The Guzzi Legacy: Vol 1

by Bethany-Kris

  Sitting at a large metal table, surrounded by dismantled pieces of several guns, Corrado stared hard at the wall, lost in his thoughts. His brow, dipped in concentration, knotted further before he shook his head. Still, he kept staring like he wasn’t willing to get back to work.

  This was meant to be a fun task, too, for the most part. Or rather, something that most prospects enjoyed. Getting set in front of a mess of dismantled weapons and being told to figure out what went with what was a hell of a lot easier than getting the shit beat out of you in the gym, after all.

  “Problem?”

  Corrado’s head swung around at Alessio’s question. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, and gave the man across the space a look. A silent, well?

  “You spy a lot,” Corrado muttered. “People don’t like that, you know?”

  Alessio shrugged. “Keeps me in the loop.”

  “Well, stop.”

  Probably not.

  He didn’t tell Corrado that.

  “What’s going on? That’s the first time I’ve seen Chris get that pissed here.”

  And it wasn’t like the other Guzzi twin didn’t have a reason to get mad at The League. Everyone here had one reason or another to get pissed at someone or something. That was the whole point of this goddamn place—to push one’s limits to the breaking point, and then beyond.

  “It’s nothing,” Corrado muttered, and then, he held up a tiny spring, “is this for the AR or the AK?”

  Alessio arched a brow. “Neither.”

  “Fuck.”

  Corrado threw the spring back to the table, clearly disgusted that he’d been wrong. Folding his arms over the white T-shirt stretched across his chest, he glared at the many pieces he still had left on the table. No one ever told them how many guns were on the table, but it became obvious once someone started counting the clips and magazines.

  Usually six to seven. All in as many little bits as they could be broken down into so that it could be more challenging. Little nuts and everything. Yeah, it was like a whole puzzle.

  But with guns.

  “Are you avoiding what that was all about with your brother because you’re in a mood, or ...?”

  Corrado glanced up, his brow furrowing as he took Alessio in again. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  Because wouldn’t that be typical Corrado?

  Alessio figured so.

  Corrado shook his head, dropping Alessio’s stare as he reached for more parts to begin his task again. Negative reinforcement was a popular tactic at The League—this task wasn’t any different than the others. So, if he didn’t get those guns put together, now made more difficult by the fact he was doing it alone, then he was going to be here all night.

  No dinner.

  No bed.

  No sleeping.

  Nothing.

  He would be here until he finished.

  That’s how it worked.

  Alessio didn’t miss that Corrado was quick to work, though. That he didn’t care he’d been left alone to do the task, or that he would probably be here for a few more hours because of it, either. He didn’t complain; he simply got to work.

  That meant good things.

  “Chris is in a different place than me,” Corrado muttered as he eyed a small clip. “That’s all. He came here with intentions that were way different from mine, and they’re catching up to him. It’s not about me, or even him ... it just is what it is.”

  Alessio tipped his head to the side, considering that. “Because he stayed here for you, and you joined because—”

  His words cut off, and he realized then that, in fact, he had no idea why Corrado chose to join The League as a new prospect. He’d never thought to ask. Then again, there was a lot he never asked a guy he now regularly woke up to sleeping next to him in bed, or even, found him waiting for Alessio when he went back to his rooms at night.

  It seemed like that was just how the two of them transitioned. All it took was a moment in Alessio’s rooms a month ago, and the next day, shit was different. Or, that’s how it started, with different things between them, until the two of them found a routine that worked for them in their private, quiet moments. They didn’t talk about shit—they just did it. Alessio liked it that way, and he suspected Corrado did, too. Otherwise, they wouldn’t keep doing it.

  As for everyone else ...

  If someone noticed, they didn’t say.

  Dare never mentioned it to Alessio, and neither did Cree, but that wasn’t unusual, either. As long as no one was being forced to do something, and it didn’t affect what was happening at The League, they were willing to let whatever happen.

  “Why’d you stop talking?” Corrado asked.

  “I just realized, I never asked you why you joined.”

  Sure, he heard the things Corrado’s father said in Dare’s office that first night. Corrado and his twin had made passing comments. But he never outright asked, and got the information from Corrado.

  “And you know, that there’s a lot of other shit I don’t ask you about you ... or your life away from here,” Alessio added.

  Corrado looked up from the table again. “You want my life story, or ...?”

  He gave him a look.

  Corrado replied in kind.

  Rolling his eyes, Alessio muttered, “It was just a thought, that’s all.”

  Corrado went back to work, seemingly pleased with himself when he found the right barrel for a specific body piece he’d been tinkering with for a couple of minutes. “Ha, fucking piece of shit, I got it.”

  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.”

  Corrado chuckled. “Yours is firmer.”

  Well ...

  “Is it?”

  “Maybe. And warmer.”

  Alessio grinned, and turned to his stomach where he could bury most of his face into the pillow. Cracking just one eye open, though, he stared at Corrado who laid on his back, a hand splayed over his naked chest, while he stared at the ceiling. He said nothing, simply reached over to drag the tips of his fingers through the longer bit of Corrado’s hair where his high fade started to darken.

  Just as quickly, he pulled his hand back, the need to touch him satisfied. He was there. All was good to Alessio—he simply needed the reminder.

  He never spoke it out loud, though.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Why bother?

  Corrado glanced over at Alessio, his dark eyes drifting over him in the bed beside him before he stared back up at the ceiling. It was in their quiet moments where Alessio found peace. He had quiet before—time when he was completely alone, no distractions. And yet, it wasn’t the same when it was just him and Corrado.

  Here, they decompressed.

  Here, nothing mattered.

  Here, it was just them.

  Silently, Corrado’s hand slipped off his chest to find Alessio’s against the sheets. His fingers curled tightly with Alessio’s, and wove together, tucking their hands next to his hip where their bodies were close enough to hide the touch.

  “If I never see another dismantled gun again, that would be great.”

  Alessio barked out a tired laugh. “Tomorrow, you’ll have five new guns waiting.”

  “Fucking bull—”

  “It’s a good lesson to learn.”

  “Right,” Corrado mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his unshaven jaw. “I’ll remember that. What’s that file for, anyway?”

  Alessio stiffened.

  Corrado didn’t miss it.

  “What?”

  “The one on the stand?”

  “That’s the only one in this room, isn’t it?”

  Alessio’s jaw clicked from how hard he clenched it to hold the words back. He wasn’t sure why, all of the sudden, he didn’t want to tell Corrado about his assignment, but the urge was strong. They were just starting to figure whatever this was out—if someone wanted to call it that, but he didn’t know if he would.

  Nonetheless, that didn’t make it any less true. And here they were, at this unsteady point, and now he was about to head out to a whole different country for three or four weeks? That sounded like a problem waiting to happen.

  “Les,” Corrado murmured, waiting.

  “It’s ... uh, a job.”

  That time, Corrado stiffened. “A job?”

  “Mmm.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  Then, another.

  Alessio waited it out.

  “Can you say what it’s for, or no?”

  “Recon and retrieval—Siberia.”

  “Interesting,” Corrado replied.

  “Could be a month, maybe a little
less.”

  “Huh.”

  Alessio eyed him, trying to find something. Corrado’s tone gave nothing away, and neither did his shadowed features in the darkness. Still, something just felt off.

  “Hey,” Alessio said.

  “What?”

  “What are we doing? Us, I mean. What is it?”

  That seemed important to ask.

  Wasn’t it?

  Shouldn’t they get that part figured out here?

  “Nothing, Les.”

  Alessio didn’t move a muscle. “Nothing?”

  Corrado looked over at him, still as blank as paper. “Yeah ... I guess.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was Corrado’s pride coming out again to make another appearance at the worst fucking time, or if the man simply believed what he was saying. Either way, Alessio didn’t like it, but he also wasn’t in the mood to point out that for people who were doing nothing ... they did it an awful lot, and Corrado still found his way to Alessio’s rooms far more often than he did his own.

  But all right.

  They could be nothing.

  For now.

  Alessio rolled over in the bed then, and sunk back into the blankets, ready to go back to sleep. Corrado let him, at first, but then Alessio still felt him tuck into his back when he rolled over, too. The softest graze of his lover’s mouth drifted between his shoulder blades, reminding him that even when he wanted to hate Corrado, he couldn’t.

  Not even a little bit.

  The air caught hard in Alessio’s chest as Corrado’s arms snaked around him like bars. And then just as quickly, warm, rough hands slipped under his boxer-briefs to find his cock. It took Corrado no time at all to stroke Alessio alive under the blankets.

  His mouth, still hot at Alessio’s shoulders, skimmed higher. Corrado’s teeth found the back of his neck while his fingers tightened and stroked him faster.

  Dark words hit his skin.

  “Like that, yeah?”

  He couldn’t speak.

  Not when he was already this close to blowing his load. Not when those words caught in his chest because damn, maybe if he said nothing, then Corrado would say more. And there was something wicked and dark in his voice when he was like this.

  Something Alessio craved.

  There was one thing he found in men that he didn’t find in women when he was in bed with them. Women gave sweetness in their sex, even when it was anything but. Men only gave darkness.