Although, Les was to blame for that.
It made him see fucking red to think of Corrado sleeping with another man, but it didn’t bother him at all to know during his last job, his lover hooked up with a woman at a club he frequented. And it wasn’t different for Alessio, either. He had the same benefits in this mess that Corrado did.
The only thing was no other men.
And they always told each other the truth.
Simple as that.
Alessio just didn’t understand why they were still here, deeper into this mess together than ever before, when it seemed like the only people who mattered around them already knew the truth. Even if no one was saying it out loud.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Corrado said, “and yeah, I’ll talk to you soon, Marcus.”
The call ended.
Alessio kept his back facing Corrado as he headed for the walk-in closet where their collection of everything stayed safe behind glass counters and shelves. There, he found a particular watch he wanted—encrusted with diamonds around the face, with a black background, and gold hands to tell time. He affixed it to his wrist, adding a couple of beaded bracelets around it that cost a fraction of what the watch did. A black cross made up of miniature, worn metal skulls attached to a leather cord dangled from his hand before he quickly slipped it over his head, letting it hang from his neck.
On jobs, he didn’t wear jewelry.
Nothing but black.
Nothing to distinguish him, or give him away. He’d just come back from a quick trip with the team over in Romania, but he doubted he would have another job for a while. Dare tried to space them out a bit, unless something came up that couldn’t be helped.
When not on assignment, Alessio wore whatever the fuck he wanted, his style a mixture of dark grunge, and excess. Like the watch. Corrado, on the other hand, looked like every other fucking Guzzi that Alessio had ever met. Dripping in wealth, and carefully put together. Not a hair out of place, and suits were preferred to jeans.
Although, Corrado did like his leather jacket.
It worked, though.
“You good?” Corrado asked, coming into the closet to stand just beyond the doorway.
Alessio shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, I just got that feeling, Les.”
Right.
That feeling.
“This whole thing with us is all about that feeling, yeah,” Alessio murmured.
“What does that mean?”
Corrado had his thing.
Nobody asked about what the fuck was going on with him and Alessio, so he didn’t offer the information willingly.
Alessio had his thing, too.
He dwelled on everything, overthought it all, and when all else failed ... he managed to overreact, too.
Corrado wasn’t working on his thing.
Alessio was trying with his.
Like now.
“Nothing,” he said, willing to drop it, “I’m just running off at the mouth, and—”
The phone in Corrado’s hand rang again.
Alessio wasn’t even offended.
He just got back home from a job that had him away from this place, and his person, for three long goddamn weeks; he didn’t want to fight. Especially not about something that had never changed in nearly five years.
What did it even matter?
“Les,” Corrado said, ignoring the call, “are we good?”
He looked back at his lover.
His.
That was the thing.
Corrado was still his.
Nothing else counted but that.
“Yeah, man, we’re good,” Alessio said “Answer your phone.”
17.
Corrado
Keeping his gaze locked on Alessio, because Corrado figured this conversation wasn’t over, he answered the call ringing through to his phone without checking the ID. Alessio ignored him all the while, confirming to Corrado that despite what his lover might be saying, there was something wrong.
He planned on figuring out what.
Right after this call.
“Corrado here,” he said into the phone.
“What’s it been, Corrado, two or so years?”
He stiffened at the unmistakable voice on the other end of the call. “About that, Andino. Can’t say that time bothers me, though.”
Alessio tipped his head up, and eyed Corrado curiously at the mention of a man’s name who lived in New York. Way the hell across the country from them.
Andino Marcello chuckled. “That’s fair. I could say the same for you.”
Something like that.
“What do you want?”
“My uncle. Lucian, remember him?”
Shit.
Yeah, he remembered.
The way this conversation was going, Corrado decided here wasn’t the best place to have it, all things considered. Turning his back to Alessio, he headed out of the large walk-in closet, and back into the comfort of their spacious bedroom.
“What about him?” Corrado asked, coming up next to the chair Alessio liked to use when he tied his combat boots back around the ankles. “And spare me any bullshit. I don’t have the time.”
“Still as moody as ever, huh?”
“And?”
Andino sighed. “A couple years back, you were in New York on a job, and one of his people ended up caught in the mess. Lucian stepped in to help sweep that under the rug, and you promised him a—”
“Favor,” Corrado muttered, his hand curling around the edge of the chair. No one was supposed to know about that favor—Lucian gave his word. Corrado hadn’t been new to The League when that fuck up happened, but it had been one of his first few solo jobs. He didn’t want to go back, and say he’d caused problems with a crime family as big as the Marcellos, so he worked something else out. “Well, what does he want, then?”
“Oh, he’s allowing me to cash in the favor instead of him.”
Great.
“And what is it?”
“Seems I’m supposed to be getting married on the twenty-fifth of July to Ginevra Calabrese. She’s twenty-one, new to this whole ... mafia bit, and whatnot. Ever heard of that family?”
“A bit,” Corrado admitted. “I don’t see what you getting married has anything to do with me or this favor I owe, though.”
“Oh, I don’t plan on actually getting married. See, that’s where you’re going to come in. I need that girl to disappear.”
Corrado blinked. “What?”
“I didn’t stutter.”
“You want me to take out a woman you’re supposed to marry?”
Because fuck, that was kinda cold.
A little bit.
Then again, Andino was known for being a manipulative asshole when he wanted to be. He didn’t give a shit who it was, either. Blood or not.
“No,” Andino said, laughing darkly. “She needs to go away for a while. This marriage ... it’s a sham. A way for her family to try to get a place within the Marcello ranks, and I won’t allow it to happen. And so, she needs to go. And by that, I mean somewhere else, out of this country, for a spell of time. A few months, maybe. I figure, you have dual citizenship to Canada, I’m sure you have homes to use there, and I know you have the means and motives to keep her safe and out of sight for a while. It’s perfect for me.”