Angel Dust

Anthony might be safe from an unexpected dip in the river, but rest assured that Valentino makes sure the Hudson gains one permanent resident less than twenty-four hours after that interesting run-in in the alley.

He'd only been stepping out for a cigarette when he'd found them, his boss's youngest son on his knees and the fresh meat - no pun intended - with his hands in that pretty blond hair, the two of them barely lit by the dying bulb at the end of the alley. Valentino had frozen at first, shoulder still propping open the back door, one hand cupped around the end of an unlit cigarette pinched between his lips, the other ready to spin the file wheel of his lighter with his thumb. Silent, save for the incriminating sounds and the hurried, murmured words of someone about to come. He'd stood there like a lurking shadow, and just... watched, eyes sharp and observant as ever. If Anthony had appeared at all to be in a position he didn't agree to, Valentino might have stepped in, but the fingers in his hair were loose, and not even a newbie would be stupid enough to force anything on the son of one of New York's most notorious Dons. Stupid enough, though, to think they couldn't be caught. Stupid enough to think Anthony's father wouldn't kill them both for the simple sin of being... together, if he ever found out.

It was... interesting, nonetheless. Valentino decided, then, smirking around his cigarette, that his boss would never know. That the new guy would never even have the chance to talk.

It wasn't until after they'd finished that Valentino had cleared his throat and let the door close none too quietly, a single, steady flame highlighting the angles of his face in a warm orange glow. He'd met eyes with - whatever the fuck his name was, and then Anthony, lingering on those mismatched eyes, his own slightly narrowed near the corners, mild curiosity mixed with something else near-unidentifiable.

And then he'd walked away without a word, into the dark, a cloud of thin, white smoke occupying the space he left behind.


Two days later, he's sitting in the Don's office, his posture perhaps a bit more relaxed than it should be in the presence of such a powerful man - but Valentino's one of his best for a reason, and confident enough in his position to feel comfortable enough to drop a little decorum. When Anthony steps in and sits in the open seat beside him, Val follows him with his eyes the entire time, his thumb slowly turning the gold band on his pinky finger. He says nothing as Anthony's father explains a shift in... management, and dips his chin in a subtle nod, like he agrees that Anthony could use some guidance. When they're dismissed, Valentino shakes the Don's hand, and if he crowds a little too close to Anthony for a moment as they step out of the office, it's not intentional.

In the doorway to Anthony's bedroom, Valentino leans his weight into his shoulder against the doorframe, one ankle crossed in front of the other, the polished, pointed toe of his shoe perpendicular to the floor. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest, and watches Anthony the same way he watched him in the alley, and when he's met with wide brown and blues and a disbelieving question, the corner of his mouth pulls slightly, teasing amusement.

Casually, he shrugs the shoulder he's not leaning into.

"About what?" he asks, feigning ignorance, but the way he holds Anthony's gaze says everything. He knows exactly what they're talking about. He knows exactly how much shit Anthony would be in if Valentino had said a single word about what he'd seen to his father. The only thing the Don knows is that their newest runner is missing - probably got cold feet and took off, which isn't great for them, but it's an easier story for Valentino to sell, and any secrets that man might have gotten away with are sitting with him at the bottom of a riverbed where nowhere will ever hear them.

Valentino pushes away from the doorframe and steps further into the room, idly running his fingertips along the top edge of the dresser nearby and rubbing them together when he pulls them away. He looks up from his hand, and after a beat, he raises his eyebrows.

"So you had a little... fun," he says, accent flirting a little bit into his words. "Maybe I don't think you deserve to die for that."

Fuck that runner, though. It's just unfortunate that he had to put his hands on something that Valentino's had his eye on for longer than he'd ever admit.