreed. "Thanks for the rolls, Keith."

"Anytime. Literally, any time," he said, beaming at her as I held the door open for Saylor.

"I'll send the payment in a bit," she said before I closed the door behind her. "Blech," she said as soon as we were outside, rubbing her tongue against the roof of her mouth like it could get rid of the taste of the rolls. "God, that was so gross," she said, ducking into the bodega Keith lived above, making her way to the coffee, and pouring a large cup of black coffee, then taking a long hot swig to clear her tastebuds off as I made up my own with their prepared fall blend of maple pecan coffee, then adding some cream and sugar.

"Yeah, they weren't pleasant," I agreed.

"Did you see him enjoying them? Freak," she said as we made our way to the counter. She was reaching for her wallet as I passed a bill over her shoulder. "Right," she said, rolling her eyes, but there was something soft around her lips, "you have to pay for everything," she said as she walked to the door. "I know he's a little… obnoxious," she said when we were on the street again.

"Nah. I think he's just lonely. And he's kind of imprinted on you," I said.

"Like a goose?" she asked, dangerously close to laughing.

"You got the personality of one," I teased. "One chased my sister around Central Park and bit her in the ass when we were kids."

That got a laugh out of her.

"I'd be offended if that wasn't so accurate," she declared, exhaling hard. "I actually do need to go let the dog out," she said. "I know we need to talk about—"

"I'll come with," I offered, expecting her to turn me down.

But she surprised me by watching me for a long moment then nodding, "Okay. Let's go. We can talk about the Morellis over food after. My stomach isn't happy that the only thing in it is a couple of gross pizza rolls and a bitter coffee."

It sounded a fuckuva lot like a date to me.

And I was way too fucking excited about that prospect for what was meant to be a business arrangement.

But, hey, if no one knew about Saylor's involvement to begin with, then no one could judge me for overstepping that line.

Or, at least, that was what I was telling myself.