The Associate (Family Business)

Chapter Six

Aggie Bertinelli poked her head out of the door as though testing the weather. When Gio paused by his car she slipped out onto the top step. Her cut-off denim shorts accentuated her long legs, while her oversized top hid the rest of her assets. “I didn’t thank you last night for the money,” she said. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s all good. You never know when you need a bit of cash for an emergency.” Gio played off Aggie’s gesture as no big deal. In truth, it thrilled him a bit to know he might have an ally in the event his failure to report to Aldo sooner soured his chances for advancement.

“Well, I needed it today.” Aggie sat on one of the stone ledges bordering the steps and crossed her legs. She arched her bare, raised foot and fanned out her toes. “My wallet app was acting up earlier today,” she said, holding up her phone. “Good thing I had that ten to pay for my latte.”

Gio rounded his car, stopping at the foot of the steps. “You’re welcome.” After a beat, he asked, “Your pop in?”

Aggie pointed with her chin down the street. “He took my brothers to the Wing Hut to get their dinner. He and Mom are going out tonight.”

Gio took that as a good sign. If Aldo had romantic plans with Gloria, maybe he wasn’t so hung up on Lonnegan’s business. All in good time, he supposed. “I take it you have plans that don’t involve fried chicken.”

“No, I’m staying in. Julia, too. I’m helping her edit a video,” she said. “We’re boycotting Wing Hut because of their discriminatory practices. Did you know they donate to anti-LGBTQ causes?”

“I did not.” The extent of Gio’s activism involved not voting for bigoted assholes, but kudos to Aggie for paying attention to these things. “I’ll be sure to take my business elsewhere.”

Aggie tilted her head, her gaze locked on him as though reaching for his soul. “Your friend came by about an hour ago. I think he asked where you were.”

“Yeah?” She wasn’t talking about Conor, but funny how he came to Gio’s mind above anyone else. Not a good thing, despite his attraction to the man. God help them both if Aldo learned the true nature of their acquaintance.

“The guy you brought over for dinner. Vic.” Aggie snorted and shook her head. “He’s nosy. Kept asking Julia about her girls’ night. When she told him to fuck off, he asked me out. Can you believe that?”

Gio could. Vic’s determination to move up in the pecking order matched Gio’s, but when it came to putting on a professional front, he lacked finesse. He’d seen no message from Vic on his dying phone, and assumed it wasn’t urgent. “Sorry about that, I’ll see that he behaves.”

“Cool. Are you seeing anybody now, Gio?” she asked.

Gio fixed his expression, trying for a poker face. Again, his thoughts drifted to Conor and the possibility of a hookup after Lonnegan’s closed. “Nobody serious.” It wasn’t a lie. He and Conor made no promises, though Gio wasn’t interested in other men.

“I was thinking, if you’re ever in a situation where you need a plus-one,” Aggie said, “I’m happy to help you out.”

“Because I gave you ten bucks one time?” Gio meant it as a jest.

Aggie’s face was a mask of sincerity. “Because you seem like a stand-up guy, Gio. More so than some of the randos coming here to see Pop,” she said.

Unease curled strong again in Gio’s gut. What does this kid know? Aggie’s offer smacked of volunteering to beard for him. Gio liked to think he well hid his attraction to men, but perhaps he’d underestimated her perception. The girl had proved herself whip-smart and outspoken at dinner the other night, so he should have known.

“Nice of you to offer, Aggie,” he said. “I think your pop might be uncomfortable with the age gap, though.”

“I’m nineteen in February, Gio. Julia turns twenty next weekend. You won’t go to jail.” Aggie then snickered. “Not for that , anyway.”

Gio blinked. He wasn’t as attuned to his capo’s family dynamic as he thought. He wouldn’t dare use the word jailbait for Aggie, but damn, she looked young. After a polite “I’ll keep it in mind,” he beelined for his car and pulled from the curb at the first break in traffic. His pulsed race the entire drive home, thinking not only of how Aggie perceived him, but whether or not she’d share her thoughts with her old man.

Incompetence and/or negligence—whatever applied to his failures today—Aldo might forgive. If the family discovered he was gay…

Gio swore under his breath and drove until he found a free parking spot near his building. He congratulated himself for not keeping any evidence of his sexuality out in the open for Vic to find. No matchbooks from JT’s, no rainbow-logoed swag. In retrospect, it wasn’t smart to allow Vic to crash in his apartment, but if the guy had snooped through his personals he’d been careful to leave no traces of his presence. The granny square throw crumpled on one end of the couch led Gio to assume Vic used his couch to catch up on sleep.

Kicking off his shoes, he lay across the cushions and pulled the colorful throw up to his chin. He ached from his impromptu shift at Lonnegan’s. He wasn’t used to serving drinks, and his head hurt as much as his feet from memorizing orders and suffering multiple loud conversations in a small space. If Conor intended to manage the pub, he ought to look into improving the acoustics.

If Conor kept Lonnegan’s open, it meant trouble for him. Gio, too, unless he could convince Conor to take the deal.

* * * *

Conor looked up from clearing off a pair of damp coasters and noticed the dark sky. When did that happen? He checked his watch. Ten-forty, almost time for last call. “Incredible,” he said aloud.

“What is, Con?” asked one of the patrons at the bar, a friend of his father’s.

Oh, nothing much, he thought. It was incredible that he’d spent nearly eleven straight hours on his feet, serving drinks and reacquainting himself with the microcosm that was Lonnegan’s. Her regulars had grayed a bit, those who’d kept their hair, and some had gained or lost weight, married or divorced, retired or moved up various ladders in their fields. It was incredible that he’d come within twenty minutes of closing without screwing up a drink order or a credit card transaction.

He felt fantastic, despite managing only a few bites of a granola bar over the course of the day. He had energy to burn, and it showed in the bounce of every step along the bar as he cashed out his customers.

“I made it the whole night with my sanity intact,” he said, smiling as he handed the older gentleman his check to sign.

The old man’s hand trembled a bit as he raised the pen. “It’s because you belong here,” he said, and scribbled a ragged signature at the bottom of the slip. “You tell your da we’re all praying for him.”

Conor murmured his thanks. If the good Lord answered prayers with a miracle recovery for Hugh and winning lottery numbers, all the better. For now, he rang the bell for last call and held out hope for a hundred or so more dollars to add to the night’s take. After closing, with the doors locked behind the last straggling customer, he tallied up the receipts and added his cash tips to the total.

Lonnegan’s had performed well for its first night back in operation, without any social media promotion. Enough to put a dent in his parents’ debt to the mob, one might think, but Conor’s heart still panged to see how much remained to pay. Add to that the probability that these San Gaetano folks also expected current payments, and Conor came to a sober realization.

The mob need not bother fitting him with cement shoes. He would collapse in this bar just like his father, stressed out and exhausted.

Conor closed out the point of sale system, then zipped up the night’s cash take in a lockable bank bag. If customers continued to pay as such, he’d need Mona to stop in periodically to make deposits. He wasn’t worried about executing a late-night drop on his own, but he didn’t like having this much cash on his person.

After tucking the bag under his shoulder, he called up his mobile dial pad before leaving the bar, intending to call home. He’d been too busy to check in during the day, but no messages from home indicated all was stable with Hugh. He punched the first few digits of the house line and two possible numbers showed up in the autofill dropdown.

One belonged to Joe. Gio. Conor hovered his thumb over both listings and pressed to ring him. Gio hadn’t returned after Conor had released him from duties, which was fine. The three hours Gio had spent helping Conor had set the tone for the remainder of the day. He owed Gio big for stepping up when his parents needed them.

He deserved kindness in return. Conor mulled over options until Gio answered. “Is this a bad time?” he asked after Gio’s sleepy greeting. Guilt settled in his chest. “I’m sorry, this should have been a text. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can call later.”

“No, it’s good. I was napping a bit in case you called. I wanted to be rested up.”

Conor heard Gio moan out the last of his lethargy, and pictured him arching his back and stretching his limbs. Gio had demonstrated his flexibility in the back of his car, and Conor imagined the possibilities in a place with more wiggle room.

“How was it?” Gio asked.

“Busy. The evening shift flew, and I’m still wired.” Conor hugged the bank bag tighter. “I’m about to leave and make the night deposit, but I have to eat. If you’re willing…”

“Stay put,” Gio cut in. “I’ll escort you. You don’t need to walk around the city with all that cash, especially if you weren’t running money to the bank throughout the day.”

No arguing with that logic. Conor thanked him, and ten minutes later he locked up the pub and dashed across the sidewalk to meet Gio in his car. “Thanks for the lift,” he said, and gave directions to the bank. “That branch has a drive-up box.”

“I know the one. How’s your dad?”

Conor texted home as Gio turned the corner toward the bank. “Resting,” he said, abbreviating Mona’s answer. His father was resting comfortably, which was probably code for painkillers to get him through the night. He’d make sure to keep his return home quiet. “I’m not needed there, it seems, and I’m useless until I’ve had something to eat.” He watched the scenery pass, the bright lights of late-night eateries and dispensaries streaking in different colors. “What’s still open around here that’s good?” he asked. JT’s didn’t have a grill.

“Oh,” Gio said, flashing him a smile, “I know a place.”

* * * *

Bringing Conor back to his apartment, Gio decided, was worth the risk. In the event another associate or somebody higher on the chain spotted them, he had a story ready. Nothing wrong with inviting somebody for a nightcap and friendly conversation steered toward the future of Lonnegan’s. Some targets required time for convincing, wouldn’t be the first time.

If nobody saw them, terrific. Gio longed for privacy with Conor. The way he took charge at the pub, tackling multiple orders at once and charming customers, increased his sex appeal. Conor’s interest in Gio was palpable, too. The air in Gio’s car turned electric, charging his desires and the need to keep Conor from harm. His protective instinct overpowered the guilt he felt for possibly putting Conor in a dangerous position.

“Have a seat. I’ll see what’s good in the kitchen.” Gio left Conor to the few distractions in the living room and opened his refrigerator to survey their dining options. Seconds later, his well-honed senses picked up Conor’s presence behind him. Were he a threat, Gio would have quickly spun into a defensive position and either punched or reached for a chokehold.

With Conor, he straightened to his full height and let the man grasp his waist.

“Hello there,” Conor said, and brushed his lips at the nape of Gio’s neck.

“You’re that kind of hungry, I take it.”

Conor’s muffled laughter blew Gio’s hair out of place, and the sensation rippled down his spine. “I should eat something, though,” Conor said. “You don’t need to hear my stomach growling in the middle of other activities.”

Uh-huh.

“Don’t feel like you have to go all out, either,” Conor added. He pointed into the open fridge. “I see a packet of ham. If you have bread, a sandwich will do.”

“What? C’mon.” Gio laughed and gave Conor a playful nudge out of the way. “It ain’t often that I get to entertain. Let me at least attempt to impress you with my culinary skills.” Damn shame he didn’t get any of Gloria Bertinelli’s veal saltimbocca to share. He would have preferred to serve that over the stale Chinese rice and wilted veggies in the to-go container on the bottom shelf.

“I do commend your choice in beer,” Conor said, and smiled his thanks when Gio handed him a bottle. After a minute’s deliberation, Gio pulled out a sealed container of ready-made mashed potatoes, a stick of butter, and a few eggs. “I got an idea,” he said, arranging everything on the counter. Opening the cabinet to his left, he retrieved flour and one of the small herb shakers on lazy Susan. “You’re not allergic to sage, are you?”

“I don’t believe so. I suppose we’ll find out.” Conor tipped the underside of the plastic tub with his forefinger, lifting it slightly from the counter. “Though, as an Irishman, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remark on the use of store-bought mashers for whatever it is you’re planning.”

Gio feigned indignation as he snatched away the tub. “Yeah, my Sicilian mother isn’t much for cheating in the kitchen, either, but the potatoes are fixed and cooled, which is perfect for what I need.” He decided on gnocchi, a Northern Italian dish, so Gio didn’t feel too guilty betraying his heritage. “I used up my last jar of spaghetti sauce, forgot to buy more,” he said. “Brown butter sage sauce works nicer.”

Conor volunteered to boil the water as Gio prepared the dough. Small talk steered toward food, from comparing childhood comfort meals to a spirited debate over whether the Irish or Italians put on the most elaborate holiday spreads. “I realize outsiders would expect Italians and Sicilians to put out more food at Christmas,” Conor was saying as he helped Gio create fork-tine ridges on the cut gnocchi dumplings, “but you should come to a traditional Irish Christmas dinner one year. Boiled spiced beef, ham, cooked goose.” He raised his flour-coated fork. “Roasted potatoes. Actual potatoes.”

“Is that an invite?” Gio asked, side-eying his apprentice. Conor’s eyes softened and he widened his smile, though Gio noted a hint of sadness emerging in his features. Right . The man was thinking about his father, whose chances of making it to Christmas remained slim.

“I miss the big family dinners,” Conor said. He gathered the gnocchi to cook while Gio focused on browning the butter. “Most of my cousins have moved away, and their parents are either passed or shut in. Don’t get out much. We used to have our holiday dinners in the pub. Da would even invite a few regulars who would otherwise have been alone on Easter or Christmas.”

Gio stirred the melted butter, checking for changes in color and aroma. Why did Conor volunteer that act of kindness, feeding people and expecting nothing in return? The San Gaetanos welcomed outsiders to break bread on occasion, but the mob rarely, if ever, handed out a free meal. Once they took over Lonnegan’s, the generosity stopped.

Conor fished out the cooked gnocchi with Gio’s handheld strainer. There was enough for two small bowls and Conor insisted on sharing. When the sauce achieved its perfect nutty sage aroma, Gio portioned it out and they moved to the living room couch. Conor declined a second beer and they switched to club soda.

Seconds into their meal, Conor moaned his approval. His full lower lip carried a nice buttery sheen, and Gio longed to lean over and lick him clean. “No need to sell me on your approval. This isn’t exactly the best representation of Spatafora cooking skills.” He spoke in jest, and was glad Conor picked up on it.

“This is amazing, though,” Conor said. “My spice rack at home consists solely of salt and pepper. My mam will cook with garlic, and that’s about as seasoned as it gets in the Malloy family.”

Gio tilted his bowl and slid one of his last dumplings through the yellow-brown puddle. “Garlic is its own food group in my family. During the summer I’d sit out on the stoop with my pop and my uncles after dinner while they smoked.” He chuckled at the memories. “In the heat, we’d sweat it all out and smell like a pizzeria.”

“Your mother and your aunts must have loved that come bedtime.”

“I tried not to think about it,” Gio said, and took Conor’s empty bowl. “Me, I do enjoy many flavors. Case in point.” He spotted a tiny droplet of brown butter beading on the underside of Conor’s lower lip. Bending forward, Gio closed his lips over the spot and worried the plush skin between his teeth. He wobbled in place and shifted his feet to anchor himself when Conor pushed up into the kiss. The tang of butter combined with the musky sage renewed Gio’s appetite and pivoted it toward Conor. Softening his jaw, he let Conor fill his mouth and showed his appreciation with a moan similar to Conor’s culinary review.

When they tapered off the kiss, Gio straightened his posture and Conor rested back on the couch with a hazy expression. “I think you smell good and taste even better,” he said, reaching out to hook his fingers into the waist of Gio’s jeans. His gaze fixed on the bulge underneath Gio’s belt. “I’m still hungry.”

“I got you.” Gio offered his hand and pulled Conor into a tight hug and another searing kiss. Chest to chest, eyes closed and exploring backsides and biceps, they slotted their legs together and rolled into a slow, agonizing grind that sharpened in the ache in Gio’s groin. In the battle between tight denim and a solid hard-on, something had to give. Gio pushed hard into Conor one more time and tore away, gasping.

“This way.”

Gio didn’t bring lovers home. His connection to the San Gaetanos was part of the reason, but Gio worried more about a random hookup finding one of his guns. With Conor, the rules no longer applied. Gio’s fierce and instant attraction thrilled and amazed him, and triggered thoughts of reexamining his entire life. All through his youth, life among made man fascinated him. The authority, the power, the passion. Locked in Conor’s arms, he saw possibilities outside the insular existence of the San Gaetanos.

Love at first sight? Gio never believed in that fairytale bullshit. His mother devoured the instalove romcom movies and books, where he preferred the classic mob dramas. Nobody fell head over heels for each other on the shows he watched—definitely not same-sex couples.

Is this fate? Was he meant to park his car in front of Lonnegan’s last night? Say something to a handsome stranger? He could have gotten into his car and driven away, then spent the evening at JT’s in wistful longing for companionship before going home unsatisfied. One-nighters fulfilled urges, sure, but Conor fed his soul. Gio felt it.

He stowed his semi-automatic handgun, the one he carried daily, under his mattress when he slept. He’d left it there when he collected Conor, but he wasn’t worried about that discovery. The smaller pistol under his pillow concerned him at present, but he had an idea.

Gio walked backward into his bedroom, kissing and nipping at Conor with every step. When the backs of his thighs hit the side of the bed, he toed off his shoes and let Conor help with the rest of his clothes. The polo landed in a corner, and Gio kicked his puddled pants and briefs to one side. All the while, he fixed on Conor’s eyes, pleased with how the man panned his gaze down Gio’s nearly nude body. Nothing Conor hadn’t already seen—the important parts—but now they had the space and light to better appreciate each other.

Gio palmed his balls and cock, stroking and squeezing as Conor finished undressing by himself. “You are amazing,” he said, his voice husky and low as he looked his fill. Skin like cream, tinted a peachy pink, set Gio’s mouth watering. Conor’s stamina in the bar today shouldn’t have surprised Gio—the man was fit, sinewy with tight arms and defined pecs. He looked forward to a long, hard fuck.

“I mean this…” Gio reached out with his free hand and slid his fingers down Conor’s throat to his left nipple. He traced the hard nub before pinching, loving the hiss that followed. “And this.” Stepping closer, he grabbed Conor’s bare ass. “I can’t believe you were hiding a fine-as-fuck bubble butt under your pants.”

Conor touched their foreheads together, shaking with quiet laughter. “To think I almost left it at home this morning.”

“Thanks for bringing it. Your cock, too.” Conor’s hung well and long. “It’s gonna feel so fucking incredible inside me.”

Conor grasped Gio’s butt and massaged. “Your whole naked body is how I imagined it. Broad and sexy and hard all over,” he said, and pivoted his hips forward so that their cocks brushed.

Gio tilted back his head, counting to ten in silence as he accepted kisses along his jaw and down his throat. At the finish he touched the sides of Conor’s face and eased him away. They’d spent enough time upright, so he crawled onto his bed and lay on his stomach. “Everything you need is in the top drawer,” he said, nodding at his nightstand.

While Conor retrieved the travel bottle of lube and the rubbers, Gio arched his back to give his ass some shape. His wasn’t as rounded or high as Conor’s, thank genetics for that, but the way Conor smoothed his hand along the low curves boosted his self-worth. The moment’s distraction also allowed Gio to slip his hands under the pillow and take hold of his smaller gun, which he secreted underneath the mattress through the slim posts of his wrought-iron headboard.

He glanced over his shoulder at Conor, now hunched over the foot of his bed and focused on Gio’s backside. He winced at the light slap of Conor’s hand on his left cheek, and low curses spilled from his lips when Conor opened him and licked a long, wet stripe over his hole.

Fuck! Conor hadn’t been joking about his appetite. Gio hugged the pillow and relaxed into Conor’s hunger. He felt Conor alternate between broad swipes of his tongue around his hole and nipping love bites down his balls. When Conor sucked one into his mouth and rolled it between his teeth Gio tried not to jackknife off the bed. “You’re killing me, man.” What a way to go, though, in bed with a fearless lover who might devour his ass until he begged to move on to more.

Gio rolled his dick into the mattress, spreading pre-cum on his top sheet. He imagined Conor could make him orgasm by just licking his ass. “Please,” he said, and paused for breath. “Please fuck me.”

Not yet. Gio endured more teasing in the form of a hard faceplant between his ass cheeks and the mild abrasion of Conor’s stubble on his sensitive areas. A lubed-up finger sliding into his hole followed, and Gio twisted around again to look. Conor’s mouth softened into an awed moue as he played with Gio.

“You take me so easily,” Conor said. He added a second finger and pumped. “You’re so tight and hot. If I didn’t want to plow this sweet ass I could watch myself finger-fuck you for hours.”

“Why wait?” Gio wriggled and clamped down on Conor’s fingers. He had a gorgeous man in his bed. As far as they knew, Hugh Malloy was hanging in there, and Aldo Bertinelli was out wining and dining his wife. Outside Gio’s bedroom, nothing else existed—not the pub, not the San Gaetanos. No fear of being caught.

Gio closed his eyes and rocked his body against Conor’s attentive touches. Time belonged to them, and he grasped onto it for dear life.