by Jessica Joy
“So, tell me Sal, I know you and Gage have a history. Have any good stories to share?”
DiMarco gives me a searching look that I can’t quite figure out. He’s either trying to determine my sincerity or decide if he can trust me with the story he wants to tell. Finally he returns to his coffee and chuckles quietly into the mug before settling more comfortably on his stool, gearing up to tell his story.
* * *
Two hours later, tears streaming down my face in laughter, I’m pulling my bread out of the oven trying not to drop the pan or burn myself. Sal has been regaling me with stories of his and Gage’s escapades and I have to admit, for someone who looks like they have a stick shoved so far up their ass they’re choking on it, Salvatore DiMarco gets up to some crazy shenanigans.
“Cleveland? Seriously?” I ask through my laugh as I set the pan down and flop the loaf out.
“Yes. At the fucking Cleveland airport,” Sal confirms, chuckling along. The door to the garage opens and Gage saunters his way into the room with a cheeky grin on his face. He comes straight to me and wraps his arms around my waist from behind and sets his chin on my shoulder.
“What’s in Cleveland now?” he asks, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek in greeting.
“Viviana’s car apparently,” I tease. Gage throws his head back and lets out a loud bark of laughter.
“Ach, aye that’s right! In me defense, I had the forethought te leave it in the protected parking lot in full view o’ the security cameras.” Gage says, settling his chin on my shoulder once again.
“Yeah, full view of the security cameras so they could get a wonderful view of the sign you put in the back window that said “Help me, I was kidnapped from the mob and I don’t want to go back” so the fucking cops came and impounded it,” DiMarco gripes.
“Hey, I was just lookin’ out for the poor thing, a fine car like that deserves better than te be driven by yer then 16-year-old sister and wrapped around a tree. I did everyone a favor by taking away the temptation,” Gage explains, the shit eating grin I know he’s sporting evident in his voice as he laughs again and tugs me just a little closer.
“Oh, so very magnanimous of you,” DiMarco scoffs.
“I do what I can,” Gage demurs.
“Yes well, a few luxury cars are the least of what you’ve cost me Patrick,” DiMarco says in a tone that seems perfectly bland but having been around him for a few weeks now I can hear the steel edge to his voice. And if the tension that immediately coils through Gage’s entire body is any indication, he doesn’t miss it either. I feel Gage straighten behind me and I know he’s gearing up for yet another argument between himself and DiMarco that have almost become a daily occurrence. Deciding I really can’t handle listening to another bitch fit between these two, I attempt to intercede.
“Come on you two. Want to try some hopefully not entirely cardboard tasting bread?! Fresh from the oven!” I say with forced cheer. Alright, it’s an admittedly weak attempt at distraction but there's only so much I can do when these two will argue about literally anything and everything.
“Thank you for the offer Cardillo, maybe next time. I have some business to attend,” DiMarco says crisply, standing and buttoning his suit jacket before turning on his heel and stalking from the room.
As soon as DiMarco is out of ear shot, I round on Gage and smack him on the arm in admonishment. “Do you seriously always have to be such a prick to him?”
“Me?! That mankey muppet’s the one taking shots at me! Literally and figuratively lately!” Gage argues, attempting to keep me within the circle of his arms but I wiggle away from him and go about starting to clean up the mess my little baking adventure created. Seeing he isn’t going to win this one, Gage makes his way around the counter and takes the seat DiMarco just vacated.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye and I can see him ramping up for one of his epic rants. He’s been so on edge since the whole mess with Axel and Leo started, it doesn’t take much to set him off lately. Wanting to preempt our afternoon devolving into bickering and pissy moods, I grab the first thing I can reach and lob it at him.
The apple soars through the air, on target to hit him square in the chest until he snatches it and takes a bite. “Why the fookin’ hell do people keep peltin’ me with goddamn apples?!” he yells around his mouthful of fruit.
“Because you are an insufferable idiot and we just can’t help but want to bludgeon you?” I reply sweetly, bending my head back over my shoulder and batting my eyelashes at him.
“Bludgeon, eh? I think I’d much rather be smothered if I’m gonna go,” he says with a naughty smirk, sidling from his seat and once again winding himself around me.
“You did NOT just turn that into a dirty joke. Dear God, you horndog. You are not going to distract me that easily,” I laugh, pushing him away again but quickly getting distracted by the teasing little kisses he is trailing down my neck and over my shoulder. “I’m tired of these little hissy fits from you,” I say weakly, seconds away from melting against him and giving into his temptation.
That gets his attention though, because he snaps up straight and spins me to face him before exclaiming, “I do not throw hissy fits!” very loudly, and with a definitely petulant tone. The only valid response to that little outburst is to fold my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow at him. His attention is immediately drawn to the ample amount of cleavage showing through the deep V neckline of my top. No, I did not choose this top for him, nor this specific pose, nor did I lean slightly forward to make sure that he could see them better. Nope, I did not plan to distract my emotionally unstable biker boy with my body in the event that he would get a little upset. Regardless of what I did or did not plan to do, any thoughts of fighting with DiMarco have seemed to have fled Gage’s mind completely. With a mockingly exaggerated groan, I smack him upside the head and return to the dishes. I expect him to return to his seat after a few moments, but when the heat of his body only presses closer to mine once again, I pause with my hands still in the bubbles, waiting to see if he will tell me what’s really going on.
Gage steps in close to me again, but instead of wrapping me in his arms, he simply rests his forehead against the back of my head. An admittedly awkward position, but that’s really just par for the course when it comes to Gage. I hear him take a deep breath and then he finally gives his explanation.
“Seein’ ye and Salvatore bein’ mates and chattin’ like that… it just doesn’t sit well with me,” he says quietly into my hair. Heaving a sigh, I respond without moving, letting him continue to bury his face in my hair.
“I know you have a history with him, and I can tell the memories you have of that time aren’t always pleasant ones,” Gage gives a little huff at that. “Exactly. I understand, but Gage, you have never said a word about your time in Chicago to me. If you need me to hate him as well, I can do that for you, but I can’t do that without knowing why. I need you to explain it to me,” I say softly, knowing it’s a monumental ask of him, but I know we will never be able to fully move past all of this until I understand his past.
Gage heaves a sigh and takes a step back, turning slightly to lean back against the counter next to me so I can look at him finally.
“My calling him a right foul ass, an insufferable cockwomble, a righteous self-important git who thinks the sun shines out his own arse and his shit don’t stink isn't enough?” he starts with, giving me a side glance to see if I’ll bite. “No? How about the fact he dresses like a prat?” he says, attempting to make a joke, but the pleading in his eyes says he’s hoping I will just accept his reasons and move on. We can’t though. There is no moving on until I can understand him. As much as we have both accepted that our pasts can stay in the past, his past with DiMarco is playing as much or a role today as it did back then. I need to know, I need to understand all of him.
“Gage,” I admonish softly, giving him a look that says I know exactly what he’s doing. He closes his eyes and heaves another
sigh, hanging his head and closing his eyes. I stand watching him, frozen, as I watch him battle with himself over the decision to let me in or not. After several breathless moments, his clear voice breaks the silence.
“Sal and I... we… we have an interesting past…”
Chapter 25
Gage
“Sal and I... we… we have an interesting past.” I begin. Fuck, I really don’t want to be telling her this shit, but I know I have to. I have to give her at least some of my past if I want any hope of having her future. Deep down I knew this day would come, knew that I would have to tell her all of my past darkness. I was just hoping it would be about thirty or forty years down the road.
“Before I get into it all… how much of my past do ye already know? Have we been down this road before?” I ask, wanting to know if there is any of this I can gloss over.
Lexi gives me a soft smile and I can see the hurt in her eyes every time I mention my memories. “Assume I don’t know anything before you found me in Seattle,” she answers.
Fuck.
Not the answer I was hoping for, but at least I know where to start.
“I came to the states to go to Uni. Law school, believe it or not.” Her jaw drops open at that, and I chuckle at her surprise. “Ach, don’t look so surprised lass, I’m more than just a pretty face and a tight ass ye know” I say with a wink that only earns me an eyeroll and smack on my shoulder, but I’ll take it.
“Well, after Uni I wasn’t ready to head back home to Dublin, so I decided to stretch me legs a bit. I wandered around for a while, took odd jobs here and there, rode my bike cross country, saw the Grand Canyon, the Pacific, went down to Miami for a wee bit, but eventually I ended up in Chicago. I honestly don’t even remember why I pulled into this accursed town in the first place, but one night I wandered into a random bar in little Italy. Some eejit started hasslin’ one of the servers and my drunk ass decided to be chivalrous and wouldn’t stand for it. I got in a brawl and wiped the floor with his sorry ass.”
Lexi listens intently as she dries her hands, now finished with the dishes. Silently, I take her hand and lead her to the room we are sharing on the second floor, wanting to put a door between this story and anyone else who might happen to overhear. Settling myself against the headboard I wait until she arranges herself before I continue.
“Well, turns out that little bar I wandered into was DiMarco's place, one of DiMarco’s places, and the server was a cousin o’ his. Ye know the Italians… everyone’s family and no one messes with family. After ‘saving’ Nicola, Ol’ Sally insisted I break bread with him in repayment for my kindness. By the end of the night we were both drunk off our asses and I had a job and a new place to stay. I may not have known explicitly then that he was in the mob, but hell, ye’ve met the man, it’s not hard to guess. It was either mob boss or used car salesman; it could really go either way.”
Lexi shoots me an admonishing look but stays silent. Her judgement screaming loud and clear through only that one look.
“What? A successful used car salesman,” I say with a shrug. She rolls her eyes and motions for me to continue again.
“Well, as I was saying, I ended up in a shithole studio apartment above the bar and working as a bartender on the slow nights. Things seemed pretty normal for the first few weeks, learning the couple regulars, finding out which guys I could cut off without any trouble and which I couldn’t, but before long I started noticing some other things. Sal had dinners every Sunday in the back booth with some rich looking assholes. Not uncommon for him to host the upscale, but these guys were repeats and they always had a certain air about themselves that set them apart from the rest of the purely rich. Found out a bit later that it was a few CEO’s, a senator, and the mayor. Salvatore DiMarco is too smart for his own damn good though, so of course he noticed I noticed. He started giving me little jobs here and there on top of the bar gig. Running something here, delivering something there. Never anything overly important or big, but ye know me, I notice everything. Sal appreciated the commentary I brought back after each run and began to send me on errands more valuable to him. Over the course of a couple of years, I worked my way up the ranks in his organization, eventually becoming one of his inner circle. I was always the silent one though, always the bartender watching from the sidelines, the man carrying the heavy bag, observing,” I explain, trying to stick to only the main facts.
“I have to admit, after knowing what you guys do in the Club? None of that really sounds all that crazy,” she says, eyeing me over the rim of the coffee mug she brought with her from downstairs.
“Oh, I wish that was all, Mo phráta beag. My hands aren’t that clean though.”
“Gage, tell me. I want to know. Please?” she says quietly, nothing but earnest sincerity in her eyes.
I watch her for a moment, no one knows this story, not the whole of it, not another single living soul. But something inside me wants to tell her, something is saying I can trust her with the darkness I have been carrying for years. Taking a leap of faith, I continue.
“I was Sal’s eyes, ears, and meaty fist. I brought him intel on rivals, business partners, marks, whatever the job was that day. After a while I started acting as one of his collectors, going around and collecting protection fees.” Lexi gives me a questioning look at that.
“Protection fees, racketeering. Money damn near every business in this city, and more than a few citizens, are obliged to pay each month in exchange for DiMarco’s protection. They pay, he keeps any mess from landing on their doorstep, keeps their businesses in the clear and homes safe. Most find it worth the cost since he’s the biggest game in town and his protection brings with it a certain volume of business in return. That business can be the only reason a mom and pop shop can stay in the black in this town. But those who can't, or won't, pay… well that's when that business dries up and the muscle arrives. I started out just collecting, but pretty soon I was the tax collector and the enforcer. I won't lie te ye Al, I have done terrible things ta people simply ‘cause they didn’t have enough money te give me when I darkened their door,” I say solemnly.
She cuts me off, “You were just doing what you had to.”
“No Lexi. It may’ve started out that way but ya don’t do the things I did, torture people the way I did, take lives the way I did, without choosing to do it. Sure, I would like to think part of me knew it was wrong but there was a big part of me that loved my life. I had everything a dumbass twenty something could want: money, power, purpose. And when I had a bad day? I got to take my aggression out on some wimpy piece of shit that couldn’t fight back even if he was capable. It was a win-win for me.”
I turn to look at her, expecting to see her recoil, to see revulsion or rejection in her eyes at my desire for violence, but when I look there is nothing but a quiet understanding. I wait to see if it’ll change, but she simply nods me on, wanting to hear the rest. She’s not judging me. She isn't running. Why the fuckin’ hell is she not running screaming from the room right now? I just admitted to having blood on my hands and enjoying it. With a disbelieving shake of my head I take a drink of my now cold coffee and continue.
“I’m good at enforcing. I’m funny enough that people let me in, get to know me, and generally don’t mind me showing up. But I can also kick the shit out of man quickly, efficiently, and in very painful but non-crippling ways. DiMarco sent me to increasingly difficult customers to extract payments. My first was simple, smash the counter, toss the place, generally threaten. I did it, they paid me to leave, I never had to go back again.” Lexi is following along, seemingly still ok with the more detailed version. God I hope I can finish this story...
“Then, I had to visit Bobby. Bobby took a bat te the last guy who showed up te collect and as ye know, DiMarco does not take kindly to his men being hurt, no matter how inconsequential they are to him. Anyway, I was told te make him pay and under no uncertain circumstances was I te let him think about swinging a bat ever again. For some d
umbass reason I thought it would be as easy as throwing a few punches to straighten the shithead out, I was wrong. He came at me swinging with that slugger of his and I just reacted. I snatched that damn bat from him and beat him within an inch of his life. I just… reacted,” I take a breath, dreading what comes next.
“What shames me the most is what happened after though. I went back to the bar and Sal was there so I told him what happened, how I lost control and almost killed Bobby. Do ye know what he did? He thanked me and told me I had done a great job and had served the family well. I felt pride at his praise. Pride at having beaten a man nearly to death.” I pull my hand over my face trying to wipe away the memory. “I can still see it clear as day, Salvatore DiMarco in his shining suit patting me on the back and pouring me a whiskey in congratulations of a job well done.”
“The next week I was given another Bobby, then another, then another. Each more in debt than the last, each having done some bigger slight against the family than the one before him. And every time I came back, Sal was there to thank me for my service and pour me a drink; like my own personal bartender. I earned a little leeway though, Sal had the grace to never send me to deal with the messier problems. Tough? Sure. Bad Asses? No Problem. Conflicted guys with family who maybe didn’t really do anything wrong or maybe didn’t deserve it? Nope, didn’t have to deal with those. He sent family to deal with those problems since they needed a little more ‘discretion.’” I pause to check again, knowing I’m about to hit the point of no return but my little Alley Cat is still there, still looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world right now.
