The Guzzi Legacy: Vol 1

by Bethany-Kris

  Why were they still playing this stupid game together?

  He also knew that at least a handful—or a couple, anyway—of people, like Corrado’s twin, knew a lot more about Alessio and Corrado than anyone else did. Like the fact their poly lifestyle in the bedroom often had them sharing women, and otherwise.

  But never men.

  Those rules, again.

  Although, Les was to blame for that.

  It made him see fucking red to think of Corrado sleeping with another man, but it didn’t bother him at all to know during his last job, his lover hooked up with a woman at a club he frequented. And it wasn’t different for Alessio, either. He had the same benefits in this mess that Corrado did.

  The only thing was no other men.

  And they always told each other the truth.

  Simple as that.

  Alessio just didn’t understand why they were still here, deeper into this mess together than ever before, when it seemed like the only people who mattered around them already knew the truth. Even if no one was saying it out loud.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Corrado said, “and yeah, I’ll talk to you soon, Marcus.”

  The call ended.

  Alessio kept his back facing Corrado as he headed for the walk-in closet where their collection of everything stayed safe behind glass counters and shelves. There, he found a particular watch he wanted—encrusted with diamonds around the face, with a black background, and gold hands to tell time. He affixed it to his wrist, adding a couple of beaded bracelets around it that cost a fraction of what the watch did. A black cross made up of miniature, worn metal skulls attached to a leather cord dangled from his hand before he quickly slipped it over his head, letting it hang from his neck.

  On jobs, he didn’t wear jewelry.

  Nothing but black.

  Nothing to distinguish him, or give him away. He’d just come back from a quick trip with the team over in Romania, but he doubted he would have another job for a while. Dare tried to space them out a bit, unless something came up that couldn’t be helped.

  When not on assignment, Alessio wore whatever the fuck he wanted, his style a mixture of dark grunge, and excess. Like the watch. Corrado, on the other hand, looked like every other fucking Guzzi that Alessio had ever met. Dripping in wealth, and carefully put together. Not a hair out of place, and suits were preferred to jeans.

  Although, Corrado did like his leather jacket.

  It worked, though.

  “You good?” Corrado asked, coming into the closet to stand just beyond the doorway.

  Alessio shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know, I just got that feeling, Les.”

  Right.

  That feeling.

  “This whole thing with us is all about that feeling, yeah,” Alessio murmured.

  “What does that mean?”

  Corrado had his thing.

  Nobody asked about what the fuck was going on with him and Alessio, so he didn’t offer the information willingly.

  Alessio had his thing, too.

  He dwelled on everything, overthought it all, and when all else failed ... he managed to overreact, too.

  Corrado wasn’t working on his thing.

  Alessio was trying with his.

  Like now.

  “Nothing,” he said, willing to drop it, “I’m just running off at the mouth, and—”

  The phone in Corrado’s hand rang again.

  Alessio wasn’t even offended.

  He just got back home from a job that had him away from this place, and his person, for three long goddamn weeks; he didn’t want to fight. Especially not about something that had never changed in nearly five years.

  What did it even matter?

  “Les,” Corrado said, ignoring the call, “are we good?”

  He looked back at his lover.

  His.

  That was the thing.

  Corrado was still his.

  Nothing else counted but that.

  “Yeah, man, we’re good,” Alessio said “Answer your phone.”

  17.

  Corrado

  Keeping his gaze locked on Alessio, because Corrado figured this conversation wasn’t over, he answered the call ringing through to his phone without checking the ID. Alessio ignored him all the while, confirming to Corrado that despite what his lover might be saying, there was something wrong.

  He planned on figuring out what.

  Right after this call.

  “Corrado here,” he said into the phone.

  “What’s it been, Corrado, two or so years?”

  He stiffened at the unmistakable voice on the other end of the call. “About that, Andino. Can’t say that time bothers me, though.”

  Alessio tipped his head up, and eyed Corrado curiously at the mention of a man’s name who lived in New York. Way the hell across the country from them.

  Andino Marcello chuckled. “That’s fair. I could say the same for you.”

  Something like that.

  “What do you want?”

  “My uncle. Lucian, remember him?”

  Shit.

  Yeah, he remembered.

  The way this conversation was going, Corrado decided here wasn’t the best place to have it, all things considered. Turning his back to Alessio, he headed out of the large walk-in closet, and back into the comfort of their spacious bedroom.

  “What about him?” Corrado asked, coming up next to the chair Alessio liked to use when he tied his combat boots back around the ankles. “And spare me any bullshit. I don’t have the time.”

  “Still as moody as ever, huh?”

  “And?”

  Andino sighed. “A couple years back, you were in New York on a job, and one of his people ended up caught in the mess. Lucian stepped in to help sweep that under the rug, and you promised him a—”

  “Favor,” Corrado muttered, his hand curling around the edge of the chair. No one was supposed to know about that favor—Lucian gave his word. Corrado hadn’t been new to The League when that fuck up happened, but it had been one of his first few solo jobs. He didn’t want to go back, and say he’d caused problems with a crime family as big as the Marcellos, so he worked something else out. “Well, what does he want, then?”

  “Oh, he’s allowing me to cash in the favor instead of him.”

  Great.

  “And what is it?”

  “Seems I’m supposed to be getting married on the twenty-fifth of July to Ginevra Calabrese. She’s twenty-one, new to this whole ... mafia bit, and whatnot. Ever heard of that family?”

  “A bit,” Corrado admitted. “I don’t see what you getting married has anything to do with me or this favor I owe, though.”

  “Oh, I don’t plan on actually getting married. See, that’s where you’re going to come in. I need that girl to disappear.”

  Corrado blinked. “What?”

  “I didn’t stutter.”

  “You want me to take out a woman you’re supposed to marry?”

  Because fuck, that was kinda cold.

  A little bit.

  Then again, Andino was known for being a manipulative asshole when he wanted to be. He didn’t give a shit who it was, either. Blood or not.

  “No,” Andino said, laughing darkly. “She needs to go away for a while. This marriage ... it’s a sham. A way for her family to try to get a place within the Marcello ranks, and I won’t allow it to happen. And so, she needs to go. And by that, I mean somewhere else, out of this country, for a spell of time. A few months, maybe. I figure, you have dual citizenship to Canada, I’m sure you have homes to use there, and I know you have the means and motives to keep her safe and out of sight for a while. It’s perfect for me.”

  “But not for me,” Corrado returned. “I have a fucking job, man. People I answer to, and things I have to take care of myself.”

  For the most part.

  But a few months away?

  Could he even swing that?

 
It was hard to say. Dare would likely allow him time off from The League, if he asked. He hadn’t taken any time since becoming a full-time member, whereas others usually took a bit of time off every year, and some, after every finished job.

  Everyone needed something different.

  But it was more than The League, too.

  It was also—

  Alessio came out of the walk-in closet with his combat boots hanging from his fingertips. Corrado moved aside as the man came to sit in the chair he was standing next to, and watched as he slipped his feet into the shoes before lacing them around the back.

  He had someone else to think about, too.

  A few months was a long time.

  “And I need this kept quiet,” Andino added after a moment. “No one can know the details—the less people that know, the more unlikely it is that she’ll be found. I don’t want to have to worry about killing the woman’s brothers, while at the same time, have to think about whether or not someone has figured out where she is. Do you get me?”

  Fuck.

  “Yeah, I get you, but—”

  “A favor is a favor in this life. You say you owe it to someone, then they can cash it in whenever they fucking want. Am I right, or no?”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “Hmm.”

  Asshole.

  Corrado scrubbed a hand down his jaw, and eyed Alessio from the side. He was done with his boots now, and leaning back in the chair with his hand resting at the line of his jaw while he stared out the large windows surrounding their bedroom.

  “I was thinking,” Andino continued, “that since they have her so protected, the only time they might give us the chance to get her away from them is on the wedding day. If you could drive in, because I don’t want any paper trail attached to someone the Calabrese might recognize or know coming into the city, then—”

  “I’m in Vegas. That’s across the country.”

  “You have three and a half days. Drive fast.”

  Perfect.

  This was just ... great.

  “She’s dark-haired, brown-eyed. About five-ten, or so. She’ll be wearing a large church hat that’ll cover her face. She will not be in a wedding gown. Make sure your vehicle is in front of the church to grab her as soon as she comes down those steps.”

  Andino gave the name of a well-known cathedral in New York City, adding, “I need to know what vehicle you’ll be driving to let her know which one to get inside.”

  No questions.

  Just a demand.

  So, they were really doing this, huh?

  Seemed so.

  Corrado thought about the Porsche, if only because Alessio had mentioned it earlier, it did need to be opened up—what better way than fifty over the speed limit on the highway—and it was probably the fastest car they owned between them. “A black Porsche.”

  “Good.”

  Alessio glanced away from the window at that, his brow furrowing. Corrado shook his head, not wanting him to worry. This didn’t involve his lover, and he didn’t want Alessio getting messed up in this, either.

  It wasn’t that the Marcellos were bad people—in the underworld of criminals, they were more like royalty. He simply figured it would be better if he handled this mess alone, and let Alessio continue on doing what he always did without worrying about Corrado at the same time. He’d been the one to fuck up, so he would be the one who fixed it.

  Easy.

  Clean.

  Just how he liked it.

  “Better get on the road,” Andino told Corrado. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The man didn’t even wait for him to agree, or say goodbye, before he hung up the phone. That might have pissed Corrado off any other time, but he was now focused on the fact that Alessio was looking his way with a question in his eyes.

  Because, of course.

  “What’s going on?” Alessio asked.

  Corrado stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping a tight hold on the phone at the same time to hide it away, too. “Something I have to do—last minute, it just came up.”

  “A job?”

  It wasn’t unusual for Dare to send Corrado or Alessio on a job without telling the other one. He left that to them to figure out between them, and whether or not the details were something they could or should share.

  “Something like that,” Corrado replied, “but more like a favor. Outside of The League’s business. Nothing serious, but I need to head out.”

  “For how long?”

  Yeah, damn.

  He didn’t want to lie.

  He also didn’t want Alessio asking too many questions.

  “Could be a while,” he replied, but then quickly added, “I can’t really talk about it a lot.”

  It was the shadows that darkened Alessio’s expression that told Corrado he didn’t like that answer, and was more than willing to ask more.

  “I have to look after someone for a while, keep them out of sight, and whatever else,” Corrado explained, hoping it would be enough for Alessio, “but they don’t want too many people in the loop about it. It’s just a favor ... it won’t cause trouble.”

  “Yeah, all right.” Alessio cleared his throat, and looked up at Corrado, his blue eyes stormy again. That’s where his emotions always showed, even when the rest of him was blank. “Where are you going, then?”

  “Back to Toronto, I think.”

  “And it’s going to take a while?”

  “Seems so.”

  “Didn’t Marcus say, when he called, that they wanted to have a birthday party for you, Chris, and him?”

  Yeah.

  “It’d be better if you stayed here, especially if I’m still taking care of ... this issue,” Corrado murmured.

  “Is that it, or is it something else?”

  “What?”

  Alessio shook his head, his jaw tightening as he turned to look out the window again. “Nothing, man.”

  “You’re not good at deflecting, Les.”

  “Maybe not, but I also don’t hide things people already know, Corrado.”

  Ah.

  Okay.

  Now he knew what was wrong.

  Except he really didn’t have time to do this with Alessio right now, not considering he had a very short window of time to get on the road, and start the drive to New York. It certainly wasn’t enough time to sit here and argue about this.

  Again.

  “I have to head out,” Corrado said, “so can we come back to that?”

  “Right.”

  “Les.”

  Alessio looked back at him, and shrugged. “Yeah, we can come back to it. Where the hell else am I going to be, Corrado? I’m always here, right?”

  He was.

  Sometimes, Corrado wondered if he wanted to be, though.

  Well, he knew what he wanted.

  He always had.

  Leaning down, Corrado kept his hands on the arm of the chair as he dropped a quick kiss to the side of Alessio’s jaw, feeling the man’s cheek twitch under his lips. “Cette partie de mon coeur est à toi, hmm? I’ll call you, yeah?”

  There were things he should say ...

  Things he needed to say ...

  Corrado never knew how to say them without needing to deal with the aftermath of it when for too long, he’d been used to this. Them being like they were, it was comfortable.

  Cette partie de mon coeur est à toi.

  This part of my heart is yours.

  Alessio swallowed audibly. “You know, Kass has been teaching me French whenever I go into the complex, huh? Thought it was hilarious that it bugged me you two could speak, and I didn’t understand, so he started teaching me some things. I didn’t think to mention it, or whatever.”

  Corrado stiffened.

  Well, then ...

  Alessio let out a breath, and tipped his head to the door of the bedroom. “Better get on the road if you really need to go now.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So, go.”
<
br />   • • •

  Corrado’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel as his gaze drifted from the cathedral to his right, and then back to the street in front of him. The NO PARKING ZONE sign two feet away from the still running Porsche was like a flashing warning for him—God knew he didn’t need to get a ticket when the whole point of him being here was to stay under the damn radar.

  Not that it mattered.

  He had to stay here.

  Until someone else got here, too.

  Sighing, Corrado dragged his hand down his jaw while keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel, and a foot on the brake pedal. Because yeah, if Andino wanted him to get out of here quickly after he picked up this Calabrese chick, then he planned on doing exactly that.

  He hadn’t given her—Ginevra, was it?—much thought during the long drive across country. She was a job, and something he had to do. He didn’t plan on making friends with her, so he didn’t see why it would matter if he considered her or her situation when he was just there to hide the woman, and keep her out of trouble for the time being.

  Instead, his mind focused elsewhere.

  On a man he’d left back in Vegas.

  Alessio.

  He’d left things unsaid, and business unfinished there. He knew, without a doubt, the next time the two of them were standing face to face, Corrado was going to be pushed into a conversation that had been a long time in the making.

  Shit that hurt Les.

  Him, too.

  Both of them, really.

  Corrado wasn’t sure when his family and people started putting things together about him and Alessio, but a lot of them knew the truth. It was kind of hard not to when they had lived together for the last few years and were practically inseparable except for when they were on a damn job.

  It didn’t matter.

  Nobody asked.

  Maybe they didn’t want to.

  Corrado didn’t know.

  He still didn’t tell.

  A part of him found comfort in that—in not feeling like he ever needed to justify why he loved Alessio, or in not needing to explain the complexities of their relationship. After all, it was theirs, not everyone else’s.

  Why did they need to know?

  Corrado kept circling back to the customs and culture of his family’s connections to the mafia, too. The fact that his sexual orientation could be used against them as a way to shame or harm them ... well, that about killed him.