by Bethany-Kris
“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.
5.
Ginevra
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.”
Oh, wow.
Ginevra had another inkling even as the chill in her spine grew colder. “So, why is Corrado guarding me, then? Seems like a waste of his time if you all do ... other things.”
“He owed a favor.”
“Oh.” Ginevra pulled the blanket down and eyed Alessio. “Ten, you said?”
“Yeah, it’s about when I first came to the people who started and control the organization.”
“That’s very young.”
“My father had been dead for years, and my mother might as well have already been six feet under what with the way she needed drugs to get her from the bed to the floor on an hourly basis. The League was a far better choice for me, trust me.”
God.
Her heart hurt.
No child should feel unloved by their parents. Ginevra missed her mother more than anything in the world, and thoughts of Marie filled her mind late at night when she couldn’t sleep. The pain of losing her mama would never go away, but she realized as she stared at Alessio, she would much rather deal with this kind of grief than the type he faced every day of his life.
They both hurt.
One seemed ... more painful.
“Your mom, well, you don’t talk about her with fondness.”
“Because I felt none.”
“I’m sorry.”
Alessio shrugged and grinned again. “Thing is ... I’m grateful for her, which puts me in a strange place, right? She might as well have abandoned me, like my father, and everybody else around me, too. But if not for her, then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have The League.”
Ginevra cleared her throat. “Or Corrado, right? You said it’s where you met him.”
“Yeah, and him, too.”
Ginevra heard his wariness. Like he wasn’t sure whether meeting Corrado had been a good thing, but he didn’t sound like he wanted to change it, either.
God knew she understood the feeling.
Far too well.
• • •
From her position on the chair, Ginevra was able to see the credits for the movie scrolling past, but Alessio was the most fascinating thing. She wasn’t sure when he’d rested his head in his hand, and closed his eyes, but at some point, he fell asleep during the movie.
Usually, the man gave off an intensive vibe. Like he was vibrating with energy, some of it dark and enthralling, but it had nowhere to go. A simple conversation with him left her doing a deep dive through her mind and heart because even talk
ing to the man was overwhelming.
She wasn’t sure what to make of him.
What to think ...
Alessio hadn’t touched her since the day in the library. He hadn’t even tried, really, but he observed her all the time. Similar to the way Corrado did, too. Like he both enjoyed what he was seeing, and, there was something about her that he couldn’t quite figure out.
It put her on edge.
And she liked it.
Which only confused Ginevra more.
Like she needed this problem.
Wasn’t being entangled with one of these men bad enough? For her, yes. She had enough shit to consider about Corrado without adding Alessio on top of the mix, too, but that’s what a single kiss had done.
A kiss.
A few words.
Poetry.
Sharing the same space.
All of this made her consider Alessio.
Refusing to go down the damn rabbit hole again, Ginevra stood from the chair, gathering the blanket into her arms. Corrado hadn’t come back after he left the living room, and she wasn’t sure how to turn off the movie using the game system remote, so she let the credits play as she headed out of the space.
Not that she needed more shit to wonder about before bed, Ginevra still lingered in the doorway of Corrado’s bedroom. He milled about the room, shedding his clothes, undoing his wristwatch, and leaving the bathroom like he wasn’t at all bothered about her staring.
Finally, he turned to give her a look as, in nothing but boxer-briefs, he came up to the side of the bed, ready to get in. “Are you sleeping in the room across the hall again, then?”
Ginevra blinked.
His frankness never failed to surprise her.
“I shouldn’t be in here,” she said truthfully.
Corrado raised a brow. “I would prefer you in my bed.”
Wow.
And he didn’t pull punches, either.
“And if you think,” he continued, not giving her the chance to speak, “you sleeping in my bed is a problem for Alessio, you’re wrong ... you’re not giving this enough consideration, Ginevra. He doesn’t care if you’re in my bed, or if I’m fucking you in the shower first thing in the morning. It’s not about sex for him—oh, he fucking loves that, yeah—but it’s something more for him about this.