Alessio (The Guzzi Legacy Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  “She’s not a man,” Alessio said, “so I shouldn’t have felt that way at all, but I did because you hid her and your intentions. You put me in this position, in this fucking head space I don’t want to be in, and I can’t jump right out of it because you snap your goddamn fingers and tell me to.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “But I don’t know what I want to do now, either,” Alessio muttered, “and that pisses me off more. You didn’t give me a choice here, Corrado. I’m here, or I’m gone. Those are the options I have … five fucking years with you, and those are the options I’m left with. To stay here, and watch you be with her because you want to, or walk away alone. It should be an easy choice—I’m tired of what we’ve been doing, but I’ve still got you, right?”

  “Until I die, yeah.”

  Alessio sneered, angry again just like that. “So, yeah, you put me back there like you did five years ago. Where I have to make the choice between keeping you, because at least I get a part of what I love, or walking away and having none of it. So thank you for that, really.”

  “Les—”

  “Just, don’t.”

  Corrado dragged in a heavy breath and dropped Alessio’s stare. “It’s only like that because you don’t want me to tell you what you want to hear right now because she’s involved. If she wasn’t here, you’d let me say and tell you all of it. The shit I didn’t say five years ago, the issues you kept running from, and I ignored … I’d say it but she’s here, and that changes it for you again.”

  Again, he wasn’t wrong.

  Alessio shook his head. “I want to understand why it was her. Why now?”

  They weren’t even questions.

  Mostly because, he didn’t know if there were answers.

  “I can explain it, but once I do, when it’s all out there, everything will change again. Is that what you want to happen? Because I will, Les. I’ll say what you wanted me to say for the last five years, but I will say something about her, too, and it will change things. So, if that’s what you need, and you want to handle all of it, then let me know.”

  Alessio stayed quiet.

  He heard what Corrado said.

  He knew what it meant.

  And fuck …

  “Not yet,” he said under his breath. “I don’t think I can understand yet, and I know it’s important to you, and this … I need time.”

  “Just tell me when.”

  Time for Alessio also meant space—he needed both. Which was fucking hilarious, the world was laughing at his stupid ass, because at the same time … he didn’t want to leave here. He needed to be here. Something inside told him he wouldn’t find what he needed away from Corrado, and this home.

  “I’m staying here, though. In this penthouse, I mean.”

  Corrado shrugged like he expected nothing different. “Our names are on the deed. It’s your home, too. You good?”

  “Not even close.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  But all it took was Corrado’s hand coming out from his side so that his fingertips could glide along the inner skin of Alessio’s wrist. A soft touch, something he wasn’t at all used to with this man when they were doing their thing. He expected roughness … but never in their quiet moments, he knew.

  Never then.

  Alessio let out a slow stream of air, flipping his hand around, and let his fingers weave with Corrado’s. The touch was brief, with featherlight pressure, and he didn’t look at his lover, but he needed that.

  A them moment amid everything else.

  It was good.

  Right.

  Then, Alessio let Corrado go, and moved to head out of the bedroom, but stopped beside him first to say, “And I kissed her earlier, so you know.”

  Corrado cleared his throat. “Did you?”

  “I did.”

  “Hmm.” Corrado glanced to the side, cocking a brow when his gaze met Alessio’s. “Was that because you wanted to hurt me, confuse her, or something else?”

  Alessio smirked.

  Really?

  “One—I don’t need to use her to hurt you. Ever.”

  “Fair,” Corrado replied.

  “Two—that woman is a lot of things, but confused isn’t one of them when she’s getting something she wants. And she wanted that.”

  “Be careful with that, she’s not used to this thing like we are.” Then, Corrado nodded, his tongue peeking out to run along the edge of his bottom lip. “So, your reason for doing it was the something else?”

  “I wanted to kiss her. That’s all.”

  “And you always take what you want, don’t you?”

  Alessio winked. “That I do.”

  Back in the living room, Alessio took his position on the couch he had vacated earlier. Ginevra looked his way as he picked up the book, too, but continued playing her game like nothing was happening. Corrado hung back in the hallway like he hadn’t decided whether he wanted to join them.

  “So,” Ginevra said, still watching the screen, her tone playful, “where is everyone sleeping?”

  The black Cartier watch on Alessio’s wrist ticked past twelve at night as Corrado stepped into the penthouse’s home gym. Corrado found Alessio perched on top of the bars they used for chin-ups. The single, smooth bar of metal secured between two beams wasn’t the most comfortable place to sit, but it gave him a better view out of the windows, and made him seem unavailable to conversation.

  Which he was because—

  “Is that the book Ginevra was reading?” Corrado asked.

  Alessio rolled his eyes and peered up from the words on the page. “The poems, yeah.”

  “Didn’t she take that to bed with her?”

  Why was he asking questions?

  It was easier not to ask.

  Alessio didn’t want to explain that he’d felt the strangest urge to sneak that book from Ginevra’s bedside table and take a peek at where she left off before falling asleep.

  “I’ll put it back before she wakes up,” he muttered.

  That was way too defensive, asshole.

  Corrado’s brow lifted, but he said nothing in reply to that. “Just curious.”

  “I noticed she’s not in your bed,” Alessio said.

  “You’re here,” Corrado replied. “I left the option open, if she wanted, and I think her conscience sent her across the hall.”

  Right.

  “Or her morals, yeah?”

  Corrado sighed. “Are they not the same thing?”

  “Not really. One means she might feel guilty, and the other says she thinks it’s wrong to have sex with someone in a relationship with someone else, Corrado. Guilt is a byproduct of an action.”

  “I don’t think the latter is the problem, all things considered.”

  “Or it becomes a problem when the other person is using the bedroom down the hall.”

  “I didn’t come find you to talk about where Ginevra is sleeping,” Corrado said sharply.

  Ah.

  Who’s defensive now?

  “Well,” Alessio said, shifting and dropping to the floor eight feet below soundlessly, “I suppose that means you’re sleeping alone then, doesn’t it?”

  Corrado gave him a look.

  Alessio just shrugged.

  That was his way of telling his lover he wouldn’t be joining him in bed, either. And if there was anything Corrado hated the most, it was sleeping alone. Maybe it was because he’d become used to Alessio sharing a bed with him over the years, or because he woke up ready to fuck as soon as he cracked his eyes open.

  It could have been a lot of things.

  “You should suffer a little,” Alessio murmured as he came to stand in front of Corrado in the doorway, “for what you did. Take your penance, Corrado.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Do you have something new to tell me?”

  “I have a question.”

  Alessio tipped his head to the side, tucking that book under his arm as he shoved his
other hand into his pocket. “Give it to me, then.”

  “Why did you go to my family when you needed time alone? I think I know … I want to hear you say it.”

  Alessio’s shoulders tensed at the question, his heart thundering with sharp beats that ached all the way through his bloodstream. If Corrado owed him certain things, then he might as well admit there was shit he should give back to the man, too.

  “They remind me of you.”

  Corrado’s gaze drifted over Alessio with slow intent. He wanted something. To be close—closer—to touch, or to fuck. To have the thing he wanted, or one, which was Alessio. It was his gaze that always told the truth when his mouth didn’t.

  “Oh?” Corrado asked, his stare coming back up to meet Alessio’s.

  “And even when I hate you, Corrado,” Alessio said, his words a whisper before he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Corrado’s mouth, pulling away just as fast to add, “I still love you.”

  He left Corrado alone in the gym.

  It was for the best even if it was the last thing he wanted. They could fuck this out like they did other fights they had in the past. They could find a familiar comfort in the physical side of this together. The thing was, it would only work for so long. More shit swept under a very dirty rug.

  It wouldn’t fix it.

  Sometimes, the right choice was the hard one.

  Including walking away.

  Tucked into the checkered pattern bucket chair, with her feet resting on the ottoman, Ginevra was more interested in the two men across from her rather than the movie. Alessio, comfortable in a chair, set his arms along the recliner, and Corrado, on the couch next to him, kept glancing over at the other man.

  Something was bothering Corrado … She could tell in the way he kept shaking his head subtly, and his gaze kept narrowing back on Alessio every twenty or so seconds.

  Ginevra couldn’t figure out what.

  It could be anything, really. A week after Alessio decided he was staying in the penthouse, and she wasn’t sure what any of them were doing together, or what was happening. They all gave each other a wide berth of space, safe conversation was a must, and nobody stepped on anyone’s toes.

  She was back to sleeping alone.

  So were they.

  They all moved around each other like they were familiar strangers, as if that was possible. Nods in the mornings, and hellos at the table. Little else, though. She was sure Alessio and Corrado hadn’t worked out their issues, and she hadn’t settled herself with everything happening here, but for now … this was what they did.

  Nothing.

  It was awkward.

  “Jesus Christ, will you give me those?” Corrado snapped.

  Alessio turned his attention from the television, a smirk playing at that edges of his lips as he did so. “Does it bother you that badly?”

  “Yes, it’s annoying. You know I hate it when you let them get like that.”

  What were they going on about?

  Ginevra tucked herself tighter under the blanket she was using while watching the movie. This way, she could hide her grin because for a brief second, Alessio and Corrado looked like lovers arguing with one another, and not … whatever in the fuck they had been for the last week.

  She liked this sight of them more.

  And that only left her confused.

  “Fine,” Alessio muttered.

  In a blink, he flipped his wrist over, placing it across the arm of the couch where Corrado was sitting at the end. Ginevra watched, fascinated and amused, as Corrado seemed too pleased while he untangled the thin, black braided bracelets on Alessio’s wrist. Maybe fifteen. All twisted into a mess of a knot because of the delicate design.

  Corrado worked in silence, his gaze lifting to check what was happening on the movie, before he went back to untangling again. Alessio, as though this was normal and something Corrado did, paid the other man no mind.

  Did they do this often?

  Sometimes, she thought they forgot Ginevra was in the penthouse with them. They often had silent conversations, even when standing across the room from one another. Shared looks, and quiet noises she didn’t understand, but they seemed to comprehend from the other just fine.

  It was yet another testament to her about just how long these two men had been together. That their lives, even if on the outside they seemed entirely different, were very intertwined. They fit better together, but for now, they were still too far apart.

  And she was right in the middle.

  It took all of five minutes.

  Alessio pulled his arm back when Corrado released his wrist, all the braided cords sitting nicely against each other instead of the mess they had been. “Better?”

  Corrado shrugged. “Getting there.”

  “Hmm.”

  Ginevra raised a brow, wondering what in the hell she had just watched. “How did you two meet?”

  Corrado stilled on the couch, but didn’t take his gaze away from the screen. Alessio tipped his head sideways as he peered over at Ginevra.

  “Work.”

  “Easy,” Corrado muttered.

  “She asked.”

  “That doesn’t mean she needs to know.”

  “Except that’s exactly what it means.”

  Corrado let out a sigh and pushed up from the couch. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye, or explain what he was doing before he left the sitting room, and disappeared into the hallway. Ginevra was still staring at the spot where he’d left when Alessio grunted under his breath, gaining her attention instead.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  Alessio clicked his tongue. “He doesn’t talk well.”

  “He talks perfectly fine.”

  “Okay, his communication is sometimes shit.”

  Ginevra considered it. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

  “And he’s in a mood.”

  “I figured. It’s the whys.”

  Alessio chuckled. “He’s sleeping alone, and he isn’t getting to fuck first thing when he wakes up. He doesn’t have quiet time in the morning because when he does roll his ass out of bed, there’s already two other people in this house that have been up for hours. Oh, and he doesn’t like to run on a treadmill, but he hates jogging on a city street, so all he has is the gym here. He ran out of his favorite whiskey he likes in his nightly coffee three days ago and hasn’t gone out to get more. The current ringtone on my phone irritates the hell out of him, but he won’t tell me to change it. You sat on the chair instead of next to him when we started the movie. Pick one, Ginevra.”

  She blinked.

  He … knew all of that.

  Like he’d been keeping a tab.

  “I’m very out of place here,” she murmured.

  Alessio’s amusement faded. “Or you need time to learn.” He waved a hand, adding quieter, “He’s moody, difficult, and fickle. Constantly. His mornings often determine how the rest of his day is going to go, and God knows it’s better for everyone when it goes well. And yet, he puts up with my shit, too, or the fact he has to turn on the heat in the penthouse at night because you won’t sleep under a blanket.”

  Ginevra guffawed. “That’s—”

  “The truth. Everybody’s human, and it’s not the flaws that make up the person … we all have those, and it’s only a small portion of what defines us. Corrado isn’t easy to deal with, but I’m not perfect, either, and neither are you. If you want to know why he gets into his moods, then pay attention. You’ll figure it out, too.”

  They stared at each other, but neither spoke. He had offered her something—the confirmation she was wanted here, by at least one. And she was kind enough not to point it out to him.

  Alessio had his pain, after all.

  “So, will you tell me how you met?”

  She figured a change in subject was needed.

  Alessio let out a steady stream of air, his smile growing again. “The League.”

  “What is—”

  “An …
organization,” he interjected carefully. “Do you want me to be frank, or color it up with goodness for you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I know where you came from—who you are. So, you’re aware of some things about this world, and how it works. You recognize things are not always black and white because some of us, like me and Corrado, or the people you come from, live in shades of gray.”

  “Corrado told me he was worse than them once. Made men, I mean. The mafia.”

  Alessio nodded. “He’s not wrong, either.”

  She stilled, a chill running down her spine. “But what does it mean?”

  “The League trains people—we walk in one way and walk out another. Think of it like this … a man comes back from a war, he has a very specialized set of skills that is no longer useful to his country, and won’t help him in civilian life. What’s he to do?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “The League does. They’ll train him, and he’ll either become an independent contractor for the organization, or he’ll be auctioned off to a buyer who will decide, depending on his skill set, what kind of jobs he might do. Recons, hits, robberies, recoveries … more. It all depends on what someone needs, and what the person with the skills is capable of. The training takes place over a year, it’s intensive, and it’s hard.”

  “That’s …”

  “Overwhelming, isn’t it?” Alessio asked, chuckling. “It’s a lot to take in. Sounds like a fucking movie, huh?”

  “Like it’s not real.”

  “Except it is, and from the time I was ten, it’s what I’ve done with The League. I’ve been to twenty-eight countries, I have taken out the potential leader of a major rebellion for a government who couldn’t have it on paper, and I have been on a team that went after a politician’s daughter to remove her from the traffickers who took her from a family vacation on a cruise. I killed a mob boss’s rival because he was causing too many problems, but he couldn’t be attached to the hit. What do you think I do for a living, Ginevra? Or Corrado?”

  “Hitmen doesn’t sound like the right word.”

  Alessio scoffed. “Not even close.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Well, everybody likes to call it something different, but The League likes to say they train assassins. Highly skilled, dangerous, and useful depending on who has deep enough pockets to buy one of us.”