He reached the bottom of the towers, a haunting maze of boarded-up windows and gang graffiti. Toni’s favourite betting shop beside the launderette was long gone, but Paolo could still smell the sausage rolls they’d served there to keep punters betting past lunchtime. Greasy and soaked in ketchup, they’d been the best non-Italian thing he’d eaten until he’d discovered the joys of an English bacon sandwich.
Block three was tucked away behind the run-down play park. The usual clutch of teens hung around outside, but the vibe was different to the aimless congregation outside the other blocks. These youths had purpose. They came and went with an efficiency that was hard to believe.They’re working. For Dante.Of course they were. Why do your own dirty work when you could pay a kid to do it for you?
More nausea rattled Paolo’s gut. He swallowed it down—focus—and approached the entrance.
Older youths stood near the lifts, smoking and observing. They tracked Paolo to the stairs, and he wasn’t surprised when one of them broke off and followed him. He’d watched enoughTop Boyto know their job was to track every face that came in and out of the block.
He trudged to the top storey, past every stairwell with watching eyes. The uppermost floor was guarded like a vault. Men dressed in black blocked the corridor and stared Paolo down as he approached.
Undeterred, he stopped in front of them. “I’m here to see Dante.”
“Who?”
Paolo rolled his eyes. “Dante. I’m Paolo from Toni’s cafe on the high street. I know his brother.”
“Whose? Dante’s or Toni’s?”
“Very funny. Just tell him I’m here, will you?”
The biggest man smirked, but the slighter one pulled his phone from his pocket and disappeared down the corridor.
Paolo prepared for a silent wait, but the big man stepped away from his post and caught Paolo’s arm.
“Are you really friends with Luis? Cos if you’re not, you’re gonna get hurt. This ain’t the place to play games. Martell won’t like it, and he’ll kick the shit out of you when he comes back.”
Paolo eyed the large hand gripping his elbow. The man it belonged to was pretty hot, at least, Paolo would’ve thought so before Luis. As it was, all he thought was that the strong hand belonged to the wrong person. He shook it off. “We’re really friends. Who are you?”
“Asa.”
“Areyoufriends with Luis?”
“I was, once upon a time, which is why I know you coming here is a bad idea. Dante already—”
Footsteps behind Asa cut him off. He moved quickly to reclaim his position, and by the time his sidekick reappeared, it was as if the exchange had never happened. Asa stared straight ahead, and Paolo turned his attention to Martell, relieved to see his expression had lost its harsh edges.
“You checked out,” he said. “Leave your shoes by the door.”
“Which door?”
Asa’s smirk returned. “114. It’s the one at the end.”
He stepped aside and waved Paolo through. His humour remained, but Martell’s stare was hard enough to make Paolo nervous. Paying Dante an unannounced visit had seemed like a good idea when he’d been all rage and righteousness, but it was a massive risk. The only facts Paolo knew about Dante was that he was a gaping arsehole who’d thrown his little brother to the wolves. He had zero clue how he’d react or what he’d do if he decided Paolo was the last person on earth he wanted to see.
Flat 114 was exactly where Asa had said it would be. The door was open. Paolo slipped inside, toed off his shoes, and followed the sound of voices into the living room. He imagined walking into a room full of muscle men, tooled up, with mean mugs and piles of cash in front of them, but he found Dante Pope alone, stretched out on an obnoxious couch, watchingBargain Huntin his underwear.
Paolo forced himself to look. Dante’d had plenty of time to put his clothes on. He’d left them off for a reason, but if he was trying to make Paolo uncomfortable, he’d fail. Dante had the same strong arms and tattooed skin as Luis, but the similarities ended there. Luis’s gaze was often so haunted it was hard to see anything else in him, but when his guard was down, he had kind, honest eyes.
Dante’s were sharp and cold and didn’t match the big smile he broke out for Paolo. “So, I was right.”
Paolo stopped by the coffee table. “Right about what?”
“About you and my brother. Asa told me Luis doesn’t do relationships, but I know my brother’s got a soft heart, and you’re just his type.”
“How do you know what his type is? He’s been in prison for six years.”
“And I knew him for twenty before he went down. Of course, he never had an actual boyfriend, but I saw the dudes that would catch his eye. Always the dark ones. I prefer blondes myself, and tits. Nice big tits.”
“Good for you.”
