Alessio’s groan echoed.
Corrado still had trouble breathing because the pain flooded back in, so air came second. It was worse, too, taunting him for daring to forget it.
Alessio held him tighter.
Somehow, that helped.
• • •
“You good?”
Alessio nodded at Corrado’s question and took the cigarette Bene offered him next to the bright red Lambo his brother loved. “Yeah, I’m fine out here. This asshole will keep me company.”
“Nice,” Bene muttered around his own cigarette as he attempted to light it. “Papa’s waiting in the kitchen, Corrado, don’t fuck around.”
Right.
“I’m running low on time,” Alessio said as he turned to head for the mansion entrance, “I have to be on the road in twenty minutes to make my flight.”
Loneliness stabbed at Corrado’s back.
He didn’t turn around, though.
“Yeah, I got it.”
Inside the mansion, Corrado navigated the familiar halls until he stood in the kitchen entryway. It wasn’t only his father waiting. Cara sat on a stool at the island, flipping through a home décor magazine while she sipped from her tea. On the other side of the island, his father stared his way.
Gian cleared his throat. “Cara.”
Glancing up from the magazine, Cara peered at her husband, who nodded in Corrado’s direction. His mother didn’t smile at him, but in her stare, he still found love. The same as his father. That was the thing about his parents—he might fuck up, and he had, but they still loved him.
Unconditionally.
Wasn’t that love?
“Where is Marcus and Chris?” Corrado asked.
He’d thought his twin, and oldest brother would be around. Or, that’s what he had been told about this quick meeting.
Gian set his coffee down. “Chris got stuck in traffic—an accident, apparently. Marcus had to handle something else. He’ll come later, but I assume you’ll be gone by then.”
“All right.”
“Care to tell me about last night, and why I now have a dead man—a made man—to bury, and explain to the rest of my organization what happened that caused his death, Corrado?”
No.
He still did.
Corrado talked through the events of the night before in a monotone, not bothering to justify his actions, or where they led them to now. He’d done wrong—crossed a line. Oh, sure, he wasn’t the least bit fucking sorry for it. But yes, he had gone too far.
So, he was here.
He expected to be punished for it.
“I apologize for putting you in a bad position,” Corrado finished.
Gian sighed, his fingers drumming against the countertop. “That’s a careful choice of words, yeah?”
“He deserved what he got, Papa.”
“Perhaps, or he might have been another old fool with an opinion to share because of his raising, Corrado.”
He scoffed hard. “People don’t get to use age or their raising as a reason for their bigotry or homophobia—they just are those things, and they don’t want to change. Don’t excuse him, or people like him, thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, but ... point taken.”
Cara made a noise under her breath and peered at Corrado over her shoulder with a sharp stare that pinned him in place. All mother’s had that one look. That stare that put the fear of God into her children, even if she had never raised a hand to them, let alone her voice. When his mother turned that look on him, Corrado wouldn’t be stupid enough to open his mouth and make it worse.
“And what about others?” she asked.
“What?”
“He is—was—not the only person in this world who will have an opinion and something to say about your life, the choices you make, or the way you love, not to mention ... the people you choose to love, Corrado.”
“I’m aware.”
“So, what about them?” Cara demanded. “Are you going to beat the life out of every person who dares to say something you don’t like? Because that’s the thing, son. He’s one of many, and the next comment that hurts is right around the corner. You cannot kill every person who has something to say about you, or them.”
“Why, because you agree with them?”
Cara’s expression didn’t change. “You know far better than that.”
He did.
“Sorry, Ma.”
Cara turned more on the stool, resting her hands in her lap as she spoke to say, “The world is full of close-minded people who will have no problem opening their mouths. It’s up to you whether what they say or think matters to your life or choices. It’s up to you to decide if what they say matters. You have been fine to stick your head in the sand and hide your activities before now ... but that can’t continue, and it’s not going to work after last night.”
Corrado’s chest ached from the tightness. Nothing his mother said was untrue. That didn’t mean he liked it pointed out to him like this, not that he was being given a choice. Hell, perhaps that was it.
Someone needed to say it.
And he needed to hear it.
“Figure out a better way to deal with people like that, and your issues,” his mother finished quieter, “and a way that doesn’t involve your hands taking their life.”
Right.
Easier said than done.
“I will handle my people,” Gian said, “because there isn’t much someone can do when you’re not made, and you don’t belong to this organization, Corrado. Being a member of The League saved you retribution for this, and I hope you know that.”
“I didn’t. I still expected something.”
“And you’re ready for it.”
Corrado lifted his shoulders. “I did what I did.”
“Be careful when you come home to visit,” Gian said, waving a hand. “Respectful, and mindful of your words and actions. They will watch to make sure you’re not stepping out of line against them after this. Do you understand me?”
Everything about the mafia came down to semantics.
Theatrics.
“I got it,” he replied.
Gian tipped his chin in Corrado’s direction. “Then, that’s all I have to say. I know Alessio is catching a flight soon, yes?”
“Too soon.”
That’s all he offered.
Corrado tried not to think about it.
“Better spend the time you have with him, then.”
Yeah.
Cara pushed off the stool before Corrado turned to leave, and he waited as his mother joined his side.
“I’ll walk you out.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
Corrado almost smiled. His mother wanted something, and so, she would get it.
Cara grabbed a shawl hanging from a hook in the entry hallway and took her time wrapping her shoulders. She smiled over at her son, a familiar softness coming back into her eyes as she murmured, “I would ask you to stay for lunch, but ...”
“Les has to leave, and I’m not in the mood, Ma.”
“I bet. Your father didn’t want to mention it because he didn’t want to upset you more but I’m sorry. I’m sure this’ll work out, Corrado.”