One Step Closer (Erotic Romance) Book 1 (The DeLuca Brothers) (2 page)

He
glanced at his watch. So many people used their phones to tell time today, and
while he appreciated the convenience of a clock on his phone, there was still
something to be said for the look and feel of an expensive timepiece on the
wrist. Something that said he'd arrived.

It
was still relatively early. He wanted to talk to Vincent first, get a feel for
where everyone stood about his visit. Frank pulled his phone from his jacket
pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he came to the end.

Vincent
answered on the second ring and didn't bother with a greeting.
“Calling to say
you've changed your mind about showing up?” His tone was dry enough that Frank
wasn't sure if his brother was harassing him or serious. Then again, Vincent
wasn't exactly known for his sense of humor, so Frank felt fairly confident
that it was the latter rather than the former.

“Shut
it, ass-hat,” Frank retorted good-naturedly. “I'm here.”

“Surprise,
surprise.”

Now
Frank could hear a tinge of humor.
“Yeah, well, what can I say, I missed
our brotherly banter.”

“Why're
you calling me, Frank?” As always, Vincent got straight to the point. “Why
aren't you with Ma right now?”

“I'm
assuming you're not stopping by the house to see me.” Frank figured he'd take
his cue from his brother.

“You
assume correctly,” Vincent replied, a defensive edge to his voice.

Frank
didn't bother trying to argue that point.
“I want to see you too while I'm here.
Want to meet for some coffee? I think there's a little café near your place.”

Vincent
gave a snort of laughter.
“Mr. Big-Shot, you should know better. We don't do
coffee. You want to talk to me, we're going to do it exactly where a pair of
DeLuca brothers should meet.”

Frank
couldn't help but smile. “Delancy's
it is then.”

There
was one bar that the DeLuca boys frequented, though Vincent and Anthony now
kept to different schedules. Their father had been a regular at Delancy's since
before the boys had been born, running errands for the owner, doing odd jobs,
anything to make a buck and keep him out of his house. From the time he was
little, Frank had been taken into Delancy's on Sundays to watch whatever
sporting event was playing, though his father had told his mother that they
were going to the movies. As each of the boys came along, they joined Frank on
the father-son(s) days, learning to play pool and listening to the older men in
the neighborhood complain about the economy and politics, referees and umpires.

The
Sunday after his father died, Frank found himself walking the streets,
oblivious to the rain, and ended up in front of Delancy's. He'd gone inside,
old enough to understand that they should've told him to leave, but they
hadn't. The owner had brought him soup and the neighborhood men had taken turns
telling him stories about his father. Without needing to be told, Frank had
realized that he and his brothers would be allowed to continue the tradition of
their Sunday visits. When, the following week, Frank had asked his mother if he
could take his brothers to the movies, she'd given him a knowing smile and
agreed. They never talked about the fact that she knew where they were going,
and every Sunday, Frank would say the same lie.

As
they'd grown older, the tradition had slowly faded. Sometimes they had gone
weeks without visiting Delancy's and sometimes there had only been two or three
of them, but it had still been their place, and it always would be. Many of the
old-timers had passed on and new ones had taken their places, but all of them knew
the names of each DeLuca boy and each had a story to share about their father.
And even if it was one they'd heard a million times before, they would stop and
listen, and thank the old man for taking the time to share, to remember.
Delancy's was one of the things that Frank had missed the most while he'd been
gone.

The
bar was within walking distance of the house, on the very edge of where their
neighborhood turned from residential to business, so Frank climbed out of the
rental car he'd driven from the airport and started down the sidewalk. The wind
was more brisk than he'd anticipated and he pulled his wool coat more tightly
around him. As he let his feet carry him along the remembered path, Frank had
the thought that his friends back in Beverly Hills would be shocked if they saw
him now, walking through the city alone. In California, they'd driven
everywhere, safe behind their tinted glass, and he'd been one of them. But, the
moment he'd arrived in the city, something had changed. Frank had felt it as he'd
turned down his street and he'd felt it when he first stepped out of the car.
Now, as he made his way towards Delancy's, the feeling was almost overwhelming.
He was home. He wasn't afraid to be walking here, even with his expensive
clothes and watch, because he knew these streets. He knew the respect that his
name would bring, the more recent fear that came with being the brother of
Anthony DeLuca. This was his city.

The
outside of Delancy's looked the same. Dingy brick with dirty windows and a
half-lit sign. The same letter – the 'y' – was out. Frank headed inside. A
quick look around told him that Vincent wasn't there just yet, but Frank walked
up to the bar anyway. His brother would know where to find him. He slid onto
one of the stools and unbuttoned his coat.

“What
can I -” the bartender's question faded as he saw Frank. The old man's eyes
widened in recognition and his face broke into a smile. “Frank DeLuca!”

“Hey
there, Mr. Davis,” Frank extended a hand.

Mr.
Davis chuckled as he shook Frank's hand.
“I think you're old enough to call me
Clyde.”

Frank
just smiled. He'd been twelve when he'd first met Clyde Davis. Calling the
older man by his first name would've been like heading down to the old parish
and calling his old priest 'Bobby.'

“What
can I get you?”

“A
beer. Surprise me on the kind,” Frank looked around, marveling at how little
had changed. The television above the bar was newer, bigger, but the jukebox in
the corner was the same. He'd never heard it play because the television was
always on, but it had stayed there just the same. The stools were the same, as
were the handful of tables and chairs. He had a feeling if he went to the table
in the far back right corner, he'd see where he'd carved a heart with his
initials and hers. At the time, he hadn't even realized he'd been doing it,
he'd just been unable to get her out of his mind. It had been the first time
he'd ever realized that he felt something for her other than friendship.

“Here
you go,” Mr. Davis handed Frank a chilled bottle that looked like it could have
been the exact same one he'd given Frank all those years ago on Frank's
twenty-first birthday. The boys had snuck drinks before they were legal age,
but Mr. Davis had always made a big deal of giving them an 'official' beer on
their birthdays.

“Thanks,”
Frank took the beer, grateful for the distraction from where his thoughts had
been headed.

“So,
when did you get back?”

Frank
managed to suppress a laugh. The question made it sound like he'd been abroad
for a year or away at college, not that he'd moved across the country and
hadn't visited in a decade. Wasn't that the way it always was though, when you
went home? It was always 'back.' He took a swig of his drink and then answered.
“Not
too long ago. I wanted to stop by and see Vincent before I headed over to the
house.” He didn't have to explain why his brother wouldn't be joining him.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew about the falling out between Vincent and
Anthony. The men at Delancy's knew how far the breach had gone.

“Get
me one of what he's having, will you, Mr. Davis?” The familiar voice came from
behind Frank.

Mr.
Davis shook his head. “I
keep telling you boys to call me Clyde, for all the good it does me.” He
shuffled off to get another beer.

“Vincent,”
Frank turned slightly in his seat as his brother settled on the stool next to
him. Some siblings would've hugged after a decade apart, some might have shook
hands. Frank gave a nod and Vincent returned it. With their mother and their
women, the DeLuca men were openly affectionate. With each other, however, not
so much. It was just their way.

“You
look like California's agreed with you,” Vincent glanced up at the television.
“Who's playing?”

“The
Knicks and the Lakers,” Frank answered, the irony of his answer not lost on
him. “You're looking good. Feds keeping you fit?”

Vincent
thanked Mr. Davis as he accepted his drink.
“I train more than they require,” he
took a drink and then frowned at the bottle. “And I don't drink as much as I'd
like.”

“The
job that difficult?” Frank was honestly curious. His job was stressful, but for
an entirely different reason. He worried about money and board meetings, a far
cry from domestic terrorism threats and kidnapping cases. He didn't envy his
little brother the burden of what he did.

Vincent
shrugged. “It
has its good days and its bad days, like most jobs I suppose.” He looked down
at his hands for a moment before turning his attention back to the television.
“Some days, it would drive anyone to drink, but then there are the days when
you get to do enough good that it makes the bad seem worthwhile.”

They
fell into a comfortable silence for several minutes, just watching the game and
taking the occasional sip of their beers. None of the DeLucas were heavy
drinkers, not even Sal when he'd gone through a bit of a partying phase a few
years back. Sometimes, they could nurse a single beer all night and they rarely
touched anything harder.

“Vincent,”
Frank broke the silence, then hesitated. He wanted to ask the question, but
didn't know if he really wanted the answer. His brother waited, perhaps sensing
what was coming next. Frank closed his eyes and forced himself to ask about
her. “How are Sofia and Gio doing?”

“Divorced,
about a year ago,” Vincent kept his voice nonchalant even though Frank knew
that Vincent understood the significance of his answer.

Frank
felt a flash of happiness go through him and pushed it aside. It didn't matter.
What they had done was unforgivable. Wasn't it? Rather than debate with
himself, he changed the subject.
“So, how often do you get to the house
to see Ma?”

“Not
as much as I'd like,” Vincent admitted, a touch of regret in his voice. “You
know how it is when you're trying to prove yourself in a job. I don't think
I've worked less than a sixty hour week since I started with the Bureau.”

“And,
of course, there's the fact that you won't step foot in the house if Anthony's
around,” Frank added.

“That
too.” The two words were tense.

“Vincent,
I have to ask,” Frank turned towards his brother. “Is there any way you'd
consider just setting aside your differences long enough to spend some time
with the family? I'm sure Ma would love to have all of us together again.”

Vincent
was shaking his head before Frank had even finished.
“I can't do
that, Frank. You should know better than to ask.”

“Come
on, Vincent, is it really that impossible?” Frank pressed.

“Look,”
Vincent turned towards Frank, the muscles in his jaw tight. “I'm not the one in
the wrong, here, Frank. If my family would stop breaking the law, everything
would be fine, but as long as I know that he's doing what he's doing, I can't
help. It's hard enough staying out of it at work. I can't sit under the same
roof, knowing that if it were anyone but my family, I'd have him in handcuffs.”

Frank
sighed. He hadn't really been expecting anything different, but it was still
disappointing. He would've liked to have all of his brothers together at once.
It wasn't until just then that he understood just how much that would mean to
him. He drained the last of his beer and stood.
“Well, everyone else is waiting
back at the house.”

“Then
you'd better get going,” Vincent stood as well. “Ma'll kill me if she thinks I
kept you.”

“Wouldn't
want that,” Frank gave his younger brother a smile.

“Nope,”
Vincent returned it with a grin of his own. “Don't be a stranger, Frank.”

Frank
nodded but didn't make any promises. He knew better and Vincent knew better
than to ask. He could do one thing though.
“I'll call you before I leave.”

“Sounds
good,” Vincent made as if to move towards Frank, then caught himself. The
DeLuca boys didn't hug. He returned to his seat. “I'll see you around, Frank.”

Frank
nodded as he buttoned up his coat and headed for the door. The wind had died
down a bit, but it was still cold enough that he shoved his hands into his pockets
and pulled his coat more tightly around him. It wasn't until he passed the
third person wearing an unzipped jacket that he realized it might not have been
as cold as he'd first thought. Maybe he'd just gotten used to the weather on
the West Coast. The idea bothered him more than he liked.

When
he arrived back at the house, he paused at the sidewalk, a million thoughts
flooding through his mind. What if his mother really was mad at him? What if
his brothers were angry that he hadn't been around? Or, worse, what if they
hadn't missed him at all? He took a deep breath and stepped forward. He hadn't
made himself into a multi-millionaire by holding back just because something
frightened him. As always, the first step was the hardest.

He
hesitated at the door, raising his hand to knock before thinking better of it.
If he knocked, it was acknowledgement that this was no longer his home, that
he'd been gone too long. The moment he opened the door and stepped inside, he
knew he'd made the right choice. As he slipped off his shoes, he inhaled
deeply, the scents of his childhood wafting over him. Roast beef and baked
potatoes. Homemade bread. And underneath it, lemon-scented furniture polish and
the baking soda his mother always used on the rugs. They were all good smells,
ones that brought back memories of safety and love. Birthday parties and
holidays. Coming in to a home-cooked meeting after football practice. Hot cocoa
as a thank you for shoveling the driveway. Watching Sal take his first steps.
Wrestling on the living room rug while Maria hollered at them to stop. High
school and college graduation celebrations.

“Frank?”
It was a man's voice, deeper than he'd heard it last, but still familiar enough
for him to know which brother was coming.

“Sal,”
Frank grinned as his youngest brother came into the living room. His surprise
must have shown in his eyes as he realized that Sal was only two inches shorter
than he was, because Sal laughed.

“I
hit a growth spurt my senior year,” Sal offered by way of explanation. He didn't
mention that Frank would've known if he'd come back for the graduation.

“You
look good, Kid,” Frank patted Sal on the shoulder.

“You're
just saying that because I look like you,” Sal stepped to one side as Maria
came through the doorway.

Frank
had a moment to realize just how true his brother's statement was and then his
mother was wrapping her arms around him and he was leaning over to accommodate
their considerable height difference. No matter how old he got or how much
bigger he was than his mother, he always felt like a little boy when he was in
her arms.

“Francis,”
Maria pressed her face against his shoulder.

Frank
swallowed past the lump in his throat and didn't say anything about the use of
his proper first name. Maria called all of the boys by their full first names.
“Hey, Ma.”

“I'll
go get Sergio and Anthony from the backyard,” Sal said as he disappeared into
the kitchen.

There
were tears in Maria's eyes when she pulled away and Frank felt another stab of
guilt. “You're
thinner than the last time I saw you. Don't you eat well out in California?”

Frank
bit back a smile. He'd put on weight since moving, just by virtue of being
older. “I
can't find anyone to match your cooking, Ma.” That, at least, was the truth.

“Well,
I've got a roast in the oven and all your favorites,” Maria couldn't stop
smiling. “We'll get you eating right again.”

“You
didn't have to do that, Ma,” Frank protested.

“Hush,”
Maria gave him a stern look that was compromised by the joy on her face. “What
kind of mother would I be if I didn't take care of my firstborn?”

“Listen
to that, boys,” Anthony's booming voice came from the doorway. “Gone for ten
years and he still gets the fatted calf.”

“It's
good to see you too, Anthony,” Frank ignored the comment. That was just
Anthony. Any chance he got to bust Frank's balls, he took it.

“Hiya,
Frank,” Sergio gave a half wave from where he stood behind Anthony. The dark
circles under his eyes told Frank that the next to youngest DeLuca was still
putting in insane hours at work.

“Why
don't we all sit down and catch up while we're waiting for the roast to finish
up,” Maria's tone made it anything but a suggestion. Not that any of the boys
would ever dare do anything other than what she asked.

Frank
settled on the couch next to his mother while his brothers took the two
remaining chairs and Sal stretched out on the floor. The spot on the other side
of Maria was empty, but no one sat there and no one mentioned why it wasn't
filled. That was Vincent's seat. It didn't matter that it had been years since
all five of them had been in the living room together. None of them would take
his seat.

“So,
Frank, how's the adventure business?” Anthony asked.

“Profitable,”
Frank answered with a bit of pride in his voice. He'd worked hard to get where
he was and he wasn't going to apologize for it. “I'll be taking it to Paris
next month.”

“Paris?”
Maria sounded impressed.

“You
already have locations in England, Italy and Spain, right?” Sal surprised Frank
by speaking up.

“That's
right,” Frank gave Sal a questioning look.

Sal
shrugged. “I
keep tabs on everyone.”

Frank
looked away from his youngest brother. Sometimes he forgot that Sal had the
fewest memories from when they'd all been together as a family. Sergio had at
least a few faint ones of their father. Sal had none. His brothers were the
closest thing to a father he'd known and now Frank wondered if that was how Sal
had seen it when he'd gone away, that another father had left him.

Sergio,
perhaps sensing Frank's mood growing somber, asked,
“So, anyone
special in your life, big brother?”

Frank
shook his head. “I
get my fair share of -” he glanced at his mother and flushed “attention, but
there's no single girl I spend my time with.” He saw his brothers exchange
glances and defended himself. “I'm too busy for a relationship, that's all.”

The
expressions on their faces told him that they didn't believe a word of it. He
opened his mouth to reiterate his claim when a movement from the kitchen
doorway caught his eye. He glanced that way and froze.

It
was nothing more than a glimpse, but he knew who it was. He would've recognized
the gasp even if he'd been deaf, would have known the face even if he'd been
blind. He would always know her.

Sofia.

Her
name was on his lips and he only just stopped himself from saying it out loud.
He couldn't, however, stop himself from remembering what that last night had
been like.

***

Frank
cupped her cheek, the skin hot against his palm. He always marveled at how,
even after all these years, the mere touch of her body sent a thrill through
him. When their lips met, it was more than the hundredth or the thousandth time
they'd kissed, but they made it feel as if it was new. Frank wrapped one arm
around Sofia's waist and pulled her closer. As their lips moved together, Frank
dropped his hand from Sofia's face to cup her ass. She moaned as Frank's tongue
parted her lips and she pushed her hips against his. He was hard against her
stomach.

“Sofia,”
he gasped her name as he tore his mouth from hers. His hands moved between
them, pulling at ties and buttons. “I want you naked.”

She
laughed at that, a melodious sound that never failed to turn him on. She tugged
at his dress shirt, sending buttons flying.
“Have I ever told you how much I like
when you're straightforward?”

Frank
grinned and raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so?” He kept his eyes on her face as he
yanked open her blouse, scattering her buttons across the apartment living
room. When Sofia nodded, Frank pushed her shirt from her shoulders and let the
garment drop to the floor. “Then I should probably tell you that I'm going to
fuck you senseless tonight, that I won't be satisfied until you're hoarse from
screaming and your body can't take another orgasm.”

Sofia
shivered at his words and the scramble to remove the rest of their clothing
became more frantic. Spurred on by the arousal flushing Sofia's silky skin,
Frank kept talking.

“I'll
never get tired of you, of your body. The feel of your skin beneath my fingers,
sliding against mine, slick with sweat. The way your tongue feels in my mouth,”
Frank was vaguely aware that he was tearing Sofia's bra and panties in his rush
to get them off, but he didn't care. Judging by the expression on Sofia's face,
she shared the sentiment. It had been months since they'd last seen each other
and phone sex just wasn't the same. Nothing was a good enough substitute for
flesh on flesh.

Frank
pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the side of Sofia's throat as he ran his
hands down her ribs, his thumbs skimming over the sides of her ample breasts.
As he rained kisses down her neck and across her shoulders and collarbone, he
continued to speak, his words punctuated by moans as Sofia's hands explored the
broad expanse of his back.

“I've
been dreaming about this moment for weeks, waking up so hard that I have to
jerk off just so it doesn't hurt anymore. I want to bury my cock in your pussy,
feel you squeeze me so tight. I'm going to take you on the couch, in the
shower, in the bed, everywhere and anywhere.”

When
Sofia's fingers closed around his cock, he swore, everything he'd intended to
say instantly disappearing. She stroked him slowly, bringing him to full size
even as her touch ignited the fire deep inside him. Finally, he could take it
no more and grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand. She looked at him expectantly
and smiled as he dropped to his knees. The moment his lips touched her pussy,
she cried out.

***

That
cry echoed in Frank's ears and the taste of her lingered on his tongue. That
night, they had fucked and they'd made love. Fast and wild, slow and sweet. He couldn't
remember a time he'd cum so many times in just one night. Each time, he'd
thought he was done, but Sofia's hands and mouth had brought him back until the
pleasure had been edged with pain. They'd finally passed out in his bed, all
energy drained. He'd awoken hours later to find their limbs tangled together
with the sheets, the sweat on their bodies long since dried. He'd just lain
there, watching her sleep.

It
should have been a great start to an amazing three-day weekend, but that last
night had been the beginning of the end. The call from work had come at eight
the next morning. He'd left Sofia a note saying that he'd gone in to the office
for a few hours, but those few hours had turned into all day. When he'd arrived
back at his apartment, Sofia had been gone and she'd left a note for him. Even
after eight years he could still remember what it had said.

If
she'd been angry, he supposed things would've been different, but the note
hadn't been angry at all. Instead, she'd said that she understood how much his
business meant to him and that he'd worked so hard to get where he was. She'd
said that as they'd spent the last two years apart, she'd seen how much time
and effort he had to put into his work, that time he spent with her was time he
was often wishing he was at work. In the last paragraph, she'd told him that
she wasn't going to hold him back any longer and that he was now free to throw
himself whole-heartedly into his work.

He
should have gone after her, called her, anything to get her back and show her
that she was the most important thing in the world to him. But he didn't. His
phone rang and it was a prospective client. Each time over the subsequent
weeks, that he'd tried to contact her, something else had always gotten in the
way. Business meetings, new clients, fixing problems, promotional events.
Before he'd realized it, almost two months had passed and he'd gotten a call
from his mother to tell him that Sofia was marrying his cousin Giovanni in just
two weeks.

He'd
known why his mother had called, but he had lied and told his mother that he
and Sofia's break-up had been mutual. After he'd gotten off the phone, he'd
decided that he would do what Sofia had said, he would throw himself into his
work. He wouldn't risk his heart again. And he hadn't. He'd casually dated and
had a few 'friends with benefits,' but he'd never allowed himself to care about
someone like that again. After a while, he'd managed to convince himself that
he no longer cared about Sofia either. Most days he believed it.

The
moment he saw her again, knowing that she wasn't married anymore, all of his
defenses came crashing down and he found himself getting to his feet.