Not when he was mad again.
“So, what if this thing of ours has to change?” Corrado asked. “What if it makes it better?”
Alessio didn’t reply.
Corrado stepped back from him, letting the cold air wrap around Alessio as he moved out of the shower. He left behind a mess on the floor from the water dripping off his clothes, closed the shower without a word, and exited the bathroom with a slam of the door.
Only then did Alessio breathe again.
What if it makes it better?
Right.
Because it sure as hell couldn’t get worse.
7.
Corrado
Rolling over, because Corrado could no longer ignore the sun coming in through the windows of the bedroom, his hand slid across the top of the bedside table. Soon, he found the device he was looking for.
His cell phone.
He dragged a hand down his face, willing away the grumpiness he always felt first thing in the damn mornings, and pulled the phone closer to his face. He blinked, making the screen come into focus when he turned it on to check for something.
A missed call.
Any texts.
A fucking smoke signal.
Not that the last one was possible, but anything would be better than what he had been getting, which was nothing. Anyone else, he called or sent a word to, and they were quick to get back to him.
Andino Marcello was an asshole.
And he did not care.
Out of everything Corrado knew about the man, he was quite aware that Andino being an asshole was the most truthful. It was obvious Ginevra was missing her sisters, and that she worried about what was happening back home in New York. Regularly, Corrado had sent a message to check in with Andino just to make sure he was still where he needed to be, so was Ginevra, and that nothing had changed.
He never got a response.
Ever.
Corrado didn’t know why that was except to say Andino was being his usual asshole self and didn’t want to return a fucking call or message. What other excuse did the man have? Through the contacts Corrado had with his twin in the Guzzi Cosa Nostra, if Andino or any other Marcello was dead, then he would know it.
They were alive and well.
Except that one’s husband.
Cella Marcello, was it?
A bystander, Chris had told Corrado. Wrong place, wrong time, but it looked purposeful, too. Not that it made any fucking difference to Corrado either way.
If the Marcellos wanted to go to war in New York, then they could do that. He would rather keep Ginevra here with him while they did it, so she wasn’t another innocent bystander in their goddamn feud with her half-brothers’ organization.
And even so, she continued to worry.
Silently.
So, he kept sending messages.
Frustrated at the lack of a response from Andino—yet again—Corrado threw the phone to the blanket and rolled over so his back was against the headboard. Through the opened door of his room, he could see the empty bedroom across the hall from his. That wasn’t unusual, either, considering Ginevra was often up and around long before he ever was.
Same with Alessio.
He was not rolling his ass out of bed before nine if he wasn’t doing it to fuck someone. He didn’t make the rules of life—like needing sleep to survive—but he could sure as hell decide what he did about it.
It took Corrado too long to get out of his bed and make his way to the attached bathroom. He did his business, wishing he had just stayed in bed the entire time. Mornings were not his thing, and the less time he spent around other people, the better the rest of it went for him.
Why pretend?
The only exception to that rule was when someone was in the bed with him. And since that wasn’t happening, either, because both people he wanted to fuck decided they would rather sleep in their beds that weren’t his, then his ever-present pissy mood was a constant in the mornings.
What could he do?
He dressed, opting for gym shorts and runners because once he stuffed his face full of something suitable for breakfast, he would hit the gym in the penthouse. Corrado slipped out of the bedroom with his head down. He expected to find Alessio and Ginevra in the kitchen, making their usual noise and waiting for his moody ass.
Instead, he found it empty.
Well, mostly.
A plate of eggs, bacon, and toast waited for him in the warming rack of the oven. Still hot, and ready for him to eat. Huh. He pulled it out, ignoring the nagging sensation in his chest because fuck, he was selfish as hell, and yet, one of those two still thought about him and made sure he would eat.
Probably Ginevra.
Alessio didn’t cook—he ordered.
Corrado, balancing the plate in his palm and using a fork to stab into the eggs, he decided to go find the two. He figured they were likely in the library, pouring over a book because that’s what they enjoyed first thing in the morning, and it let him have quiet time after he woke up. Something he needed when he first woke up.
Bad moods, and all.
Corrado entered the hallway leading to the office, main bathroom, the gym, and the one spare bedroom Alessio was using at the far end. The connecting hallway led to the other bedrooms, his and Ginevra’s. He’d focused on getting out of bed, he hadn’t bothered to look around the corner when he came out.
Alessio leaned against the doorway of the gym, staring inside. Corrado set his fork to the plate, and picked up a strip of bacon, shoving half into his mouth while his brow furrowed at the sight of the man standing there, dressed, staring into the room like he was considering whether he wanted to enter.
“What are you do—”
Alessio waved the hand at his side, never looking Corrado’s way. He made an annoyed noise, passing the office library and realizing, it was empty. Ginevra wasn’t in there, either.
He figured out where Ginevra was when Corrado came to stand next to Alessio’s side. Inside the gym, the woman had slipped on the headphones Corrado liked to use when he was running in the mornings—it helped to distract him from the fact he wasn’t running on a trail—as she jogged on one of the four treadmills lining the far windows. Four treadmills, because each one served a different purpose, and did different things.
“So, she jogs,” Corrado said to Alessio.
Alessio nodded. “But for an hour or more?”
Corrado raised an eyebrow as he took in Ginevra again. No, that was unusual. Typically, if he woke up early enough to see her go into the gym, she jogged for twenty to thirty minutes, jumped in the shower, and then went about her day.
Oh, he liked watching her run, sure. He would not pretend like her lean form didn’t have his cock perking under the satiny cloth of his gym shorts, but he figured Alessio was trying to tell him something right then, and his lust could wait.
“That long?” he asked.
Alessio let out a hard breath. “Yeah.”
Huh.
“Something is on her mind—it’s bothering her,” Alessio murmured.
Corrado gave the man a look from the side. “Les, her whole life is a mess. Congratulations, you’re just realizing she is really good at compartmentalizing shit like you do. She tucks it all away, lets no one know she’s having a rough go, and continues on with her life. Between this here, New York, being without her sisters ... I would be shocked if she wasn’t one step away from a nervous breakdown.”
“So, we ... let her do this?”