Alessio smirked to himself. “Start with why you joined, then.”
“Because I don’t fit in anywhere else, and this seemed like the right place to figure out what I was made of without ruining my family’s legacy, too.”
“What?”
Corrado shook his head. “Cosa Nostra, what Guzzis are, is not a good fit for me and my ... lifestyle, as they would call it. Like it’s a fucking choice that I like to fuck guys and girls. They act like you wake up this way, and decide yes, I am going to like both.”
“Who said it would ruin a legacy to be bi? That sounds dramatic.”
“The mafia is a lot of things—ragingly homophobic is sometimes one of them. Not so much my blood, but others ... people around them. It would be bad for the people I do care about, and I just never felt like I fit in.”
Ah.
Alessio scoffed under his breath, thinking how ridiculous that sounded. “Being bi never ruined anything for me.”
“You’re not one of us, either.”
Okay, that stung a little.
Not because Corrado was wrong, but because he also wasn’t right. That pendulum swung both ways, and Alessio’s mouth worked to tell the man exactly that before he would think better of it.
“Not that you know, but I’m the illegitimate son of Maximo Sorrento.” Alessio saw the way Corrado’s shoulders tensed at those words, and he almost wanted to laugh at the sight, but he held back. “Yeah, now you get it, huh? Maximo, who went mad before he died ... who almost ran his whole organization into the ground after having a stronghold on Vegas for decades. That’s my father, and you can be sure there are enough people who didn’t want to let me forget it, either.”
He expected Corrado knew exactly who he was talking about, if only because Maximo, like Corrado’s father, were bosses—or Alessio’s father was before his death—of major Cosa Nostra crime families. That meant, business often exchanged hands between families when Italians were known for being distrustful to organizations beyond their own.
Corrado cleared his throat, still staring at the table. “Sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter. I barely knew him, I was two when he died. He was old enough to be my fucking great-grandfather, too, fucking someone who could have been the same age as his granddaughter. Everybody wears stains, you know?”
“Huh.”
Shifting from foot to foot, Alessio added, “But it followed me after ... probably didn’t help that my mother made a mess of herself. Overdosed when I was ten.”
Corrado never looked away from the table, but his jaw worked as he chewed over his words. Finally, he said, “It ... wasn’t like that for me and Chris. Never chaotic, and we weren’t ever neglected. I sound like a selfish fuck to you, don’t I?”
“Sometimes.” Alessio laughed, adding, “But I don’t fault you for it.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Are you going to tell me what your brother is pissed off about, or what?”
Corrado glanced up from the table, a storm brewing in his eyes. “He wants to speak to our father.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen for a while.”
“But more our ma, I think, even if he won’t admit it.”
Alessio made a noise, dismissive and cold, although he didn’t mean for it to sound that way. “Yeah, can’t relate to that at all.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s not—I don’t know what I would do without my ma.”
Alessio eyed him, chewing on the inside of his cheek as a million and one thoughts tumbled through his head. “What’s that like, anyway?”
“Hmm, what?”
“Having a mother that loves you. I wouldn’t know.”
Corrado shifted on the chair, never looking away from Alessio. “It’s ...”
“Yeah?”
“Hard to describe. I love my ma.”
Alessio nodded. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like, either.”
• • •
“Recon and retrieval—Siberia, in a prison camp, we believe.” Dare tossed the folder to the desk, but Alessio didn’t bother to reach out and grab it. He was more focused on the image of the man in question that had apparently been missing for close to a decade. A prominent Russian mobster’s son, who had disappeared during a war with a rival family. “We’ve had eyes on who we trust is him. The team will go in with you after you’ve done your recon and sent information back for the plan to be finalized.”
Alessio’s brow furrowed. “How long is the assignment?”
“Three weeks to a month, depending on how things go.”
“And the client is—”
“The father, obviously. He knows it’s a risk to go in and try to get the son out, but one he is willing to risk considering the man will die inside the camp otherwise. You are not to get close enough without the team that you might get caught. Do you understand me?”
Alessio gave Dare a look. “I’m not an idiot. I know how to do proper recon.”
“I’m just—”
“If you’re not ready for me to do an assignment, then just say that.”
Dare swallowed hard, but straightened where he was standing beside his desk. “I do think you’re ready.”
“I didn’t say me. I said you.”
“That’s not the same thing. The assignment is on the table, and it was given to you. That’s what matters. There is no whether or not you want it, or if you would rather stand there and argue with me over my feelings ... you take that folder, and you do the job you were given. It’s that simple, Les.”
But was it?
He didn’t think so, not after knowing he’d asked for a job since before he turned eighteen, and here he was almost two months later, still wondering why now was the time Dare finally gave him a job. It rubbed him the wrong way, and he wasn’t entirely done with this conversation, but for now, he also didn’t get a choice.
Dare was right.
The job was given to him.
The file was there.
He had to take it.
Alessio snatched the folder up from the desk, and turned to leave the office without another word. He didn’t have anything else to say when it was already done, after all.
Dare made him hesitate with, “And the cameras to your rooms have been permanently turned off, by the way.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t think to mention it, but ... you seem to be busy with something, you know.”
Something.
Someone.
Same difference.
“I appreciate it,” Alessio said, not turning around.
“You know the rules, Les.”
Yeah, yeah.
Don’t let it affect The League.
All that good shit.
“I got it,” he muttered, leaving the office altogether.
How could he not?
• • •
What time did Corrado finally stumble into Alessio’s room? Well, he wasn’t sure, but it was far too early in the morning for him to be making that much noise.
The clock on the nightstand said four.
In the morning.
Alessio was still trying to grumble his way back to sleep when the bed dipped after the shuffling of Corrado shedding his clothes to the floor woke him up in the first damn place. “I know you have your own bed, asshole.”