Alessio (The Guzzi Legacy Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  “I like how others express themselves in words. Everyone is different. I’ll read just about anything—not a standard textbook meant to teach me something; I learn more reading things that aren’t being spoon-fed like I should fit in the same box as everyone else. You can tell a lot more about someone in the way they write than in the things they say.”

  “Huh.”

  She didn’t expect the response.

  Then, again …

  “That’s not the answer I expected you to give,” Alessio murmured. “But still a good one.”

  Yeah, she was full of surprises.

  “It’s the only right answer for me. That’s why I majored in English.” Ginevra shook her head, laughing under his breath. “Not that college matters with me here, I guess.”

  “You’ll get back to school, eventually.”

  “Who knows?”

  “You will. I’m sure he’ll make sure of that, if it makes you happy.”

  She stilled in place.

  Did he mean Corrado?

  Ginevra turned, only enough to watch Alessio where he stood in the doorway. Not much about him had changed in the time since she had seen him last. He still wore all black, from the jeans molded to his legs, to his leather jacket, and even the black necklace with a cross made of skulls hanging down from his throat. His face, still hauntingly handsome, seemed carved from stone. His eyes, hiding secrets and warring emotions, nailed into her from across the room.

  She stayed quiet as he scrutinized her. Not because he bothered her. Oh, he unsettled her, sure, and made her fine hairs stand on end, but she didn’t dislike it, though. She found something familiar in his gaze and recognized it. That intensity in his gaze as he surveyed her from a safe distance was the same way Corrado liked to watch her when he assumed she wasn’t looking.

  That was the unsettling part.

  The only thing that had changed about the man in the doorway since the last time she laid eyes on him was his hair. He lost the shaggy mane he seemed to hide his gaze behind. Shortened around the sides, but still long on the top to push the strands back, if he wanted. A touch wild, still, but more tamed.

  It suited him better.

  Not that she had any business thinking that at all.

  Then, all at once, Alessio rocked back on his heels, hands loose in his pockets, before he came forward, closing the distance between them. Ginevra didn’t know if she should keep standing there or get the hell out of his way. That concentration stayed in his gaze like he wanted to burn her to the ground right where she stood, but as though he also found her extremely interesting.

  Would he hurt her?

  Would he do something to her to hurt Corrado?

  Those were things she didn’t know.

  The closer Alessio came, the more Ginevra teetered on a sharp edge. He wasn’t the only one curious and muddled in his heart and mind. She only had to look at him to feel those things.

  What was it about him?

  There was something about him that Corrado loved—something that made him get out of bed far earlier than he normally would to chase a chance. What was it?

  She wondered … how did they fall in love?

  “What are you reading?” he asked.

  Ginevra broke their staring contest to look down at the book. “A Life Lived in Words by—”

  “Anonymous.”

  Swallowing hard, she peeked back up to find he stood next to her. She would still use overwhelming to describe this man, and his presence. Imposing fit, too, but she didn’t feel like he was imposing on her or this space she adored so much.

  “It’s my book,” Alessio said, “I found it at a used bookstore in Portugal. Figured it was … strange, spine cracked, pages smudged like someone had read the words repeatedly. One of five English books in that store.”

  “Maybe someone lost it?”

  “Possibly, but I bought it, and the book made its way into this library.”

  Ginevra blinked. “It’s yours.”

  “I just said that.”

  “No, I mean … the library here.”

  Alessio raised a single dark brow high, and with his new haircut, she realized how much easier she could see the things he had hid behind shaggy hair.

  “Corrado only reads things that are legal, and he needs to sign.”

  Ginevra laughed. “That can’t be true.”

  “Mostly, yeah.”

  “Someone needs to fix that. Did you dog-ear the pages, too?”

  The corner of Alessio’s mouth twitched. “And what if I did?”

  “That’s a crime.”

  “Well, it ain’t your book, girl.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him, half-playful and yet still serious. “Or use a fucking bookmark. And you can call me Ginevra, or Ginny. But not girl.”

  His lips twitched again.

  Then, he smiled.

  A full-blown grin.

  The first thing to come to her mind?

  My God.

  Because it was devastating.

  Not sardonic, or sly. Not jealous, or angry.

  No, just genuine.

  And his smile was beautiful.

  Ginevra’s heart squeezed painfully. What in the hell was wrong with her? She had no place thinking something like that about this man.

  Not at all.

  Alessio’s blue eyes flashed with something she didn’t recognize. Another thing he was holding back.

  Did he do that a lot?

  Stop, Ginevra, you don’t need to worry about this man.

  “I didn’t get the chance to finish the book,” Alessio said, dropping her gaze to peek at the book again. “And this thing, misunderstood and overlooked, vivid but understated, and which shatters and grows and is, will always be, at the heart, most human. For we love, we always love.”

  Ginevra blinked.

  Stunned.

  She said nothing as she flipped back the pages, knowing where to find those words he spoke. She found it easily. One of the first poems in the book. She remembered it, too, because she thought it was one of the best in the book. One or two, sometimes three, words to a line, three stanzas, of which he only spoke one, and yet, she felt every single syllable as it spoke of love being, at its core, human.

  The last stanza of three stared up at her from the stark white pages, the corner dog-eared like Alessio had intended to come back to it, and the edge of the paper smudged like someone touched it often.

  * * *

  And this thing,

  misunderstood

  and overlooked,

  vivid

  but understated,

  and which shatters

  and grows

  and is,

  will always be,

  at the heart,

  most human.

  For we love,

  we always love.

  * * *

  He had known it by heart.

  How long had it been since he had this book?

  And he remembered that?

  “One of my favorites in there,” he said.

  His fingers drifted along the edge of the book in her hands. When his fingertips brushed the side of her palm as he was pulling away, Ginevra froze. Not because he’d touched her at all, but because of the way it felt and what it did. How it warmed her and shocked her all at the same time. An energy she couldn’t explain, a shift that felt visceral.

  So fucking real.

  And not at all what she asked for.

  She glanced up only to find he wasn’t looking at the book at all, but rather, at her. Gone was that angry, dark glint in his eyes from earlier, now replaced with only that curiosity she had seen.

  How did the saying go?

  Curiosity killed the cat.

  “I don’t think I wonder why he found something in you,” Alessio murmured, “I wonder what it is.”

  Ginevra swallowed hard, confused by this man. “I didn’t ask for—”

  “That doesn’t change that it is—it’s a thing now.”
>
  Yeah.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Alessio tipped his head to the side, his grin deepening to something more sinful. It was enough to take her breath away, but that only left her perplexed. “Would you like to read the next one?”

  Needing to break his stare, she peered down, and flipped the page without thinking. The black words printed on the white paper stared up at her, and as her gaze took the poem in, she felt her cheeks heat.

  Damn.

  She’d forgotten what the next one was.

  * * *

  He sounds

  rough,

  when he needs you.

  There is

  fire,

  as he loves you.

  He discovers

  life,

  as he fucks you.

  * * *

  Ginevra’s voice grew faint, but hot, as she spoke the last word. It was all of one stanza, and twenty-one words. But it felt purposeful, as though he’d known what the next poem in the book would be, and he wanted her to read it.

  “Another favorite,” he murmured.

  She desperately wanted to look at anything but him, and yet, her gaze lifted to see what he looked like right then. So, she might know if there was something to see there that he wasn’t saying.

  Instead, she found him staring at her lips.

  “Did you like that,” he asked, his tone roughening, “watching us from the end of the hallway that night? Did you know we shared women? Us together, I mean. It was fun—fair game. And then there was you, and he broke the fucking rules.”

  “I—”

  “Yes or no suffices, Ginevra. You either liked seeing us like that—together—and you want to see more, or you didn’t. Yes or no.”

  Fine.

  If that’s the game he wanted to play.

  “Yes.”

  Alessio chuckled, his thumb edging along the page in the book before raising, so he could slide the pad of the digit against the seam of her mouth. She hadn’t expected the touch until it was right there, but she couldn’t find it in herself to back away.

  Not when he was looking at her like that.

  Yeah …

  Entirely overwhelming.

  That’s what this man was.

  “If you liked that,” he told her, “then you should see us when we fuck.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath.

  Alessio winked before leaning in and pulling his thumb away to drop a featherlight kiss to her lips. There was something wicked about the kiss. How his lips moved against hers, and then his tongue swept the seam of her mouth to coax it open for him. She didn’t need to be kissing the man whose lover she had been in bed with that morning, but she answered his kiss back.

  It felt natural.

  And sinful.

  Then, as fast as it had happened, it was over, and he stepped back. Not that it mattered.

  She felt it.

  Everywhere.

  The same way she could still taste him—a minty heat—lingering on her tongue and lips. Ginevra took a step back, too, needing the distance, and holding the open book closer to herself like that might stop him from doing it again. And why did she want that?

  Because she liked the kiss.

  As quick as it had been.

  She still liked it.

  “Why would you do that?” she asked, airless.

  To hurt Corrado?

  Or confuse her?

  To make this worse?

  Alessio lifted one shoulder, the hint of a smile creeping in. “I wanted to know if your lips were as soft as they looked, that’s all.”

  She still couldn’t breathe.

  “That was why?”

  “Does there have to be another reason?”

  Ginevra wished her throat wasn’t so tight, or that her heart would calm. “I think there is when the circumstances here are not—”

  “If I wanted to cause Corrado pain, because I know that’s what you think, I wouldn’t use you to do it. I know the best place to hit that man to make it hurt, and I promise it isn’t you. Not yet, anyway. We’ll see if that changes.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means, I kissed you because I wanted to. Nothing else, so don’t make it into something when it’s nothing.”

  It didn’t feel like nothing.

  She was sure, to him, it couldn’t be nothing.

  “But you shouldn’t—”

  “I shouldn’t do a lot of things I do, and here I still am, doing it.”

  Ginevra ran the tip of her tongue along the edge of her lips, finding more of his flavor there. “You’re a complex man.”

  Perplexing.

  And difficult, likely.

  She had that feeling.

  Alessio hummed low and waved a finger at her. “You’re not wrong.”

  Well, at least he knew what he was.

  That was a start.

  “You should go back to the spot where I had to stop reading, and start from there,” he said, turning and dropping into a nearby chair like his body was water, and it all moved at once. Hooking his combat boots one over the other at the ankles along the arm of the chair, he nodded at her. “Go on, it’s been a while since someone read me poetry.”

  “You want me to read to you?”

  “Why not?”

  Yes.

  That was a good question.

  Why not?

  Ginevra didn’t have an answer.

  So, she found the page he’d left dog-eared toward the middle of the book, the last marking he had made, and read. Alessio watched her the whole time, and she felt that, too.

  His gaze?

  Yeah.

  She felt that right down to her bones. Like he was trying to figure her out, or learn what made her tick by staring at her. But what did he think he would find?

  That was the better question.

  What the fuck are you nervous for? It’s Les. Les.

  Corrado’s thoughts were a special brand of his own personal hell as he parked his vehicle along the side of the restaurant that belonged to his twin. One of the few businesses Chris cared to use on his investment portfolio.

  Cutting the engine on the black Porsche, he stared at the windows lining the side of the business, but the glare of the sunlight kept him from seeing inside. Where would Alessio be sitting in there? Near a window to watch people—he liked doing that—so did that mean he could see Corrado right then? Or was he sitting nearer to the front?

  He drummed his fingers to the leather-wrapped steering wheel, trying to shake off that edginess. It didn’t work, instead burrowing even deeper into his heart. How long had it been since Alessio showed up in Toronto now?

  Two days shy of three weeks.

  Nearly three weeks Corrado had spent wondering, and worrying, and … too much. He knew Alessio needed his time, but that didn’t make it any easier on Corrado even though he still tried to give his lover space.

  And now …

  Now he wanted to close that space.

  Fuck it.

  Refusing to over think this more than he already had, Corrado pulled the fob, that also acted as the key, from the starter, and opened the Porsche’s suicide doors to step out into the bright daylight. The humid August air wrapped around his three-piece suit, reminding him that black had been a bad choice for the day, but screw it.

  He liked a good suit.

  Taking the walkway along the side of the building, he entered the restaurant at the front, stepping under the entrance enclave that welcomed patrons with gold and black drapery that spoke of the truth behind this place.

  Mob owned.

  Specifically, Guzzi owned.

  All one needed to do was look at the color scheme, gold and black. The Guzzi family colors, they showcased them on their coat of arms, throughout their businesses, and anywhere else they might be able to sneak it in. One of the few things someone was able to count on where his family’s legacy was concerned. Before the Guzzis had become synonymous with crime, they
had made their riches in black gold.

  Oil.

  Inside, Corrado greeted the woman behind the podium, but didn’t bother to let her direct him inside the restaurant. She recognized his face—it matched her boss’s, considering it was Chris’s place, and she was accustomed to the Guzzis coming and going. Beyond the entrance, Corrado found a busy restaurant waiting for him.

  Tables full.

  Booths at the windows busy, too.

  The breakfast bar had patrons milling around.

  Exactly as he thought. It wasn’t what he expected to find that irked the hell out of him, but rather, what he didn’t find.

  Alessio.

  Corrado’s gaze searched the large main floor of the restaurant, but he didn’t find Alessio’s familiar face. There was a small private dining area that Chris liked to use for private meetings, but he didn’t think Alessio would be back in the area.

  Which meant one thing …

  “Fucking hell.”

  Alessio had tricked him again.

  Corrado was tiring of that goddamn game.

  A quiet chuckle at his left had Corrado turning to see who was laughing, because for some reason, it felt like they were laughing at him. The universe seemed to enjoy having a laugh at his expense, so why would this be different?

  To his left, he found his twin.

  Chris drank from a cup of coffee with steam rising around the rim where he sat in a booth next to the window. “Looking for someone?”

  “Were you aware he planned this?”

  “I had breakfast with him this morning, so yes … and no.”

  Corrado’s jaw tensed. “And you didn’t give me a heads-up, or …?”

  “He showed up here, Corrado. He knows this is where I do business in the mornings, and where I take my breakfast. I figured out his plan after he asked if I would be around because you might show up. Right before he left.”

  A sigh passed his lips.

  Chris shrugged. “But hey, at least he’s out of the mansion now.”

  That made Corrado pause. “Excuse me?”

  “Ma and Papa’s place—that’s where he was staying.”

  “What?”

  And his mother and father didn’t think to tell him?

  That irked him, too.

  Sort of …

  To be fair, he hadn’t called his parents and asked them anything about Alessio, or his whereabouts, because he figured they probably didn’t know. Why would they? And, he also didn’t want to bother them with everything going on in his life, but especially the personal shit. Didn’t they have enough to deal with?