harderdaddy | AU Mafia for @ papichulo

AU Mafia for @ papichulo

There is never a good time to be called into his father's office, but when Anthony steps in and catches sight of Valentino his all ready pale complexion grows whiter. The man's one of his father's top men, high enough that he's got all his own men under him, and he's probably the son he wishes he had, even over his older brother who ain't always getting himself in shit.

But Anthony ain't scared cause of any of that. He's scared because Val saw him and that new runner in the back alley. Saw him in a position he couldn't exactly explain his way out of. How do you explain away a cock shoved down your throat as anything but what it is?

Which means this must be it. He's told Anthony's father and Val's going to earn himself a heap of praise and Tony's gonna find himself in the Hudson with a new pair of shoes.

He swallows thickly and takes his seat, hardly registering at first that he's not handed down a death sentence. Nothing at all is said of the incident, instead his father just informs him that he going to be working for Valentino for a while, see if his best man can't turn him into something useful. He manages to nod a bit numbly, though a small scowl finds it's way to his face once he properly processes his father's words.

They're dismissed, sent to pack a bag so he can join the crew across town, and as soon as they're in the relative safty of his room Anthony fixes Val with a wide eyed look.

"You didn' say nothin'??"

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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.

The absence hadn't gone unnoticed by Anthony. He figures the guy skipped town to try and get ahead of the news. He can't admit to himself he's a little hurt he wasn't extended even a curtesy invitation. They weren't some tragic love story or nothing, but it would've been nice.

Anthony doesn't quite meet Valentino's eye, cheeks pink. He was shy enough around the man before being caught, the man seems to ooze sex appeal without even trying.

His face splits into a grateful smile, and he pushes back that pale hair from his face.

"I don'...I don' do that kinda thing regularly or nothin'," he tries to reassure, fetching out a suitcase from under his bed. Fuck he likes that accent. His own feels so...gritty compared to Valentino's.

There's a bit of powder left on that dresser, familiar enough as the stuff they're meant to be moving, and clearly Anthony's been helping himself to some here and there. He's itching for more at the moment, but he tries not to be obvious.

Dipping into the product is obviously heavily frowned upon, but what's another secret between them? Besides, Valentino would be somewhat of a hypocrite if he were to judge, but at least he's a lot more discreet about it when it comes to scraping a little off the top. He drops his hand and slides it into his pants pocket, continuing his slow stroll around Anthony's room, dark eyes taking in the smaller details.

He pauses long enough to cast a glance back toward Anthony.

"I don't care if you do." Casual, nonchalant. His gaze lingers again, taking note of the color in Anthony's cheeks and the buzzy, anxious energy seeming to hover around him. Slowly, he turns on his heel, makes it look like part of his own self-guided tour around the room, but he's facing Anthony now. "You seemed to have some idea of what you were doing."

Valentino takes his eyes off of him briefly, hand drawing a metal case out of his pocket, about the size of a playing card. He flips it open with his thumb, and picks out what looks like a hand-rolled cigarette before snapping the tin closed again. As he slides it back into his pocket and pulls a lighter out of the other at his opposite hip, he looks up again.

"Honestly," he starts, putting the pinched end of the rolled paper between his lips, speaking around it when he continues. He lifts his lighter, slings the lid open with a quick and sharp flick of his wrist, and rolls the flint with his thumb. Valentino peers through the flame, similar to the alley, but he doesn't touch it to the end of the cigarette just yet. "... I was impressed."

The paper between his lips burns bright orange and then dulls slightly, and Valentino inhales. At some point during all of this, he'd started moving again, his footsteps slow and measured, closer and closer to Anthony until he's standing right in front of him. Anthony's tall, but Valentino's got him beat by several inches. When he exhales, it's not tobacco smoke that clouds around Anthony's face, but something else that's familiar enough. A weaker strain, but it'll take the edge off.

Valentino offers the joint to him by way of holding his pinched fingers in front of Anthony's mouth, eyes watching him closely.

Anthony looks unsure what to make of that, keeping an eye on Valentino as he makes himself at home, feeling a bit like prey being circled by a cat. He starts gathering a few things for the case, clearly distracted, and he quickly forgets the act entirely in favor of watching the other man and that case of his.

Impressed. That colour on his cheeks darkens, but Anthony can't help but look a bit prideful at that praise.

"Yeah?"

He hardly dares to breathe, eyes frozen on Val's as that scent settles over him, gaze finally flicking down to the offered joint. It's feels almost like reenacting that moment in the alley, tongue wetting his lips before he catches it between them and takes a long drag. It soothes that ache, exhaling a slow stream as he ponders that not subtle interaction between the too of them.

Is that why hadn't told?

"What? You wanna go? That why you didn' tell him?" The way he says it seems to be offering rather than accusing, lips quirking softly. It doesn't cross his mind Val might be after anything other than a convenient blow for his troubles, and it seems like a fair trade. Anthony would've happily obliged otherwise if asked- given his crush- but he doesn't imagine the man has any interest beyond that.

It's not subtle because it's a deliberate parallel on Valentino's part. Maybe not quite so vulgar, but he watches that little pink tongue dart out to wet his lips and he holds still as Anthony leans in barely less than an inch to catch the paper between them, his gaze steady and focused. Nearly the second Anthony starts to exhale, Val brings the joint back to his own mouth and takes another hit, aware of the faint dampness left behind on the rolling paper.

The mild accusation isn't necessarily wrong, but it isn't right, either. Valentino didn't tell Anthony's father what he saw because in his opinion, it's not anything worth bringing attention to, but he'd be lying if he tried to deny he wasn't interested in Anthony. That he hasn't been, for quite a while now, maybe since he first laid eyes on him however long ago. Valentino chuckles, a low sound caught in his throat that sends some smoke spilling from his mouth. He blows the rest of it out, away from Anthony, and then meets him with a tilt of his head and a lift of his brows, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

He reaches out with his free hand and catches Anthony's chin between his thumb and two fingers, and he's both surprised at how soft his skin is under his fingertips, and not surprised at all.

"Careful, mi corderito," he teases, just a notch above a murmur. Valentino continues to hold his face for another second or two, dark eyes drinking him in. He's not sure he's ever had the opportunity to look at him this closely before, and he won't let the chance slip through his fingers now.

But then he gives Anthony's jaw a lightly little shake, and adds, "At least make a man take you to dinner first."

Valentino lets him go then, but his hand doesn't go very far. He touches his middle and index finger to the center of Anthony's chest and gently guides him back a step. As much as Valentino would love to jump at the opportunity to have Anthony on his knees in front of him, as many times as he's imagined it before now, he reminds himself that they have time. Valentino orchestrated it that way.

He tilts his head toward the half-packed suitcase and finishes off the rest of the joint. "Pack."

There a childish thrill at seeing that joint back between Valentino's lips, like they've shared a kiss without touching. How he'd like to follow after that bit of paper and taste those lips properly. The smirk only fuels Anthony's hope that Val's fee is going to be a taste for himself.

His breath catches, that pink flush spreading. He's not sure what he's been called, but Val makes it sound beautiful.

But he doesn't take. Doesn't claim. And Anthony gives a flustered laugh, gaze ducking.

"...yes, Mista' Valentino," he recites, hastily reorienting himself. A few more clothes, toiletries, an old cigar box he keeps a few photos and an extra stash in. He's not sure how long he'll be gone, but it ain't like he can't swing across town if he needs something. Or Molly can bring it round.

"He tell you how long you're stuck with me? Or that depend on me?"

Briefly, Valentino eyes the cigar box as Anthony tucks it into his suitcase. He's just mildly curious; he can't picture Anthony being at all partial to cigars (though he does take an extra second to imagine him with one in his mouth, his soft lips parted around it), so he guesses it's more for storage and safekeeping. His curiosity, however, ends there, his attention drawn back to Anthony by the sound of his voice.

Val notes the self-deprecation folded into the question. Stuck with me, he says, like he thinks he's a burden. And maybe that's just what he's been told by people whose opinions hold weight, maybe it's even the truth. Valentino finds it interesting, but he doesn't correct him.

He slides both of his hands into his pockets and resumes his slow, casual stroll. He's nearly made it full circle by now.

"However long it takes. Why?" He looks at Anthony, smiling with teeth this time, a thread of playfulness weaving through his tone. "Are you tired of me already?"

"Mm- no, no, I uh- just wanna know how long I should be packin' for. Guess if the seasons change it ain't like I can swing by an' grab a coat, right?" Face hot, he closes up the suitcase, feeling frustratingly young when he wants Valentino to see him as anything but.

He moves to his desk and scrawls out a quick note for Molly, leaving it there for her to find when she's back.

"...I guess that's everythin'."

Edited (words are hard) 2024-09-18 02:00 (UTC)

Valentino waits in the doorway as Anthony scribbles something down, idly twisting the signet ring on his pinky finger back and forth as he leans with his back against the doorframe. It amuses him how easily flustered Anthony seems to be - has he always been a nervous person, or does it have to do with Valentino?

To test this, Val decides not to move out of the doorway when Anthony finishes jotting down a note, presumably for his sister. Sideways, he only takes up a little over a third of the space, so it's not a tight squeeze for Anthony to fit through, but physically, it will most certainly bring them closer.

Valentino tilts his head out toward the hall and gestures with one of his hands as well, arm swooping slightly. "After you."

Outside, Valentino's car is waiting, and he pops open the passenger door first, standing off to the side with his fingers curled over the top of the window frame. He puts his other hand out and curls his fingers slightly, silently asking for Anthony's suitcase.

All to do with Valentino, and he's frustrated as hell this crush has him acting a fool in front of the person he last wants to. Anthony freezes up momentarily when Val doesn't move from the door and can't quite seem to will himself to move past him until he's told to.

He twists awkwardly, almost side stepping through the door and mentally cursing himself the whole way out. He relaxes a little once they reach the car, admiring it silently, and able to pass off the suitcase without turning yet another shade darker. Climbing inside, Anthony only realizes belatedly that he should be opening his own doors.

"You mind if I smoke in here?"

The awkward little crab walk is amusing enough for Valentino, even if it doesn't necessarily confirm his suspicions either way, but he chuckles quietly under his breath and follows after Anthony at a casual pace, giving him room instead of crowding behind him like he's tempted to. What can he say? He's had an eye on Anthony for a while now, his temptation and desires always stayed by the possibility of betrayal and orchestrating his own downfall - until now.

Until he caught Anthony in a dark alley, in a position there was no lying his way out of, opening a door Valentino always kept shut out of caution and self-preservation.

Val closes the door once Anthony's settled inside. There's a lot Anthony should be doing for himself - even as the son of a notorious crime lord, Valentino still ranks above Anthony in a number of ways. The fact that Val is keeping his secrets (the runner in the alley, the minor theft and consumption of product, to name a new) and opening doors for him says - well, it says something. What, exactly, has yet to be properly defined.

Taking Anthony's suitcase to the driver's side, Val pops open the back door and sets the bag on the back seat before climbing into the front to join Anthony. The few keys on his keyring jingle quietly as he slides one of them into the ignition, and he pauses to look over at the man beside him.

Anthony looks nice in his car, the deep red leather seats a stark contrast against his pale skin and his soft blond hair. For a brief moment, the image of Anthony laid out in the back seat, cheeks flush, chest heaving, one shoulder bared from his shirt slipping down flashes through Valentino's mind. He tilts his head slightly, eyes a little darker than usual, but he smiles. There's gold in his mouth, barely peeking out.

"Of course not, Cariño," he says, loosening his accent a little. He starts the car finally, and drapes his arm along the back of the bench seat so he can turn and properly look out the back window to make sure it's clear to pull away from the curb. This puts his arm right behind Anthony, but only briefly, as Valentino retracts it once they're on the road. "You need a light?"

That flash of gold makes Anthony's own smile grow a little less shy than before, and he drinks in that accent, wondering if he can find out what these names Val has for him are with enough time, but knowing he likes them even without knowing. What names might he have for Valentino if he were allowed?

The warmth of that arm is probably too brief to really be felt, but Anthony imagines being able to freely nestle into the other man's side as they drove. As it is he's closer than he needs to be, knees angled towards Val without real conscious planning or thought. But on drives with his father he's all but glued to the side of the door.

He doesn't need a light. But- "Please," falls free from his lips before he has time to think why exactly he's bothering to lie. Maybe he's all ready developing a soft spot for Valentino pampering him, looking out for him the way that's usually reserved for a lady or someone a hell of a lot more important than Anthony.

He fishes his own cigarette case out, and extends it out for Val to take one if he wants, those nerves a little less evident now that they're not under his father's roof.

There's a lighter tucked away in his pants pocket, the same one he used earlier to light the joint he split with Anthony, but Valentino doesn't reach for it. Instead, he lets go of the wheel with his right hand waves off the offer, and then he leans slightly sideways toward Anthony, reaching toward... his legs. A broad hand briefly settles against the outside of Anthony's right knee, and he angles both of them slightly closer to himself with a light nudge.

Quietly, he murmurs a low 'watch your knees', even though Anthony's legs aren't anywhere close to being in the way of his reach, and then his hand is gone. He pops open the small glove box in front of Anthony, and inside there's, unsurprisingly, a pair of black leather gloves, a beretta, a neatly-folded map of New York, and another silver zippo. Valentino grabs the lighter and flicks it open with ease, his gaze on the road the entire time, but he takes a moment to look away, slowing to a stop at a 4-way street. He strikes the flintwheel with his thumb and holds the flame steady for Anthony, his other hand still loosely curled around the top of the steering wheel. He should, perhaps, be more careful - it's not as if he's unknown around the streets of New York; out here, he could be recognized by anyone paying close enough attention, and though there's nothing entirely scandalous or incriminating about him lighting his boss's son's cigarette for him in the front seat of his car, his intentions aren't entirely innocent, even if no one knows his intentions but himself.

The thing is, he just doesn't care. He could talk his way out of his own execution, probably, if he had to. Valentino's not worried.

He snaps the lighter closed, and leans again to toss it back into the glove box before closing it back up again, and if he fingers brush Anthony's leg again when he brings his hand back to the wheel, perhaps it's just pure coincidence. There is, after all, not much space in the front.

Anthony over complies, shifting not just his knees but his whole person that much closer. He imagines being welcomed closer still, head down in the other man's lap while the outside world had no idea. A dangerous game, but clearly Anthony plays a little risky, out in the alley where anyone could've happened on them.

"Thanks." He leans into the offered flame, and reluctantly sits back again, smoke curling slowly from his lips. Said lips curl at that touch finding him again, however brief.

"...you ain't seen Marco since, uh...that night, have you?" he asks as casually as he can manage. He must mean the runner, curious if Val knew where he'd run off to.

Marco. Was that that kid's name? Valentino had already forgotten it by the time he'd found him and Anthony in the alley, and he hadn't bothered asking for it a day later before he'd strangled the breath out of him and left him to sink to the bottom of the Hudson River where he'd never be able to speak of or put his hands on Anthony ever again.

Valentino takes a brief moment to consider his answer. The full truth is off the table, but Valentino's learned that telling parts of the truth within a lie makes them that much more believable. He casts a glance at Anthony, then shifts his gaze back to the road, turning down a side street to avoid what looks like stand-still traffic not too far ahead.

"Who, the guy from the alley?" Of course the guy from the alley, it's not as if Valentino and Anthony have very many 'shared' nights between them. Val cocks his head in feigned thought, then shrugs a shoulder. "Yes. Saw him the day after for a minute, but he was gone before we could exchange any words. Haven't seen or heard from him since."

Technically, all true. Watered down (no pun intended) to make it more palatable, but still. Val looks at Anthony again, but this time his gaze flickers down for a moment, noting that space between them has been somewhat reduced. Interesting.

He looks back up, then back at the road. "Why? Are you worried he might talk?"

Is that his worry? Anthony's not quite sure. He tells himself the pair of them would both be in trouble, mutually assured destruction should keep them both from talking, and in turn keep them both safe. And while he didn't have feelings for Marco- not serious ones anyways- it does hurt a little to think he's run off with even a heads up. He didn't have to take Anthony with him, but the guy could've at least told him instead of leaving him to face the music alone.

He gives an unsure shake of his head. "...I don' think he'd be that stupid. Just...figured he might've said goodbye or something if he was going to run." He twists a face. It feels too mushy, but he can't take it back now that he's said it aloud. "It's stupid."

It's not in him to feel bad for the things he's done - Valentino's list of crimes, from petty to grand, is impressively long, and there's not a single thing on that list that he feels bad about, Marco included. If there's anything he does regret, it's not letting that kid know that he was lucky that his last brush with affection of any sort was from Anthony, and unlucky that it's also the thing that sealed his fate.

Valentino does not feel bad about what he did to Marco, but there's something in Anthony's uncertainty and the underlying impression of abandonment by someone he might have been minimally attached to that makes Val feel somewhat... apologetic. Not for ending some kid's life, but for his actions resulting in Anthony feeling - unimportant. He's too pretty to think someone would leave him on purpose, but there's not much Valentino can do about it now, and he wouldn't take it back or undo it now even if he could. Jealousy put Marco at the bottom of a river well before Valentino got his hands on him.

Now, though, Valentino's hands are much gentler than they were when they were wrapped tight around a gasping throat. He reaches out with his right hand, but this time he lets it hover for a moment above Anthony's knee.

"I'm sorry, Anthony." He's not, but it sounds nice. Val lets his hand settle, fingers squeezing lightly. His thumbs smooths over Anthony's kneecap. "Unfortunately, some people will always disappoint you." He tilts his head slightly, turns it to look at Anthony, dark eyes meeting mismatched brown and blue and holding his gaze. "... And some people won't."

Edited 2024-09-22 19:47 (UTC)

Watching that hand, it seems to take forever before it makes contact, but when it does it's more than enough to shoo any lingering thoughts of Marco away, leaving room only for Valentino. His head tilts slowly at that implied meaning, hoping he's not reading it wrong. Anthony's pale left hand shifts to butt lightly against the edge of Val's fingers.

"...I'll try to land myself in that second group for ya, as well," he promises with a small smirk, despite his very real fear that he'll disappoint. He always seems to.

Truthfully, Valentino doesn't have too much of an opinion on Anthony yet. Until recently, he's always kept a reasonable distance unless the job called for them to drift into closer circles, but never close enough to get to know him beyond observation and the small talk passed between his men on occasion. He's heard it all - that Anthony is useless, an embarrassment. A disappointment. All claims made by his father and disputed by no one with even half a brain rattling around in their skull. When Valentino was pitching the idea of taking Anthony under his wing for reasons far more self-serving than he he'd ever admit, even he hadn't challenged the idea that Anthony could use a little guidance, regardless of whether he believed that much was true or not.

What he does believe is that Anthony has potential. And maybe his belief is biased and misguided, shaped by pretty mismatched eyes and a dusting of light freckles he can only imagine in places other than the bridge of his nose and the soft swell of his cheeks, led by the thought of someone with so much untapped power and influence secured at his side - but maybe that's all Anthony needs. Someone to believe in him, to push him without breaking him, to show him exactly what he could be and what he deserves.

Valentino's eyes flicker down when their hands brush. He could take it as a sign of disinterest, that Anthony is trying to set a boundary without offending one of his father's top men - but Valentino looks at that small smirk paired with a quiet promise to make him proud, and he knows he's got Anthony exactly where he wants him. The flex of his fingers is subtle but deliberate, a lingering squeeze. He lifts his pinky finger slightly, ring nestled comfortably by the highest knuckle, and hooks it over Anthony's closest finger for a very brief moment before he takes his hand off and away entirely.

He chuckles quietly, shifting back into moving traffic. The drive across town isn't usually too bad, especially when one is familiar with backstreets and shortcuts the way Valentino is, so they shouldn't be too far out now so long as the flow of traffic keeps steady. Valentino cards his fingers through his hair, streak of white-gray drawn back with dark brown and falling neatly back in place.

"You know, mi corderito..." He tapers off, thoughtful, and then continues, vague on purpose, but the way he looks at Anthony again puts more meaning in his words than what's on the surface. "Together, I think we'll work just fine."

Anthony and his father have always butted heads. Whether Anthony tries or not, he's never been what the man wants. Maybe it's just down to him seeing that nature in him from the start. Or maybe its down to Anthony neve really feeling a desire to be trapped in this life like his older brother. He can shoot straight, move product, do what he's told (mostly), but it's not the life he wants.

That moment of contact says a whole lot, and Anthony's face looks hopeful. So much is down to reading those quiet observations, signals he's sure he wouldn't have to pay such mind to if he was interested at all in ladies. It seems so much simpler, but the dance and the danger of it all is kind of appealing in its own right.

"I think so too, Mista Valentino~"

His own men don't even call him that - Mr. Valentino - unless they're in deep shit or appearances call for more formal displays of respect; it's usually Val, sometimes Tino, but there's something about the way Anthony says the whole thing that makes Valentino want to reach over and grab him by the chin. Push his tongue past his lips to see if he can taste the way his name fits in Anthony's mouth.

Mista Valentino. Fuck him, honestly. Respectfully and disrespectfully. Valentino shifts his knee out slightly, the movement subtle but indicative of his... interest in Anthony. This is very clearly the start of a dangerous game, but Valentino wouldn't be where he is now if he didn't love the thrill of it.

The rest of the drive is easy and relatively quick. The apartment building they pull up to isn't overly-flashy, but it's well-kept and takes up a whole block. Valentino pulls up to the curb and parks, and then he turns to Anthony and lifts a hand to point a finger in his face.

"Listen to me." He doesn't sound too serious, like what he's about to say isn't a major concern, but just a possibility. Nothing for Anthony to worry about too much either way. "Anybody gives you shit? You let me know. Handle it if you want, or let me handle it for you, but you need to tell me either way."

Valentino doesn't expect his boys to cause too much trouble - they've been made aware of a new body in the building, and he can't fault them if having their boss's son occupying the same space makes them a little bit uneasy - but he's already decided that no one will fuck with Anthony and get away with it.

He raises his brows, and then smiles. "Understood?" He does not pause. "Fantastic. Grab your case and I'll take you inside."

It might be a hold over from when Anthony was younger and slightly more respectful, particularly around his father's best man. He understood that feeling the man sparked in him better with age, and while his inner dialogue and fantasies toy with Valentino or Val, he feels he hasn't earned the right in the waking world.

"Yessir-" he starts, biting himself off with just a nod as Valentino continues. He expects to get at least a little ribbing as the new body on the scene, and not exactly a large or intimating figure at that. He let's himself self out and comes round to case the case, straightening his shoulder so he makes the best impression he can.

While the outside of the building is clean and cared for, it's also fairly unassuming, brown-red brick stacked up like most of the other buildings on the block. Inside, it's a little more luxurious than outward appearances would suggest. The lobby is spacious with a small set of stairs leading up to an elevator and what looks like a concierge desk tucked away just off to the right, manned by a single person that's probably paid very well.

Valentino leads Anthony inside with a subtle tilt of his head, indicating for him to follow. This time, though, the space left between them is intentional, and Valentino makes no move to take his suitcase off of his hands. He stops by the desk to the right of the elevator to ask for a specific key, briefly introduces Anthony to Eugene - the man behind the desk - who nods his head politely but otherwise doesn't say too much, and then Valentino guides Anthony to the elevator.

The lift takes them up four floors. Valentino reaches to slide the cage-like door open, and gestures for Anthony to step out before him, following him out. He leads him down a narrow hallway to a door near the end, uses the key they picked up in the lobby to unlock it, and then pushes it with his fingers so it swings open wide, creaking on its hinges.

"Fortunately," he says, sliding his hands into his pants pockets and leaning his shoulder against the wall just outside of the apartment. "We have room for you. Usually the building is full."

Another half-truth. This apartment has been vacant for a while now, used for storage more than anything else, though it's recently been cleared out. Compared to the rest of the building, it's nothing special, and it clearly has not been kept up with or updated in who knows how long. The paper on the walls is peeling in places, and there are a couple cobwebs tucked into corners here and there. A layer of dust on nearly every flat surface, water stains on the ceiling, carpet that looks like it should be ripped up and tossed in dumpster because there's no saving it. The apartment isn't tiny, but it's relatively small.

Val gestures with one hand for Anthony to go inside and have a look around. "Unfortunately... this apartment has seen better days."

The change demeanor's not entirely unexpected. Valentino's the boss, and his image needs to be safeguarded. Even if he weren't, that sort of flirting isn't something to be practiced out where anyone can see.

The lobby seems impressive enough and Anthony hopes are raised unfortunately high. Standing in front of that open door now, he does his best not to let the disappointment and apprehension show too plainly on his face.

"It's uh...it's fine," he tries to assure, taking it in with increasingly drooped shoulders. It's a mess. But he can hardly complain about it. He'll be labelled the bratty, pampered, boss's kid, and they'll be no shaking it. "I don' need nothin' special..."

Valentino's job requires many things of him, and one of those things is being able to read people at a glance. Analyzing body language, identifying motive, anticipating someone's next moves, etc. As much as Anthony tries to hide it, Val can see the disappointment threaded in his expression plain as day. He schools his own face easily to mask the subtle, satisfied smirk that wants to tease at the corner of his mouth, and pushes away from the wall with his shoulder so he can step into the open doorway.

Valentino laughs quietly and crosses his arms over his chest, lingering a small distance behind Anthony.

"It's a shithole," he says plainly. "You don't need to lie to me."

It's the worst apartment in the building, and no one's occupied it in years for a reason - but it's not the only vacancy. If Val just happens to casually forget to mention the other unoccupied apartments elsewhere in the building, well - he's a busy man. Sometimes things just - conveniently slip his mind.

For a few moments, he says nothing and just lets Anthony take in the state of the place. Eventually, he takes one step into the apartment, another, uncrossing his arms to drag his fingers through the dust on an old mantle.

"If you want it, it's yours." A pause as he rubs his fingertips together, much like he did back in Anthony's room. His voice drops slightly lower in volume and tone. "If you don't, I might have - something else for you."

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