Page 7 of Inherting the Mafia

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?

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."