Page 3 of Tilly
Well, it’s better you don’t know.
I stare over the railing at the lower level. It’s only nine o’clock and the place is already packed. At least it’s a little quieter up here in the VIP section. This corner of the second floor is reserved for the Gambino family. My family.
Something about seeing the sea of people below me sends a wave of nostalgia through my veins. And I can’t help but wish my father were still alive to see the success of this club. He gave me shit about it for months. Hated the idea and insisted I needed to focus on the job I already had as underboss of the Gambino Crime Family. I went ahead and did it anyway, which shot me in the ass when the old bastard’s heart finally gave out and had me quickly moving up in the organization.
I always knew I was going to be Don. That I’d take over the family. I just didn’t expect it to happen before my thirtieth birthday. Instead of enjoying my youth like everyone else, like the fuckers crowded together below me, I have responsibility upon responsibility stacked up on my shoulders. The smallest mistake could be fatal. It could cost me my family, my friends… It could cost everyone their lives.
Doesn’t get more anxiety-inducing than that.
I glance to my left, at my kid brother, and know that I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep that from happening. No one is more important to me than Emilio. He’s two years younger than I am, and although we grew up in the same house, raised by the same parents, his life couldn’t be more different. He didn’t have to spend hours a day training, learning, preparing for the day he’d have to take over the family businesses.
Don’t get me wrong. Shit hasn’t been fucking rainbows and butterflies for him either. Both of us became made men at the age of sixteen. Like it was some fucking rite of passage. A passage no teenager should ever have to make.
“Oh, fuck!” Rafe, my best friend since we were in diapers, curses under his breath as he leans over the railing and peers down at the bar.
I follow his line of sight and notice what he’s staring at straight away. My fingers curl around the banister, my knuckles turning white.
“Antonio…” Rafe starts but quickly clamps his mouth shut when I turn my glare on him. He lifts his palms and takes a step back. “Don’t shoot the fucking messenger.” He laughs.
I ignore him and return my attention to her. Matilda Valentino. Tilly. A girl who should not be stepping one fucking foot inside this club. Not because our families are rivals either. Quite the opposite actually. I do a lot of business with the Valentinos.
Hold on… What the actual fuck is she wearing?
My dick stirs at the sight of her. Which is exactly why she shouldn’t fucking be here. Even when she’s wearing those long skirts and sweaters that show absolutely nothing of her figure, she makes my dick hard. But dressed like this? In that tight-as-fuck little red skirt and what I’m assuming is supposed to be a top but looks more like a bra…
Yeah, not fucking happening.
Like I said, I’ve done enough business with her family over the years to know that she does not belong in a place like this. And she certainly shouldn’t be dressed like that. It’s not her. I also shouldn’t be fantasizing about dragging her up to my office and bending her over my fucking desk.
“Fuck.” I run a hand down my face.
“You okay there, bro?” Rafe can’t hide the smirk on his lips. Not that he’s trying.
“No, I’m fucking not,” I grunt, without looking at him. Because I can’t take my eyes off her. I watch as she downs an entire cocktail before she makes her way through the club, leaving her two friends behind. “Where the fuck is she going?” I ask aloud as I start moving along the rail. Towards the stairs. Following her.
When I watch her push out through a side exit, I quicken my steps. She’s headed outside. That door won’t open once it closes behind her and she’ll be locked in a fucking alley.
I run down the stairs, everyone moving out of my way the moment they see me coming. Good, because I’d have no fucking problem knocking them on their asses. My shoulder slams into the door, pushing it open, and I come to a full stop.
Tilly is being shoved into the back of a cop car. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I call out.
The fucker slams the door shut, rounds the front, and jumps into the driver’s seat. His gaze meets mine through the glass, and he smirks. I rush forward in time to see him throw the car into reverse, his lights on as he guns it down the street.
“One double three, find out where that fucker is going,” I yell over a shoulder at Emilio—I knew he’d follow me—before turning around and storming back inside the club.
Rafe is holding the door open as I walk past him and make my way to the elevators that will take me down to the basement. He trails behind me all the way to my car. “I know you don’t want me to point out the obvious here, but what exactly do you expect to happen by going down to that station? You should just call her father,” he says.
I spin around on him. I don’t usually direct my anger at my best friend. Actually, that’s a lie. He’s just used to it. “You’re right. I don’t need you to point out the obvious. Stay here. Make sure Emilio doesn’t burn the place to the fucking ground.” I jump into my car and start the ignition.
As I’m pulling out onto the street, my phone lights up with a message from my brother.
E:
17th Precinct, 167 E 51st Street, Sergeant Alan Murphy and Officer Daniel Ginnes.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and peel out of the garage, horns blasting in every direction as I weave in and out of the bullshit city traffic. The more I picture Tilly being led away in a pair of cuffs, the more my fucking anger rises to the surface. By the time I pull up in front of the station, I’ve reached my boiling point.
I storm into the building. The fucker on desk duty looks up, clearly startled. His face pales when recognition sets in.
