by Mary Calmes
I closed my eyes.
Chapter 10
DREO’S sigh as he looked both of us over made me smile.
“What?” Michael asked him as he fiddled with his iPod.
“You both clean up real nice.”
He shrugged, taking the compliment like it meant nothing even though the slight curve of his mouth said different.
Dreo’s hand went around the back of my neck, and he dragged his thumb along the newly shaved line of my jaw. “Especially you, piccolo.”
Having risen early, I had attacked my beard first with my electric shaver and then the straight razor that my father had given me years before. I had taken my time, been meticulous, and, after showering, emerged from the bathroom in time to watch Dreo wake up.
“Who the fuck are you?” He had tipped his head at me.
I grinned wide, and his catch of breath was worth all the effort.
“Dimples?” he said, clutching his heart. “I had no idea you were so pretty.”
My eyebrow lifted, and he motioned me toward the bed.
“Get your ass up and get over to your place and shower and change into your suit.”
“Un bacino, per favore,” he growled.
I walked to my bed, which he looked heartstoppingly good in, and bent down to kiss him.
“You’re learning Italian,” he whispered.
“No,” I said huskily, “I just know what I want.”
His hands were on my face as he parted his lips for me. I had a second to take in the thick eyelashes that grazed his cheek, the long, straight nose, and the sexy curve of his mouth before I took what I wanted and kissed him until he was breathless.
“Jesus, Nate,” he panted when I pulled back, his dark eyes staring up at me.
I waggled my eyebrows. “With the beard gone, I don’t look so old, right?”
“You never looked old,” he told me, reaching out again only to have me step back beyond his reach. “And I love the beard, always have.”
“Yes but without it I for sure don’t look old.” I grinned slyly, admiring the flush on his smooth skin, his shallow breaths, and his swollen lips.
“Come here,” he rasped, and I saw the way the sheet was now tented over his groin.
I shook my head. “Get up. We have to grab coffee and a donut or something on the way.”
Walking to my closet, I was surprised when I was grabbed from behind and shoved face-first into the wall. And I understood the action for more than what it seemed. This thing between us was brand new. He wanted me, I wanted him back, and we were combustible at present, flaring at impossible times because we were both hungry for the other. But more than that, he needed the connection, like putting on armor, before he faced the outside world. The hard hands on my hips meant more than simply that he wanted to fuck.
“Tell me what you want,” I ordered hoarsely.
He slid his hard, twitching cock over my crease and I moaned softly.
“You used me kind of hard last night,” I told him, turning in his embrace to face him. “But I can suck you.”
That he went instantly to his knees was a surprise. His eyes as he looked up at me, easing my sweats down so that my own hard cock bobbed free, were enough to pull a groan up from my diaphragm. The man was simply the sexiest thing I had ever seen.
“I’m gonna come just putting this in my mouth,” he told me, and I saw that he was already stroking himself as his lips parted and slid over the end of my leaking shaft.
The whine was involuntary as he took my dick down the back of his throat and swallowed around me. My head fell back, knocking against the wall, and his chuckle, more than anything, made me jolt.
We could have fun, we could laugh and joke, and sex didn’t need to be this serious business every time. It was such a gift. I shivered with happiness.
There was no way to last, the sucking, the laving, the swirl of his tongue, the sounds he made, his moan when I put my hand in his hair, his urging of me to fuck his mouth.
“I can’t… we need to be tested, and—”
“Just me, not you…. You probably have a piece of paper you can show me right now.”
I did too. “Yes.”
“Nate,” he whimpered. “Please.”
I was too close, the suction, the heat, the slide—it was all too much. I warned him, tried to pull out, but his hand on my ass flexed and held, and I was gone.
As he drank me down, I watched him, the muscles in his throat, his eyes as they screwed shut with pleasure, and the way he pumped in and out of his own hand as he came. As he licked me clean, I yanked on his hair to get him to stand.
His eyes were slits of heat when he rose over me.
“Kiss me.” I lifted for it.
He bent but didn’t give me what I wanted.
“I wanna taste me on your tongue.”
His lips pressed down over mine in an openmouthed kiss so my tongue could slide over his, tangle and suck. My arms around his neck were tight and claiming, and when I felt his hand on the back of my head, cradling it, between the tenderness and the passion, I was undone. Jesus, whatever the hell he wanted, he just had to ask. But the sum of his desire seemed to be kissing me until my mind went blank, and stroking my ass over and over and over.
And now, an hour later, at the front door, he was looking at me like just me being there, going with him to the funeral, was the best gift I could have given him.
“You look weird without your beard,” Michael told me. “Just sayin’.”
I rolled my eyes and opened the door so the three of us could head out.
Dreo wanted to drive, so we took his Mercedes with the black limousine tinted windows and headed downtown. It was raining and dark, and the closer we got, the more somber the feeling in the car was.
The church was awash in enormous elaborate floral arrangements, and Dreo left us to go sit with Sal and Mr. Romelli’s family up front while Michael and I took seats on the side toward the back. We both had our overcoats in our laps as mass began. Having not been raised Catholic, Methodist instead, I let Michael be my guide for what was happening and what I was supposed to do. There was no way not to be impressed by the size and grandeur of the cathedral, the pomp of the processional, and the distinguished, regal-looking priest. Just the spectacle was amazing.
Mass was beautiful, and then Father Ross invited people to come up and speak about Mr. Romelli. His wife and daughters took the podium and then other friends, people from the community, and finally his son, Joseph. Michael started leaning against me, and I knew that all of it was getting to him. He had not been to a funeral since his mother’s, and it was beginning to hurt. I moved my arm, draped it around the back of the pew, and he pressed his knee to mine. It was nice that he allowed himself to take comfort from me.
The priest retook the podium then and spoke for a bit about the kind of man Mr. Romelli was and his charitable activities and donations to the church. The end was nice: there was singing, and then the priest invited everyone to stay for refreshments provided by the family before everyone drove to the cemetery. After the burial, there was a late lunch at the Romelli home for friends and family, and I wondered if Dreo was invited to that or not.
Since he had to ride in one of the limousines, Dreo walked back to us when everyone was dismissed for refreshments before the trip to the cemetery.
“Here,” he said, passing me his keys before putting one hand on the back of my neck and draping his other arm around Michael’s shoulders. “How’re you two holding up?”
“We’re fine.” Michael smiled, leaning into him. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” He nodded, smiling. “Come with me.”
He gestured us both forward, and before I really understood where we were going, he started steering us toward Tony Strada where he stood across the room, talking to the priest.
“Dreo! Come!”
We had to detour because Joseph Romelli, Vincent Romelli’s son, was calling him. He thought, Dreo had told us, th
at he was going to be the one taking over things now that his father had passed. But what was really going to happen was that the power was moving to Vincent Romelli’s strong second-in-command, Tony Strada.
“Joey.” Dreo smiled even though there was a sharp edge to his voice. “This is Dr. Nathan Qells and my nephew, Michael.”
“I told you I didn’t want you here,” he practically snarled at Dreo. “How dare you show your—”
“I have every right to be here,” Dreo snapped back. “Don’t make a scene.”
The man looked at me and watched Dreo take my hand in his and pull Michael close to him. His eyes narrowed angrily.
“I don’t need to have this shit thrown up in my face—it wasn’t enough that you told my father?” His voice was cold and hard. “It wasn’t enough that you made him a party to how sick and depraved and—”
“I just wanted to come and pay my respects to your father,” Dreo said sharply. “And give my condolences to your mother and sisters.”
“If you wanted to show him respect, you would have never said a goddamn word about being a filthy faggot!” Joseph said under his breath.
Sal was suddenly on my right, standing still but close, his shoulder brushing mine. Joseph looked at him, clearly stunned by the obvious show of solidarity.
“You don’t care?” Joseph asked. “You don’t give a fuck what he is?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a sin,” Joseph hissed.
“It’s not,” Dreo told Joseph, pulling the other man’s focus back from Sal. “You’re just too ignorant to understand.”
“This man,” he asked Dreo, tipping his head to me, “is what to you?”
“Lui è il mio fidanzato,” he told him softly, the whisper husky.
Joseph blanched, as did one of the men with him. The other looked stunned but didn’t even breathe.
I had a moment to wonder what fidanzato was before Sal leaned close and said “boyfriend” in my ear. There was no way not to clutch Dreo’s hand as I stared at his profile.
Two years with Duncan Stiel and I was just some guy he hung out with. One day with Dreo Fiore and I was being acknowledged as the one he slept with, spent time with, and wanted at his side. It was overwhelming.
And there were consequences if Duncan came out of the closet, but those didn’t include death. I wasn’t stupid; I knew what other men thought of homosexuality in Dreo’s world. That he would still, with the balance of real-life penalties hanging over his head, tell the truth about me, about who I was to him, was staggering. The honesty undid me.
“I—” Joseph gasped, his eyes back and forth between my lover and me, hard when they finally flicked to Dreo’s face. “I can’t stand to look at you! Better that you were dead then to bring this shame on me and my family or on your own.”
Dreo took a breath. “Your own father let us out. Tony agreed as well. I just wanted to be up-front and have you meet the most important people in my life.”
“Tony’s not fuckin’ in charge, Fiore, I am!”
“Lower your voice” came the fierce whisper.
We all turned as Tony Strada stepped into the circle, two men behind him, both tall and huge and silent.
“What’s going on?”
Joseph rounded on him. “You’ve got no right to let Fiore or Polo out of—”
“The fuck I don’t,” he told Joseph, reaching out and putting his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Here’s the thing: you work for me, not the other way around.”
“You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!”
“Lower,” Tony began icily, squeezing tighter on the shoulder, “your fuckin’ voice.”
It was tense, and I was surprised that the guys I thought were Joseph’s muscle did nothing.
“I know it, my men know it, and your men know it. Wrap your brain around the situation, and if you need more help, ask your mother.”
“You leave my—”
“We talked,” he told him softly, moving closer, his voice dropping lower. “She and I. She understands what Frazzi’s people told her. Everyone knows what’s goin’ on except you, figliolo.”
“I am not your son,” he snarled at Tony. “I—”
Tony gripped the back of the younger man’s neck hard. “You work for me or you can be out. But I made the peace with Frazzi; I’m the broker of the new understanding between the families. Don’t fuck with me, and don’t fuck with him,” he finished, tipping his head at the two men standing behind Joseph. “Take him to his mother and then come back. I have something for you both to do.”
“Yes, Mr. Strada,” the first man said, and the other nodded.
Joseph was humiliated and furious, and the only thing I could think of that was good in the situation was that his entire focus had moved from Dreo to Tony.
As Joseph was walked away, Tony stepped close to us, reaching out to put a hand on Michael’s cheek. “You look like your mother, ragazzo.” He smiled.
“Thank you, sir.” Michael sighed.
Tony then turned to me. “Let the beard grow back, Professor; this ain’t you.”
I smiled because he was either perceptive or bossy, and I wasn’t sure which. I really didn’t even know why I had shaved it that morning.
He faced Dreo then. “You could stay. This”—and he shrugged—“means nothing to me.”
“But your life is not what I want or what Sal wants,” Dreo said, his voice confident, speaking for both himself and his friend. “I started because I needed to take care of Michael, and Sal introduced me to Mr. Romelli. But after the old man’s death—come on, no one wants bodyguards that let a man die.”
Tony grabbed Dreo’s face. “You saved me, you saved Sal, and you saved that piece of shit that just walked away from us. If you weren’t there, Dreo, we’d all be dead.”
Michael caught his breath.
“You were amazing, Andreo Fiore.”
Dreo nodded and eased the older man’s hands from his face. “I just wanted to get you all out of there, that’s all. And now I just want out of all of this.”
He nodded and slapped Dreo’s face gently, his smile wide. “People won’t understand.”
“Non me ne frega un cazzo,” Dreo told him.
The older man chuckled. “Oh, I know you don’t give a fuck; you don’t have to tell me.”
Dreo shrugged and smiled.
“Well, I did my part and let everyone know you and Sal are out. You should have no trouble, but come see me if you do.”
“Grazie molto,” Sal told him.
“Prego,” he exhaled. “And if either of you ever change your mind and want to come back, my door is always open.”
Dreo reached for the man’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. “Mille grazie,” he murmured.
Tony smiled and patted Dreo’s face before he turned, the two men trailing after him, and walked away.
“Fuck,” Sal grunted. “Can it really be this easy?”
Dreo’s smile was huge as he draped one arm around me and another around Michael. “I know, right? I feel bad being so happy at a funeral.”
Sal shook his head and was about to turn when Joseph was suddenly back in front of us.
“Listen,” he barked at Dreo, finger pointing at him. “Once everyone knows that you’re a goddamn faggot, finocchio, you’ll be lucky to—”
“Taci!”
We all turned to Sal, who had yelled.
“Ma sta zitto che è meglio!” Sal continued, moving fast, walking behind Michael and covering his ears. “You don’t talk to him anymore, you worthless piece of shit!”
“You—”
“Fuck off,” he snarled at Joseph. “If you don’t want your mother to know you screw whores along with your wife, shut up and walk the fuck away. Just let us go to the cemetery and pay our respects, visit your mother at her house, and then we’ll leave and you never have to see us again.”
“I—”
“Whatever you think of him, or me, we
protected your old man until he made that impossible for us. And the only reason you’re not dead is that when the shooting started and you froze like a child, Dreo got your ass out of the club and never told anyone you were even fuckin’ there.”
Joseph looked back and forth between the two men as Sal moved his hands, allowing Michael to hear again.
“Now.” Sal took a breath. “Tony’s already telling people we’re out. You do the same. Monday you go to work and we’ll go to ours. Sì?”
After a minute, Joseph nodded.
“Buono?”
“Sì, buono.”
He turned then and walked away, and then there was just the four of us again as Sal started smiling.
“Fuck, I wanna go home.” Dreo sighed deeply.
“Me too,” Sal agreed, smiling. “And start living away from all this bullshit.”
“Amen,” Dreo said, lifting my hand he was holding to his lips and kissing my knuckles.
“Who knew that telling the truth actually would make me free?”
“And not dead.” Sal snickered. “Both of us.” He smacked me in the arm. “He’s gay, I’m the friend of the gay man, of the finocchio.” He squinted at Dreo. “Who even uses that word anymore?”
He shrugged. “Joey, apparently.”
Sal cackled. “What a fuck. Who gives a damn what a man does in his bed? It only matters what the man does in the world, for the people he loves.”
Dreo nodded. “Sì.”
“Lascialo perdere,” he told him.
“I won’t. I don’t give a shit what he thinks of me. I cared for his father, just like you, but the son is a piece of shit, and if he’s not careful and keeps running his mouth about Tony and not listening to him….”
“Sì.” Sal agreed to the unspoken prophecy.
“We may still have some trouble,” Dreo told him.
Sal nodded. “We will. We just have to ride it out.”
“Dreo?” I asked.
His smile was warm. “Being gay in our business is more than frowned upon.”
“You could get hurt,” I said.
“Yeah, but it helps that you came by that day to see me and warn me about the guy on your fire escape. It helps that Tony knows you, that his niece knows you, and that she’s gay as well. Lots of that is good, but there are still those who will care about the gay part. My father.” He shrugged. “He will not understand.”
