Page 62 of Black Sheep
“No problem at all,” Cannon replies, wrapping him in a half hug. “They do work at the club all the time. And it’s the least they could do to make sure New York is properly fed and doesn’t miss a day of your food.”
Cannon’s manner with the old man tells me they’ve been friends for a while. Calling in favors to get his oven fixed? Yeah, that’s exactly what Cannon would do. It reminds me that he said the reason he bought the building was to keep Geno from getting evicted.
He can’t possibly be doing bad things, right?But even I’m not so naive to believe that life is black and white. We’re all living in the shades of gray, especially me.
“And who is this stunner on your arm? I don’t believe I’ve met her before. An oversight, I’m sure,” Geno says with a grin aimed in my direction, his New York accent growing thicker to overshadow the Italian.
Cannon glances down at me with a smile before introducing me to Geno. “This is Drew. I haven’t introduced her to your pizza yet. Definitely an oversight.”
Geno lights up. “Then tonight is her lucky night. I’m going to make you a feast. Antipasto, calamari, manicotti, pizza, and a little tiramisu to top it off.”
I blink at the man as he punctuates the end of his sentence with a clap of his hands. “Wow. That sounds incredible.”
“Geno’s is more than pizza. But only for my special customers do I break out the manicotti and the antipasto.”
“Don’t let Mr. Steal Your Girl lie to you,” Cannon says with a laugh. “They’re on the menu every day.”
Geno winks at him. “You know when I make them for pretty girls, I do an even better job. Give me twenty minutes, tops. Then you can come down and bring it up to her. Keep your clothes on until then. She’s too skinny. She needs food before ... you know.”
A hot flush burns up my chest because ... well, it’s not every day that an older Italian-American man talks about you having dinner before you get down and dirty with the guy you’re not even supposed to be entertaining naked thoughts about.
But now that’s all I’m doing.
I can’t even make any promises that I’ll last twenty minutes, not once I see the couch where I got my hands on Cannon’s beautiful cock.
“I’ll be down, G. And you mind your own business, old man.”
Geno throws his head back, and his thick gray eyebrows wiggle as he laughs. “Get out of here, kid. I gotta cook.”
We walk back around to the side door of the building, and Cannon unlocks it to let me in first. Once we’re up the elevator and in his apartment, he turns to me.
“I hope you’re hungry, because whatever Geno says he’s making, count on it being double. And it’s damn good.”
“He’s really sweet. You can tell he cares about you.”
With a shrug, Cannon hangs his keys on a hook in his kitchen as I slip off my shoes. “I did what anyone would do. Geno’s a good man, and that business is his legacy.”
I give him a sideways look as I move across the space to settle myself on a bar stool to avoid looking at the couch. “I can’t think of anyone else who would buy a buildingin New Yorkto save an Italian restaurant from foreclosure.”
He moves to a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of wine. “I like Geno. We lived in the building across the street when I was a kid. He always made sure there was a slice of pizza for me when I was hungry after school, or when my mom would ...”
Cannon trails off, and I’m grateful he’s shared even this much with me. It’s not hard to imagine a little dark-haired boy rushing across the street for a steaming-hot piece of pizza after school.
“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d love to hear your story,” I tell him. It’s the most honest thing I can say. I want to learn everything about Cannon. I want to know what made him into the man he is today. What his life was like before. What makes him tick.
Reaching into another cabinet, he pulls out balloon wineglasses and sets them on the counter in front of me. For a moment, I think he’s ignoring what I said, but he eventually starts to speak again.
“My mom wasn’t cut out to be Dom’s mistress. She was meant to be someone’s wife.” He sucks in a deep breath, and his wide chest rises and falls. “She was sweet. Wanted to make someone’s life just as sweet as she was.”
“How did she ... how did she end up with ...” I can’t quite get the question out, but Cannon doesn’t need to hear the rest of it.
“She was at the opera one night. Saved for months to buy the ticket, and made the dress with material she got for free from the fabric store she worked at. She was starstruck by the people, and then by the performance.” Cannon rounds the counter and hops up on top of it beside me. “Ma said she didn’t even care that she was in the nosebleed seats and could barely see, because it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard in her life.”
I lean into the heat of his body beside me as I picture a woman with Cannon’s coloring and hazel eyes, gazing down at the stage as the actors sang in Italian. “That sounds like an incredible night for her.”
He gives me a short nod as he reaches for the corkscrew. “Should’ve been. But she just had to get up at intermission and splurge on a glass of champagne. That’s when she met him.”
“It’s hard to picture Dom at the opera. It doesn’t seem like it’d be his thing.” I know I’m making a broad generalization, but it’s still true.
