Page 41 of Caged Bliss

I can feel his smile against my neck. “The idea might’ve occurred to me. Are you upset about it, baby? Are you complaining that I want to fuck you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

I should get back to work. By now, I bet Tommy’s already complaining to Rodrigo, and everyone knows where I went. Maybe Serena decided she wants to get rid of me after all and Tommy’s biding his time before he can snatch me away.

Or maybe none of that matters.

I have Angelo, and he has me. I’m safe in his arms, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I can be at peace for a little while. I don’t have to let my brain run a million miles per second worrying about everything that might go wrong.

Worrying about my sister most of all.

Angelo’s got me.

I’ll send him the photos later, and maybe that will make things dangerous again, but that’s for future-Claudia to deal with.

Chapter 22

Angelo

The bar’s a crappy joint in a middling neighborhood deep in the south side of the city. It’s Bianco territory, and all the businesses around here pay tribute to the Don.

It makes sense that Roc would hang around this place. He probably feels safe. Nobody from my direct family will ever show up, but there are plenty of people he knows around to watch his back.

I hunker down in a booth in the back corner. I’ve got on a big black track jacket, a pair of crappy sweats, beat-up old Timberland boots, and a baseball hat pulled down low. I shaved my face bare for the first time in many years, and I look like a totally different man.

Roc’s sitting alone at the bar, his back to me, hunched over a burger and fries with a beer at his elbow, watching a Cubs game on TV.

He hasn’t changed much. His hair’s a little thinner, his gut’s a little bigger, but it’s still Roc. He’s a big guy, handsome in his own way, almost boyish looks. Girls always went for him and were surprised to find out that he was a total fucking psychopath. If Tommy was my right hand, then Roc was my muscle, always willing to hit, punch, shoot, break, get into physical altercations, and he enjoyed it. The big fucker loved breaking bones, and sometimes I wondered if he loved getting hit right back.

Now he’s eating alone. I never would’ve found him here if it weren’t for those pictures Claudia took of Tommy’s phone. Roc mentioned coming to this place more than once in his conversation with Tommy—it turns out that the two of them have kept in touch over the years, even if their stars have diverged in the family’s eyes. Roc’s a low-level enforcer; Tommy’s running Cage. But they still manage to get together every few months, and they always come here.

Roc’s turf. His favorite spot. I had to come here every night for almost a week before he finally showed, but there he is, in the flesh.

I force myself to be patient. I kill time pretending to look at my phone while I drink a beer and eat the worst steak sandwich I’ve ever had in my life. I’m thinking about Claudia the whole time, about her body in bed, about her moans, her gasps, her arched back and lips against mine. I want to text her, but if I get engrossed in that, I won’t be paying close enough attention to my real target.

I’ve been watching over her like a hawk. When she told me about nearly getting caught by her sister, I nearly had a fucking heart attack. No more risks. I made her promise. Claudia can help me if it won’t put her in any danger, but from now on, she’s going to stay on the sidelines and let me do the stupid shit. Guilt hits me all over again for ever putting her in that position—I should’ve been smarter than that.

But she came through. The clever, beautiful girl, she came through like fucking gangbusters. Those texts were a bonanza of fucking information, sleazy side deals, and incriminating offers. Not only has Tommy been meeting with Roc, he’s also been hustling with the Russians and the Turks and, yes, the fucking Serbs, setting up minor drug deals and running blackmail schemes on his clients and using non-family premises to wash his ill-begotten cash.

No wonder the fucking Cage is bringing in so much money. Tommy’s got a million different scams going. And I’d bet a limb that he’s making even more that never touches the Famiglia’s books, meaning he’s not paying the Don his rightful tribute, which is a huge problem.

But Simon can hear about all that when I’m ready.

Roc has a few beers, laughs with some random regulars, and gets up to take a piss. Fucking finally. The guy’s got a bladder like a champion. Once he’s headed back to the head, I follow him and keep my face down, not meeting anyone’s eye.

The men’s room smells like piss and cleaning agent. Roc’s alone at the urinal and he doesn’t look up or react when I lurk behind him. It’s not until he sighs, flushes, zips, and turns, does he finally notice I’m there.

I meet his eye. He doesn’t move.

“Good to see you again,” I say and he lunges at me.

I duck the big man’s fist, jab him twice in the side, kick him in the knee, and draw my revolver. He’s down on the floor, gasping in pain, as I press the barrel to his fucking neck. “Angelo,” he gasps.

“You’re not as fast as you used to be. Got soft while I was in prison?”

“Fuck you. How’d you find me?”

“Get up.”

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