Alessio (The Guzzi Legacy Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  In fact, she barely paid him any mind at all.

  He was sure Corrado had found the speaker for her and let her steal his phone for the massive music playlist he kept on the damn thing. Not that he cared to ask at the moment, because despite how interesting his book actually was, Alessio was far more concerned with watching Ginevra.

  A curious thing.

  Smart, and quick.

  She didn’t miss a beat.

  Innocent, but sinful.

  Sly, but sweet.

  He found it odd he was able to sit down and have an intellectual conversation with her about things that no one else ever wanted to talk about—like his appreciation of the written word. She calmed his constant, excessive energy, and brought him back down to earth with nothing more than a conversation. On the flip side of that coin, he watched her handle an uptight and stiff Corrado, and make him more playful than Alessio had ever seen.

  He had yet to grasp how to deal with it. Unlike everything else, compartmentalizing this woman was impossible. It was how Alessio liked to deal with anything in his life. Things fit in neat little boxes inside his mind, and he handled them accordingly.

  Ginevra was not the same.

  At all.

  There were too many facets to her personality, and he couldn’t unveil them all before another one came along to make him do a double-take of her yet again. He was still trying to find that thing in this woman that had made Corrado change the landscape of their relationship, but the longer he searched for it, the more Alessio realized something else.

  He liked Ginevra.

  Finding the parts of her that had Corrado spun up in the woman became almost insignificant when suddenly, Alessio had his own interests in her.

  And that was a goddamn problem.

  He didn’t ask for that.

  None of it.

  “Want to try it?”

  Alessio blinked to find Ginevra had stopped dancing and came to stand on the other side of the island from where he sat. On the wooden spoon in her hand, a red sauce coated the concave tip. A rich red, and smelling like spices, his mouth watered as she held it out like it was a treat she might tease him with.

  That cunning smile on her lips said the same.

  “Well?”

  “Who taught you to cook, hmm?” he asked.

  Ginevra grinned. “My Mama.”

  “Oh?”

  “She worked a lot, so I had to look after my little sisters. They didn’t like things that came from a box when our mom wouldn’t dare feed them something like that, so I had to learn how to make them what they liked.”

  “And you liked that.”

  She arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Taking care of your sisters.”

  He didn’t miss the way her throat jumped, or how a sadness dimmed her eyes. “Of course, I did. I love them, Les.”

  “You haven’t seen them in a while, huh?”

  “Too long. I don’t like to think about it. There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t talk to them, they can’t be told where I am, so … I don’t bother.”

  Yeah, he could tell.

  The emotion in her eyes, and the thickness in her tone, that made him lean forward to take her sauce. Perhaps then, she would go back to smiling and dancing, and his chest wouldn’t feel like a fucking elephant was sitting on it because she was sad.

  Yeah, fuck.

  He didn’t ask for this.

  Alessio shouldn’t have any emotion for this woman.

  Yet, he did.

  More and more each day.

  He did.

  That would be a problem.

  Alessio took the sauce on the tip of the wooden spoon Ginevra held out to him, surprised at the richness and varying notes that glided across his palate from just one taste. Leaning back on the stool, he nodded.

  “It’s good.”

  She gave him a look. “Just good?”

  One breath in.

  Another breath out.

  He had to remind himself to breathe with her, too.

  “It’s wonderful,” he murmured. “Really.”

  A lot like her.

  And that’s enough.

  Alessio liked this woman—did he need to say that again?—and he hadn’t planned for this at all. It wasn’t why he came back here, not even a thought until it stared him right in the face and laughed at him.

  The universe having another joke.

  He wasn’t ready for it.

  He was pissed, but not at her. Ginevra hadn’t asked for this situation, and mostly, she gave him and Corrado as much space as she could to work out their issues without her stepping in. That’s why she still slept in a separate bed even though he didn’t give a fuck if Corrado was fucking her.

  Because she had a heart.

  She gave a shit.

  Even though this hurt her.

  Alessio needed to be mad. Mad this became less and less about why the fuck Corrado had done what he did—more about why Alessio thought he was doing the same fucking thing.

  He pushed off the chair, despite Ginevra’s confused expression, and turned to leave the kitchen without an explanation. Corrado, standing in the entryway, and watching their exchange with an amused smile really sent his blood pressure spiking.

  Like the man just knew what was happening—expected this.

  And he liked it.

  Fuck that noise, too.

  “Les,” Ginevra said, a question lingering in her tone, “are you okay?”

  Not at all.

  Not one fucking bit.

  He left the kitchen in a rush, sliding past Corrado who met his stare, before he tried to put distance between him and them. That was the problem with him deciding to stay here.

  There was no space.

  Only an illusion.

  “I didn’t mean to upset him,” Ginevra said, her tone quaking but faint. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” Corrado replied. “I doubt it was you, Ginny.”

  “But—”

  “Everything is all right, keep cooking.”

  Alessio didn’t want to see them—didn’t want to smell, or hear, or feel them. He went to the only place which might give him some sense of privacy, if only for a short time, to clear his fucking head. Maybe that was his biggest mistake; he thought he could stay here, and not change anything.

  He found the solace he needed in the attached bathroom of the bedroom he’d been using. Three bedrooms, and three bathrooms, the penthouse gave them all their own personal spaces, if needed.

  Not that it helped.

  Clearly.

  Alessio wanted to do and be nothing. He wanted to be able to ignore the fact his cock was hard as he stripped out of his clothes, all because he’d enjoyed the sight of Ginevra dancing in far more ways than one.

  Another goddamn problem.

  Stepping under the too-hot water after he’d spun the taps on, Alessio let steam and heat drag him from the hell of his thoughts. Except, it didn’t last. Once the sting of the hot water dulled beating down against his head and back, his mind filled with nonsense again.

  Of everything.

  Them.

  This mess.

  His feelings.

  Fuck, he hated that the most.

  “Les.”

  Corrado’s voice had him tensing under the water, but he didn’t answer the man back. Instead, he kept his hands pressing against the cool tiles of the shower, happy with pretending like he had gone deaf.

  It was easier than explaining his behavior.

  Making sense of this.

  “Les,” Corrado snapped again.

  Still, he said nothing.

  And shocker, that wasn’t good enough for Corrado, because when the man didn’t get what he wanted verbally, he yanked open the frosted glass doors of the shower, and stepped inside, fully clothed. At his side, Corrado stared hard at him, barely fazed at all by the large shower heads raining down on them from several directions. Soaked to the bone, and waiting, Co
rrado said nothing. Alessio didn’t move or speak, either.

  Finally, he uttered, “Get out.”

  “No.”

  Alessio let out a dark sound. “Get the fuck—”

  “Not until you tell me what that was about.”

  “You fucking know.”

  “Maybe I want to hear you say it.”

  “Fuck you,” Alessio mumbled, shaking his head under the water, droplets sliding down his face to fall to the tiled floor. “I didn’t come here for this—for her. We’re supposed to be figuring shit out, but we haven’t even done that, and you know what’s happening with me because that’s what you fucking wanted to happen.”

  He would not spell it out for Corrado.

  The asshole could read between the lines.

  “It wasn’t us with someone else, Corrado,” Alessio said under his breath. “That’s not what this ever was, but you didn’t let me choose—you did. And you knew what would happen if I stayed here long enough … if I was around her long enough, so fuck you for that, too.”

  Every word he threw at Corrado cut like knives. He was sure when they stabbed into Corrado, it hurt like hell. He wanted that clear, though, because it’s how this shit felt to him. Someone decided something else for him, and he didn’t get a say either way.

  He could be pissed about that.

  That, he could choose alone.

  “Get out,” Alessio snapped at Corrado when the man just kept standing there.

  “Les—”

  “Go.”

  Corrado didn’t leave like Alessio wanted him to. He never had understood boundaries, or possibly, a part of Corrado sensed when Alessio struggled, even when he said he wanted to be alone, he needed someone there more.

  He’d been alone for most of his life.

  A vicious circle.

  Corrado often reminded him he wasn’t navigating life by himself so that just made this worse. It made the pain of it all amplified because God … Alessio handed him everything, and he ruined it.

  Instead of leaving, Corrado backed him against the shower wall. Alessio tipped his head back to the tiles, letting the coolness of the marble press along his jaw and cheek when Corrado buried his face into his neck. His lips touched his skin, soft and quick, silent apologies following the featherlight kisses.

  He didn’t need to have it said.

  He knew what Corrado didn’t say.

  “I didn’t find her,” Corrado muttered against his skin. “I didn’t seek her out—she just was, and I didn’t get a choice, either. You don’t want this to change, and I get it, Les. You get too close, you give a shit, and then what happens, huh? It’s someone else that can leave you, right?”

  “Fuck you,” Alessio mumbled.

  Fuck him for knowing.

  For being right.

  For doing all of this.

  It wasn’t fair.

  “It’s like you fucking tricked me, like you manipulated me,” Alessio said, his voice a rumble under the noise of the shower. “This is what you wanted, right?”

  “I did nothing. I let shit happen.”

  “No, you did.”

  “Les—”

  “That’s what it seems like, Corrado. And it makes it harder, it makes this worse.”

  “Why would I do that to someone I lov—”

  Alessio turned his head fast, his lips crashing against Corrado’s. He still wasn’t ready for those words, still didn’t want to hear them, not when he was trying to deal with everything else too. It made it more difficult, because part of him wanted that more than anything, he wanted those words for so long, and now, Corrado needed to say them, too.

  But all it took was that kiss, the hard work of their lips moving against one another’s, and they lost the words. Oh, the anger was still there, visceral and vicious. Tinging every swipe of his lips against Corrado’s. That anger colored the roughness in Corrado’s hands when they slid down the sleeves of tattoos on Alessio’s arms.

  Still, it was a background thought.

  Fading away with the flavor of Corrado when Alessio’s tongue teased the seam of his lips. He had far more he wanted to say, all those warring emotions battling for a presence, but he didn’t want to feel anything at all.

  Instead, he found somewhere else to go—a better place to be. He found it in the wet clothing covering Corrado’s hard lines as he crowded closer to Alessio. He reveled in letting the anger drift away when a firm grip found his cock and stroked him fast. Teeth cut into his lower lip, giving him a shock of pain with the hot licks of pleasure climbing his spine with every pull of Corrado’s hand along his length.

  It’d been too long.

  Hell, he hadn’t even touched himself in weeks.

  Too caught up in their shit, this mess, and everything else. Sex came secondary, and he didn’t care for the release when it would only be fucking empty. And yet, he was begging for it, now. Craving it, so bad.

  “Jesus Christ,” he growled against Corrado’s kiss.

  That palm on his dick tightened.

  God, yeah.

  “Let me say it,” Corrado murmured, “just fucking let me say it, Les.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Stop using that to punish me.”

  Never once did Corrado’s hand slow. Those strokes came faster, and the next kiss bruised. It’s what Alessio needed, what he wanted more than anything, and when he came … fuck, it ached as much as it relieved. His semen spilled between them, hitting the tiles just long enough for the water to wash it all away. A broken sound tore from his chest, breathless and harsh, as Corrado’s hand slowed but his fingers tightened at the same time.

  Corrado’s gaze lifted to meet his, but Alessio was already turning his head to look away again. Now, they had switched places, he thought. It wasn’t him that wanted something from Corrado that his lover wouldn’t give.

  The shoe was on the other foot.

  He didn’t mean for it to punish; love wouldn’t hurt anymore.

  Corrado released his hold on Alessio, his palm coming up to snap hard against the tiles of the shower when he still wouldn’t return his stare.

  He couldn’t.

  Not when he was mad again.

  “So, what if this thing of ours has to change?” Corrado asked. “What if it makes it better?”

  Alessio didn’t reply.

  Corrado stepped back from him, letting the cold air wrap around Alessio as he moved out of the shower. He left behind a mess on the floor from the water dripping off his clothes, closed the shower without a word, and exited the bathroom with a slam of the door.

  Only then did Alessio breathe again.

  What if it makes it better?

  Right.

  Because it sure as hell couldn’t get worse.

  Rolling over, because Corrado could no longer ignore the sun coming in through the windows of the bedroom, his hand slid across the top of the bedside table. Soon, he found the device he was looking for.

  His cell phone.

  He dragged a hand down his face, willing away the grumpiness he always felt first thing in the damn mornings, and pulled the phone closer to his face. He blinked, making the screen come into focus when he turned it on to check for something.

  A missed call.

  Any texts.

  A fucking smoke signal.

  Not that the last one was possible, but anything would be better than what he had been getting, which was nothing. Anyone else, he called or sent a word to, and they were quick to get back to him.

  Andino Marcello was an asshole.

  And he did not care.

  Out of everything Corrado knew about the man, he was quite aware that Andino being an asshole was the most truthful. It was obvious Ginevra was missing her sisters, and that she worried about what was happening back home in New York. Regularly, Corrado had sent a message to check in with Andino just to make sure he was still where he needed to be, so was Ginevra, and that nothing had changed.

  He never got a response.

>   Ever.

  Corrado didn’t know why that was except to say Andino was being his usual asshole self and didn’t want to return a fucking call or message. What other excuse did the man have? Through the contacts Corrado had with his twin in the Guzzi Cosa Nostra, if Andino or any other Marcello was dead, then he would know it.

  They were alive and well.

  Except that one’s husband.

  Cella Marcello, was it?

  A bystander, Chris had told Corrado. Wrong place, wrong time, but it looked purposeful, too. Not that it made any fucking difference to Corrado either way.

  If the Marcellos wanted to go to war in New York, then they could do that. He would rather keep Ginevra here with him while they did it, so she wasn’t another innocent bystander in their goddamn feud with her half-brothers’ organization.

  And even so, she continued to worry.

  Silently.

  So, he kept sending messages.

  Frustrated at the lack of a response from Andino—yet again—Corrado threw the phone to the blanket and rolled over so his back was against the headboard. Through the opened door of his room, he could see the empty bedroom across the hall from his. That wasn’t unusual, either, considering Ginevra was often up and around long before he ever was.

  Same with Alessio.

  He was not rolling his ass out of bed before nine if he wasn’t doing it to fuck someone. He didn’t make the rules of life—like needing sleep to survive—but he could sure as hell decide what he did about it.

  It took Corrado too long to get out of his bed and make his way to the attached bathroom. He did his business, wishing he had just stayed in bed the entire time. Mornings were not his thing, and the less time he spent around other people, the better the rest of it went for him.

  Why pretend?

  The only exception to that rule was when someone was in the bed with him. And since that wasn’t happening, either, because both people he wanted to fuck decided they would rather sleep in their beds that weren’t his, then his ever-present pissy mood was a constant in the mornings.

  What could he do?

  He dressed, opting for gym shorts and runners because once he stuffed his face full of something suitable for breakfast, he would hit the gym in the penthouse. Corrado slipped out of the bedroom with his head down. He expected to find Alessio and Ginevra in the kitchen, making their usual noise and waiting for his moody ass.