To Love A Hitman

by Randell Mccreary

  Alessandro nodded his assent as Teodora came to stand behind him.

  “My son, Michele has a lover—Niccolo. Together, they have agreed that they desire another to take part in their relationship. Your son, Alessandro, would be their third lover. In return for this, we are prepared to take Alessandro in. We will treat him as one of our own, give him all that he desires. And, your debt to our family will be erased.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Eventually, Teodora spoke up. “It is a generous offer,” she admitted. Then, in a lower voice so that only Alessandro could hear: “What do you think?”

  Alessandro considered it, eyeing Michele. He was a handsome man, not much older than Alessandro himself. Their eyes met, and Michele offered a lazy smile. Alessandro’s own lips quirked up nervously. In a voice matching the volume of his mother’s, he said, “It sounds good.”

  Teodora took them into the kitchen. She began brewing something—tea, likely—and set some sort of snack in the oven. Alessandro could tell then that the Scarselli’s would be staying awhile. Isabella stood next to Teodora as she prepared the food, and Alessandro was left seated awkwardly, leg bouncing as he willed his mother to hurry up, across from Michele at the table.

  Michele cleared his throat. His chin was propped up on his hand, elbow resting on the table. He gazed at Alessandro casually, but there was something in his eyes that told Alessandro that he was sizing him up. Michele’s lips turned up in a kind smile. “I hope this is okay,” he said. His voice was melodious. Italian was a beautiful language, but it sounded more so when it fell from Michele’s tongue.

  Alessandro nodded. “It is,” he said meekly, then resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. He settled with clenching his fists. It was hard not to be nervous at the thought of become this man and his lover’s—two near strangers—third partner. Still, he had hoped that his nerves would not be so palpable. But he had not been able to utter two words to his new lover without revealing his current disposition.

  Michele’s eyes dropped as though sensing Alessandro’s discomfort. “I’m glad.”

  In a rare show of bravery, Alessandro opened his mouth to speak. But just then, Teodora and Isabella returned, each nursing two mugs of tea, and the moment was gone.

  ONE

  The end of the war marked a new era for the mob. The new instated government meant that Italy no longer played by the same rules. The mob had helped the Americans take italy from the Axis forces. It had been part of the reason for the old regime’s downfall. But the war had been a long time ago. Italy had seen nothing short of an economic miracle. It was all about money. And the mafia had always been about money. They knew how to play it smart. They had weaved their fingers into industry, using the country’s monetary growth as a perfect disguise. Laundering was an art.

  All this crossed Alessandro’s mind as Michele guided him into his house one morning, a week from the day they had met for the first time. It was very clear that the Scarsellis did their jobs well. That they had saved and nursed their fortune. Alessandro’s house was large but Michele’s was larger. Alessandro had been in line to the Di Vittorio fortune. He was a mob boss’ heir. At least, he had been. With his newfound status, he knew not whether or not his patrimony hung in the balance. If being another mob heir’s lover rescinded his right.

  With a hand on his back, Michele shepherded him up a flight of stairs and into a room with a bed and a dresser. With a deep breath, Alessandro set down the things he had brought with him.

  “You’ll stay here,” Michele said from behind him. “At least, when you’re not with Niccolo and I.”

  Alessandro turned to face his new lover, hiding the tremble of his fingers in the deep pockets of his pants. “It’s lovely,” he told Michele evenly.

  Michele smiled and offered his arm. “A tour?”

  Alessandro smiled, praying that his nerves would begin to ebb.

  * * *

  The day had passed rather well. Michele had given Alessandro the promised tour of the grounds.

  When Alessandro had been shown in, he had noted the style of the house: stone, earth-toned, and ornate in its design. Its textured eaves hung far out, supported by elaborate brackets. The doors were wooden but decorated with wrought iron, the floors intricate terra cotta mosaics. The ceilings, too, were detailed in their design. Large windows lined the walls of the first floor and smaller ones lined the upper floors. Grand arches made up the openings between rooms, and grander ones upheld by doric pillars led into the porch at the front of the house, and the veranda at the back, which opened into a magnificent courtyard. The Scarselli’s house was made in the same fashion as Alessandro’s own, only far more extravagantly.

  Michele had steered Alessandro through the lawns with their elbows hooked together. The former did most of the talking, while the latter listened, hoping to quell his nerves with the soothing timbre of his new lover’s voice. Afterwards, Michele had taken him back inside, and Isabella had treated them both to lunch.

  Isabella was a stern woman. Intimidating, at times. But she was kind nonetheless. A week ago, she had demonstrated mercy. On this day, the day that Alessandro had left his family behind in an effort to help them, she had done all in her power to assure his comfort, to ease his fears of the brave new world he was stepping into.

  Following lunch, Alessandro was left to settle in. He had unpacked his clothes into his dresser, bathed, and changed out of the clothes on which the sweat from the morning out in the sun with Michele had dried. The bath deserves elaboration: a wide, clawfoot tub had awaited Alessandro in the bathroom, deep enough to submerge Alessandro to the neck even if he was sitting up straight. He had indulged himselves with bath oils he had found and he had promptly poured into the hot water, and candles that he had set on the basin, illuminating the room in a lovely yellow and wafting up a delicious scent (though that could have been the bath oils). Then, he had eased himself in after teasing the water with a toe. The tub in his house was good but it wasn’t this good. After his bath, with nothing left to do, Alessandro had lain on his bed until dinner, and again after that. When he heard a knock on his door, the sun had already gone down.

  “Come in,” he called.

  Without delay, the bedroom door creaked open. Light spilled into the room from the hall, but it silhouetted the figure in the doorframe. But Alessandro didn’t need to see the figure’s face to know who they were. Still, Alessandro reached out to the electric lamp at his bedside and flicked it on.

  “Alessandro,” Michele addressed.

  Alessandro smiled in lieu of greeting him. It was a stiff and uneasy; though the day have worn away the best of his apprehension, being alone in his bedroom—in his bed—with Michele was an entirely different matter, one that brought Alessandro’s nerves back anew.

  “I wanted to see you before we sleep. Perhaps get to know each other a bit better?”

  Alessandro knew where this was headed. Warily, he sat up straighter. Michele took it as permission to move closer, and he didn’t hesitate in striding straight to the bed and taking a seat by Alessandro’s thighs. He raised a hand, gently stroking Alessandro’s cheek with it.

  “When my mother told me about you,” Michele all but whispered, “I was so glad. Niccolo and I have been looking for someone for so long. All the better if it helps your family, too, eh?”

  Alessandro sighed, absently leaning into Michele’s touch. “Is this what you meant by ‘getting to know each other’?”

  Michele pulled his hand back, and Alessandro nearly missed it. “No,” Michele admitted. “I was hoping to. . .introduce you to your new. . .position.”

  “I see.” Alessandro had figured as much. Then, a thought occurred to him. “But please. Can we take it slow?”

  “I was expecting you to say that.” Michele rose from the bed with a sigh and crossed the room. He closed the door so quietly that Alessandro didn’t even hear it latch. When he returned, Michele stayed at the foot of the bed. “For tonight, I’d like to just. .
.focus on you.”

  Reluctantly, Alessandro nodded.

  Michele crawled onto the bed, straddling Alessandro’s hips. They held eye contact as Michele leaned down. Despite the nervous beating of his heard, Alessandro, with his body propped up by his elbows and his fists clenched in his sheets, allowed Michele to connect their lips.

  The kiss was slow and sweet, somehow hesitant and firm at the same time, as though Michele was trying to convince Alessandro into taking on this role. As though Michele knew that Alessandro was on the fence, was anxious and unsure, and was trying to assure him otherwise. Gently, Michele took Alessandro’s lip in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it in a way that Alessandro had never experienced but was now sure he liked.

  Experimentally, Alessandro kissed back. He didn’t know how exactly to do it but he must have been doing it right because with every poke of his tongue and graze of his teeth, Michele was humming above him.

  Hands were under his shirt. Warm and strong and soft, the skimmed Alessandro’s sides, glided over his stomach. He arched into the touch and Michele chuckled, drawing back from the kiss. His hands slid down over Alessandro’s hips, resting at the sides of his crotch.

  Fingering the material of Alessandro’s pants, Michele murmured, “Can I take these off?”

  Though he had just met the man, Alessandro trusted Michele to be patient with him, to not push past his boundaries. He had promised to take it slow, and Alessandro hoped that Michele could respect that he wasn’t ready to go all the way just yet. Tentatively, and racked with uncertainty, Alessandro nodded.

  Michele shuffled back, his weight resting just above Alessandro’s knees. Deft fingers slipped under the hem of Alessandro’s pants. He raised his hips, allowing Michele to grasp them and pull them to his mid-thigh in one strong tug.

  Alessandro hadn’t noticed his erection until he saw it tenting the fabric of his briefs. Suddenly, he was hyperaware of the heat between his legs, the ache as it throbbed. He could feel Michele’s own erection pressing into his leg. Alessandro flushed at the thought of it.

  Michele’s hand was unhurried as it neared Alessandro’s crotch. Their eyes met once more, Alessandro’s wide, Michele’s searching, searching for any indication that Alessandro wanted to stop. Alessandro smiled. It was small and meek, but it was enough.

  The hand hovering about Alessandro came down. The slow movements of Michele’s fingers, were beyond pleasurable. It wasn’t as if Alessandro hadn’t gotten himself off before—he had. But something about someone else doing it, especially someone as attractive as Michele, made it feel all the better.

  For a few more moments, Michele continued to palm him through his briefs, fingers outlining Alessandro’s arousal, the briefest and most fleeting touch sending tingles of pleasure through his body.

  When Michele looked up at him again, his pupils were blown wide with lust and desire, only a small ring of his tawny eyes still visible in the lamplight. “Can I?” Michele asked, his fingers dipping into Alessandro’s briefs.

  Again, Alessandro nodded. But this time, his doubt was slipping away, replaced by excitement and need. He lifted his hips once more and Michele slipped his briefs down. Alessandro’s erection sprung up, unrestrained.

  Alessandro whimpered when a single finger touched it. It smeared the precum, dragging down the length of his shaft them back up. But the teasing only persisted for a bit longer. Eventually, Michele’s whole hand grasped him. At first, his movements were relaxed and deliberate, his thumb rubbing small circles. Then, Michele sped up, pumping Alessandro at a steady pace, each tug drawing small hums.

  And then came a surprise. Alessandro’s eyes had long since shut, so he didn’t notice when Michele leaned down, soft lips wrapping around him. The first real moan fell from Alessandro’s mouth, and he tipped his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to swallow through the pleasure.

  Alessandro grit his teeth and gripped the sheets tighter as Michele took more of him in his mouth. His experienced hands and lips worked in tandem, driving Alessandro to new heights of pleasure and delirium. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alessandro wondered how his body might react to actual sex if it was responding this well to simple fellatio.

  He cried out loudly when Michele took him to his hilt, and he clapped a hand to his mouth, hoping to prevent any sounds that could further give away their activities to the rest of the house’s occupants.

  Michele came back up, a line of spit connecting his lips to Alessandro. “Don’t worry,” he laughed, and Alessandro raised his head to look at him. “Nobody will hear; everyone else sleeps on the other end of the house.” He dipped back down, tongue licking a stripe from the base of Alessandro’s erection to its head, then swirling around it. “Besides,” he continued, lips obscenely brushing the cock’s head, “they already know the details of the arrangement. It’s not like they’re not expecting this to happen.”

  Alessandro’s eyes widened at the bluntness of the statement. But it was a true statement nonetheless. He sighed deeply, missing the heat of Michele’s mouth on him. Michele must have been reading his mind. Michele’s expert lips planted a gentle kiss on the tip of Alessandro’s erection. Alessandro had been expecting him to move down, to take his length in his mouth again, but he didn’t. Instead, he spat on his hand, which came to wrap around Alessandro’s shaft. Michele’s lips enveloped just the head and began to suck, while his hand began sliding up and down his length, movements smoothened by the lubrication he had provided.

  Alessandro began to feel it: a buzzing that began in his legs and travelled up his thighs, through his hips, and coiled into a nervous ball of energy in the pit of his stomach. He had no opportunity to warn Michele as the energy released, pleasure rolling over him in waves as he exploded into Michele’s mouth.

  Dutifully, Michele pleasured Alessandro through his orgasm. Absently, he could feel Michele rocking on his thigh, searching for friction on his erection as he carried Alessandro through his climax.

  When it was over, Alessandro was breathing hard. He allowed his elbows to fold in. and he collapsed onto his back on the bed. He glanced up at Michele. His face was red, his lips beautifully swollen and wet. He had expected Michele to spit out what Alessandro had emptied into his mouth, but the man simply swallowed and smiled, evidently enjoying the taste.

  Michele’s eyes twinkled as he rose from the bed. He was still smiling, but Alessandro could see an edge to it. He glanced down at Michele’s crotch. The strain in his pants was obvious. Alessandro wondered if he should offer to take care of it. But he didn’t get the chance to even open his mouth.

  “I hope that was okay,” Michele said, shifting on his feet.

  Alessandro nodded vigorously. It was more than okay.

  “Good.” Michele was nearly at the door. “Because that was just a taste of what’s to come. Sleep well.”

  Michele shut the door behind him when he left.

  Alessandro pulled his garments back over his flaccid cock and tugged up a blanket from the foot of his bed, draping it over his body. What had just happened was. . .amazing. He had loved it. He had loved being under Michele’s touch, being completely at his mercy, putting his pleasure in his hands.

  Another thought occurred to him: if he was, essentially, to be Michele and Niccolo’s bedwarmer, why hadn’t Michele asked for more? For permission to do more to him? Regardless, Alessandro was glad that Michele had heeded his desire to stay in the metaphorical shallows.

  Turning onto his side, Alessandro sighed and shut his eyes.

  TWO

  Alessandro was met the following morning with blinding sunlight streaming in through pulled-back curtains and Michele’s face hovering above his own.

  “You’re a deep sleeper,” Michele noted when he noticed that Alessandro’s eyes had opened. “It’s almost one o’clock.”

  Alessandro blinked, eyes bleary. He sat up, propping himself up in his elbow, the heel of his free hand wiping at his eyes. “Why are you here?” he blurted. H
is voice was hoarse with sleep.

  Michele smiled gently, backing away to allow Alessandro free movement. “I thought we’d go see Niccolo today. Introduce you two to each other.”

  Alessandro struggled to keep his face in check. He had forgotten, somehow, about their arrangement, despite waking to Michele’s house and Michele’s face. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

  And so, after having a hearty lunch, they left.

  The Pagnottas’ house is as beautiful as the Scarsellis’.

  Alessandro walked behind Michele as the latter strode up the pathway to the Pagnottas’ front door. Michele’s hand was around his wrists. Alessandro was hoping it would serve to ground him. He focused on its heat, its strength, on the absolute confidence that Michele was exuding. But of course, Michele would be confident. They were visiting his long-time lover. Alessandro was visiting a stranger.