A Billionaire for Christmas Page 4

  Chapter 4

  Anthony spent the next morning touring commercial properties. Two were run-down warehouses on giant lots, while three others were high-rises filled with companies and offices. They were merely a few of the multiple investment properties he intended to buy. After he’d left the last site to drive to his office, his thoughts flew to Shelly. Who was this new Shelly? Was she eternally damaged from her years of addiction? What was she thinking, what did she want? And why did he care?

  Once he’d parked, he took the elevator up to TF. Just outside his office, Anthony handed his coat to Tricia.

  “Your brother is in your office.”

  Anthony quirked his brow. Tricia wouldn’t willingly let Justin into Anthony’s office, especially without Anthony present. Too much bad blood flowed between the brothers since the incident with Max. Trust, which had once been an automatic gift between the four Travati brothers, had been replaced with suspicion and judgment.

  Anthony tugged at his cuffs and entered his office. Justin stood at the wall of windows, facing the New York skyline. A prickly feeling of annoyance hovered in the silence between them. Anthony’s gaze skimmed his desktop. Pristine. Every object remained unmoved, in the exact same place as he had left them the night before. The darkened screen of his computer was still off.

  “I didn’t touch your things,” Justin said, without shifting his eyes from the view. “I would never be deceitful.” He finally turned toward Anthony. “I’m your brother. I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “You’re also the managing partner of TF.”

  Justin’s eyes widened. He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s what this is about?” He shook his head. “My being your boss? I thought you were angry because of Max, and my marriage to Aubrey.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re angry because you’re not in charge.”

  “Angry isn’t the correct word.” Anthony settled into his desk chair. He turned on his computer. He’d grown cold working in his older brother’s shadow. Grown tired of being the little brother who had to ask for permission before he made any kind of business decisions. “Did we ever vote about you being in charge? I can’t remember. Or was it just like when we were kids? You were automatically the boss because you’re the oldest?”

  “In case you forgot, I started TF before you even went to college. I hired you when you finished grad school.”

  “Right,” Anthony nodded. Yes, definitely time for him to move on and start his own company. He was finished living under the command of his brother.

  “I’m here for two reasons,” Justin said. He angled toward the chair across from Anthony’s desk and clutched the seatback with both hands. “This is my first Christmas with Aubrey and Max, and it’s an important Christmas for us. Aubrey would like us to all be together for Christmas Eve at Mrs. Bello’s, but I wasn’t certain if you’d be willing—”

  “Your wife was unsure if I wanted to spend the holidays with my family? That’s rich, seeing as she’s only been a Travati for a couple of months.”

  Justin’s jaw tensed. “It wasn’t Aubrey who was unsure. I was, for this very reason. Because of your strident feelings with regards to my family, because of this anger you seem to have toward my wife and son, who is your nephew, by the way, I was unsure if you planned to spend the holidays with us.”

  As a younger brother, Anthony knew how hard Justin fought to contain his irritation. Hmmm, perhaps he should give his big brother a couple more jabs, see if he couldn’t make him lose his cool. Because the glow that hovered around Justin and his bride and the lovely little family of three that they’d created frankly turned Anthony’s stomach.

  After nearly six months, he could admit, at least to himself, that perhaps Aubrey did love Justin and wasn’t the gold digger that he thought she was. But what else could he have thought when Aubrey turned up after a fifteen-year absence, claiming Justin was the father of her fourteen-year-old son Max? But after a paternity test, a wedding, and countless events where he had seen his new sister-in-law in action, Anthony doubted any actress would be good enough to fake all those looks of love that Aubrey shot at Justin.

  “I’ll be there Christmas Eve,” Anthony said. “Before all of you leave for Switzerland.”

  Justin nodded, but didn’t take the bait. He said nothing about his choice to spend the week between Christmas and New Year’s in Switzerland with Aubrey’s family and the two other Travati brothers without inviting Anthony. And Anthony would be damned if he’d reveal how much that decision bothered him. If it were up to them, the ice between the brothers might never thaw.

  “I’ll let Aubrey know. She’ll be pleased.”

  “You mentioned two things,” Anthony prompted.

  “Aubrey invited Shelly Bello and her grandmother to dinner tonight, and she was hoping you’d join us.”

  Irritation mixed with surprise raced through Anthony. He maintained his stony countenance. Why was Aubrey meddling? What did she hope to prove?

  “I’ll need to check my calendar. I’ll have Tricia let your assistant know.”

  Justin nodded and turned toward the door. Then he paused and cocked a brow. “If you do come to dinner, stop at Carmine’s, won’t you? Pick up some cannoli for after dinner.”

  Anthony said nothing. Rumors always surrounded the Travatis’ comings and goings. Justin’s comment had tipped his hand; he knew where Anthony had been, and he was attempting to figure out exactly what Anthony had planned for after the new year. Let Justin think what he wanted, vacation where he wanted, do what he wanted. Yes, let his three brothers, who were barely speaking to him because he’d had the audacity to demand proof that Max was a Travati, exile him from TF. Let them all band together and do what they wanted without him, because, very soon, Anthony intended to do what he wanted, without them.

  *

  Shelly ran her fingernails up her arms and walked to the closet. Her room was an untouched shrine to her adolescence, with high school pictures and honor certificates on the walls, soccer trophies on the bookshelves. Pictures of a girl in a cheerleading uniform who she barely recognized, surrounded by beaming friends, stared back at her. How could that time in high school feel both like forever ago and yet as though only ten minutes had passed? The room looked the same as it had the day after Vinnie’s funeral, when Shelly had scraped together all her money, packed a backpack, and left. Tonight, as she tried to figure out what to wear to dinner at Aubrey and Justin’s, felt much like the night she’d run from her family, stifling. The walls closed in on her, pressing the breath from her lungs. The air too thick with memories of the past.

  Deep breath. Deep breath.

  She yanked the black wool pants she’d brought with her from San Francisco off the hanger. They’d have to do for dinner tonight, because the dress was meant for Christmas Eve.

  Aubrey had sounded nice on the phone. Almost too nice. Shelly had never thought that Justin would settle down, he hadn’t been the type. Not like Anthony, who’d been serious and geared toward family since the day he was born.

  Family. Kids. Now Justin had both, and Anthony had none. Funny, right? The two people who everyone thought would get married, she and Anthony, had veered as far away from that future as possible. She’d been a drug addict and he’d become a cold hard-ass who, according to Nonna, barely spoke to his family. Wow, life was full of zigzags, uncontrollable ups and downs. What had made Anthony so angry, so hard, so cold, as though his heart was frozen in a block of ice?

  Shelly shivered. Maybe she knew. Maybe it was the same things she’d run from, the pain, the past. She’d tried to numb her feelings, but then, when Anthony had come to Texas to find her, to save her, to do what he’d promised Vinnie he’d do, he’d failed in his attempt. Maybe those few days in Texas with her, the addict version of her, had been enough to turn his heart cold.

  She’d gone on an eighteen-month bender after she ditched Anthony in McAllen. The memories were vague, and she didn’t really ever want to recover them. Shelly pulled o
n a blue sweater with silver threads woven through the front and turned to the mirror above her dresser.

  The face staring back at her still didn’t feel like her own. She closed her eyes. The urge, the desire to take these feelings away, clawed through her blood. She craved a fix. She wanted a fix so badly her skin hurt. Alex, her sponsor, had told her that the holidays could be a recipe for disaster. Damn, she needed a meeting. She grabbed her phone and tapped out a text to Alex.

  This is hard. Having tough time.

  A minute later came the response:

  Meeting at church 2 blocks away.

  Starts in 15. Get your ass there.

  Alex was right. Shelly had plenty of time before dinner, she wasn’t supposed to be to Justin and Aubrey’s house for a while, she needed to get her ass to a meeting. Shelly couldn’t get the type of fix she desperately wanted. She couldn’t ever return to that life. The stench of sweaty old men climbing across her body. Waking up in rooms she didn’t remember entering. No. Nothing was worth that life. How many men? How many times?

  No. Never again.

  She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t be in that place again. No high was worth the self-abuse she had heaped upon herself with that life. Shelly pulled on her boots and stood. Her gaze landed on what had once been her favorite picture, her and Vinnie and Anthony standing outside of Nonna’s house with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

  Pain cut through her chest. Thinking about all she’d lost only made the need to forget slide deeper into her gut. She turned, walked from her bedroom and down the stairs.

  “Nonna, I’m going out for a while.” Shelly grabbed her coat from the closet and was out the door before she heard a response. The cold air smacked her face and snapped her out of the past. To now. To this moment. The open expanse of the street swept away the memories. Her lungs filled.

  She walked to the end of the block and stood on the corner. She could turn left and go to Joey’s, the dive bar that had sat on the corner at the end of the street since forever, or she could go right to Saint Bernard’s and find that meeting. At Joey’s she knew she’d find a drink and a high to take away the pain. Wasn’t that where she’d scored her first oxy anyway, in those horrible days after they’d learned of Vinnie’s death but before his body had been shipped home?

  But at Saint Bernard’s? She’d walk through the front doors of the church around the corner where she’d received three of the seven blessed sacraments, into the church hall to a NA meeting. There’d be cigarettes, and lots of addicts, just like her, trying to make certain they didn’t head anywhere for a fix and a fall. She looked both ways. The choice was hers. There would be coffee at Saint Bernard’s. Really really hot coffee. Shelly filled her lungs and looked up at the dark night sky scattered with clouds.

  “Dammit, Vinnie, I miss you,” she whispered and started to walk.

  Chapter 5

  “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Shelly recited the words at the end of the meeting, a prayer offered by her and the twenty-some other addicts assembled in the church basement. Her gaze swept the room over the group of formerly pill-popping, coke-snorting, heroin-shooting ex-addicts. As the meeting closed, most drifted toward the exit, many yanking packs of cigarettes from their purses and pockets. Shelly empathized. Her final addiction was nicotine, and she doubted that she’d ever entirely kick that substance. Some days it felt as though a cigarette well smoked was all that stood between her and a syringe of H.

  The coffee had been good. The coffee was always good. The topic: thankfulness through the holidays. The speaker had been a woman not too different than Shelly. She’d ended up homeless, strung out, and turning tricks after losing her three kids. Now she was the grandma of three and a social worker. Clean for twenty-three years.

  “Please God, please,” Shelly mumbled as she walked out the door, past the clumps of NAers who smoked cigarettes and sipped their final cup of NA coffee before making the pilgrimage back home to their sober lives. Deep breath. She reminded herself that she was building a new life, one day at a time.

  The pain, the shame, the doubt, and the anger still crept through her chest and constricted her heart. But now, instead of numbing all those feelings, she tried to let them pass through her. She breathed deep and allowed the feelings to slip around her. Each time the process grew easier. What had once been giant waves of emotion swamping her, careening her toward a fix, now only tossed her for a bit.

  Shelly flicked her lighter and lit a cigarette. Once cigarette smoking had been as normal a sight as someone hailing a cab in Manhattan. Now when you lit a cigarette, people looked at you as though you were an addict, or worse. Fuck it. She’d been a drug addict and worse. She’d deal with the sour looks from the nonsmokers of the world. A deep inhale pulled the first drag into her lungs. Who knew, maybe she was wrong. Maybe she would kick this habit someday, but she wasn’t starting now, not today, only days before Christmas.

  Shelly glanced at her phone to check the time. She needed to hustle back to Nonna’s and get them to Aubrey and Justin’s. The sun had long since set, and darkness filled the sky. No clouds—just the moon and crystal pinpricks of starlight. Long Island smelled different than San Francisco, felt different too. The neighborhood felt closed in, more tightly packed, and familiar, like a warm jacket you pulled from the back of your closet.

  She hadn’t been into the city yet. What would being downtown feel like? Damn, she’d only started driving again last month. She slid one hand into her jacket pocket, took another drag, and started the short walk home.

  A black car, sleek and expensive, pulled to the curb. Her eyes flicked toward the car, but she kept walking. A Tesla was definitely out of place in this neighborhood. The passenger window slid down and the car stopped.

  Desire flooded her as she realized who was behind the wheel, even before she heard his voice. Damn. The sensation nearly knocked her to her knees. How long since she’d actually wanted a man? Her gut twisted with a desire for Anthony’s touch, to feel his skin pressed to her skin, his hands on her body. How long since she had felt this desire, a desire attached to more than physical pleasure? Her gaze slid toward the car. Maybe since she’d last made love with Anthony. It might have been that long.

  “Shelly?”

  Her gut tightened at the sound of his voice, and a heat pulsed between her legs. Her name on his lips was a long-remembered caress. How many times growing up had she heard him say her name? She’d never be able to remember. She walked to the passenger side of the car and leaned down to look inside.

  Her breath caught in her chest. The streetlight lit Anthony’s features through the windshield. He had always been the type of guy who made women pause, take a long second look. Sharp-cut jaw and full lips, with a smile, one she’d yet to see since she’d returned, that was a panty-melter for sure. There was no smile on his face tonight. He might as well be a dark-eyed stranger, a wealthy man in an expensive car in the wrong neighborhood.

  She rested her hand on the frame of the open window. “Nice wheels, Tony.” She took the final drag of her cigarette and threw it to the ground, then rolled the toe of her boot across the butt. His gaze raked over her. Even through the darkness, the judgment in his eyes, so evident since she’d arrived home, reached across the distance between them and slapped her. “Don’t look like they belong here, though. Neither do you.”

  She pushed away from the car and started to walk home. She didn’t need his rich ass judging her. Who was he, anyway? Yeah, she’d done things that she wished she hadn’t, but she was getting her life back together now. Anthony, with his fancy things, and all that money, and his look-at-how-successful-I-am attitude, wasn’t helping her any. Nope. She didn’t care how much money Tony Travati had managed to sock away in his bank account. She knew from experience that money didn’t make you a good person. She’d seen that first-hand.

  The car rolled
forward, tailing her.

  “You better stop following me,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I got the 50 on my speed dial.”

  “I came to give you a ride to Justin and Aubrey’s,” he shouted back. The car came to an abrupt halt.

  She stopped and turned. He now stood beside the open driver door, one hand on the roof of the car. His gaze shifted from her back to the church and the clumps of people lingering on the front steps. Was he embarrassed to be seen with her? She’d run into a former teacher and two classmates in the meeting.

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Nonna said you either be here or at Joey’s.” He nodded toward the church. “She hoped here. NA meeting?”

  “Don’t get yourself all judgey. We all got addictions. Some of them are just more apparent than others.”

  His gaze whipped back to hers. Surprise hovered in his eyes.

  “What? You think I don’t know what you think? I see it written all over your damn face. ‘Why is Shelly back? Is she clean? Is she going to steal from her Nonna?’ You almost had the guts to say it to my face yesterday. So now you’re going to stand there and tell me that none of that crap went through that moneymaking mind of yours?”

  Not one muscle in his face moved. He didn’t even cock his damn eyebrow, like he normally did when he was at least amused.

  “Nothing now? Not a word? You used to be more honest than that, Tony. Working downtown with all those white-collar thieves must’ve taught you to keep those lips tight.” She shoved both hands in her pockets and walked toward the corner. She didn’t need a ride from him in his fancy car, bought with all that money he thought made him special. Nope, she knew better. Money did not buy class.

  How many of those men who had come to visit her back in the bad times had been pulling down seven, eight figures a year? A lot. Before she’d really fallen and let herself go, anyway. At least those guys showered and paid. As she got worse off, so did the tricks, until near the end she’d been so strung out she’d been putting the needle in before they even left.