Page 6 of The Tenor's Shadow

“Listen, uh…” Shit. Anthony couldn’t remember his name.

“Connor!” the chorister replied, his voice cracking with indignation.

“You need to go, Connor.”

“But, I thought…” Connor’s bottom lip trembled.

“Me too, kid, but I’m just not feeling it.” Anthony pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. “My car service can send someone over to bring you home.”

“Oh. Okay.” Anthony didn’t have time to take care of Connor’s feelings. He had to handle the problem in front of him. Besides, Connor would be jumping into bed with some new tenor-of-the-week soon enough.

“Sorry, caro.”

Connor turned, walking towards the door with painfully slow steps, as if he expected Anthony to change his mind. When his hand touched the doorknob, he looked back. Anthony crossed his arms.

“Tell the driver where you want to go. It’s on me.”

Connor shook his head and left. Too bad. They might have had fun. Oh well. He turned back to deal with the offending letter.

Dear Anthony Lorenzo Bianchi,

This is your final warning. If your uncle doesn’t give us what we want, we will deliver the next message in person, and you won’t like what comes with it. Tell him we wait for what is owed us.

Regards,

The Azarian Coven

These people were insane. This was the third letter in a month. One in Vienna, one in Houston, and now here in Chicago. If he was home in New York, he’d be worried, but they had only left the messages in hotels. He assumed his stalker had been bribing the cleaning crews.

It was beautiful handwriting, Anthony had to give them that, but that didn’t make the letters less concerning. He hated to get the police involved, but what were his other options? Hire a private investigator?

It didn’t make any sense. What did his Uncle Daniel have to do with anything? Maybe the stalker read an article where Anthony had talked about their relationship, about how Daniel had raised Anthony after his parents died, and they assumed they could extort money out of him.

If they wanted money, why didn’t they ask him for it directly? His uncle was recently married. His new husband seemed well-off, but if you were going to break into the hotel of a rising opera star to leave an extortion letter, why wouldn’t you go for the biggest fish?

Damn. He’d have to call London.

Anthony sat in the too-cushy armchair and took out his cell phone. It had been a few months since he’d spoken to his uncle. He hadn’t meant to ignore his uncle’s messages. His schedule had been packed. He loved Uncle Danny! He’d just been busy, that’s all, and sometimes faraway family didn’t feel as important as the opera he was currently performing.

Daniel picked up on the first ring.

“Anthony! It’s about time!”

Anthony smiled at the excitement in his voice. Daniel somehow even made guilting him sound loving. He was sweet and kind. Anthony was sure it had been a big adjustment, but Daniel had been the perfect person to take in a grieving seven-year-old. He’d never let Anthony feel like a burden.

“Hey Uncle Daniel.” Anthony hung his head sheepishly, even though there was no one there to see it. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“No problem, sweetie.” Anthony heard the sound of a mug being set on a countertop. Daniel must be having one of his daily five cups of coffee. “It’s three a.m. in Chicago! What are you doing up?”

“How did you know I was in Chicago?”

“Oh, sweetie, I always keep track of your schedule. You never know when Oliver and I might show up for an opening night.”

“Don’t surprise me, Uncle Daniel. You know I can get you tickets.” They’d had this conversation before, and despite Anthony’s best efforts, it always went the same way.

“We can afford them. Use your free tickets for your friends.”

“I have plenty of comps.” Anthony shook his head in frustration. Daniel never let Anthony take care of anything. “But that’s not why I called.”

---