This was the last fucking walk-up building Tino was buying.
And if he did buy another one, he was going to catch a clue and make the penthouse on the bottom floor. So he grew up in a walk-up. Fuck the nostalgia; they were horrible creations and the reason Romeo and Nova chose a building with an elevator and a doorman when they moved out of their old place.
Tino kept buying these fucking walk-ups.
In modish little corners of the city, gritty but hip, with interesting restaurants and close to nightlife. What the hell was he trying to prove with it? Nova fixed broken sex slaves. Tino fixed broken buildings, with the excuse of having temporary hideouts until he sold them. He used enforcer funds Nova didn’t have access to because, shock of shocks, the stupid enforcers were pretty good at multiplying their money by refurbishing their hideouts and classic cars and turning a profit. They’d been doing it for a hundred years, maybe more, and Nova would probably drop dead if he saw how much they had to play with and get the jobs done.
One of those little secrets of Cosa Nostra—the muscle wasn’t all dumb. They could do something without the accountants, which would freak the suits the hell out because it meant they could probably take over if they were inclined.
Tino hadn’t met an enforcer yet who was inclined, from any Borgata. Enforcers were more the loyal, protect-the-family types who liked things simple like a name on a little piece of paper and a clear direction on what needed to be done. Plotting takeovers just seemed all kinds of hard, and digging shallow graves sorta killed ambition after a while, so it all worked, but Carlo couldn’t buy all of the hideouts when there were two of them now.
Not too long ago, Tino started getting his own, buying buildings and apartments that no one, not even Nova, knew about, and it wasn’t that hard. Tino didn’t technically own this building. This one belonged to Bobby.
Carlo used bums from his old neighborhood. They had identities. They had social security numbers and state IDs. So he paid them to use their credentials to buy the buildings or the cars or anything else he needed. He’d keep them for a while and then sell them. Did the bums give a shit? Nope. They just liked the cash Carlo handed them.
So Tino used Bobby, because a strung-out junkie didn’t care any more than a bum did.
Bobby owned a lot of buildings.
Cool, trendy walk-ups with too many goddamn stairs, and as far as Tino was concerned, Bobby could keep ’em. Tino would hand him the codes tomorrow. Not like he hadn’t tried before.
“This is such a great old building,” Brianna observed as they hit the landing for the sixth floor. “Does anyone live here? The parking lot was empty.”
“It’s still being remodeled,” Tino said as he stopped in front of the door to the penthouse. He fucked up the code for the door, because he was hard and frustrated, so desperate for a taste of Brianna his vision was hazy, but his emotions were all over the place. All the memories he’d churned up about Mary were still at the forefront of his mind, and his hands were shaking. Why couldn’t he just make all the codes the same? He fucked it up a second time. And a third. As he went over every code shoved in his brain, wishing for once that he was Nova, he mumbled, “Sorry. Too many codes. Same reason I keep the car keys hidden under the cars. I can’t carry handfuls of keys.” Then he got the right one on the fourth try, hearing the lock click open. He turned the doorknob. “Porca puttana, it’s a miracle.”
As soon as Brianna followed him in, Tino fisted her hair and kissed her, thrusting his tongue in her mouth when she gasped in surprise. He pushed her back against the door after he kicked it shut, loving the way she fit against him, a little taller than most women, stronger, smoother. He was shaking again with the memories that were fighting to push their way back, and he stopped kissing her to pull at the buttons to her jacket. She tossed her bag to the floor and shrugged out of the jacket, making it obvious he wasn’t the only one desperate.
Tino forced her shirt over her head, needing to do something with his hands. He wanted to get Mary out of his mind. He wanted to give back to Brianna what he’d taken from her and handed to so many other women, but it was more than that.