18. Milan
MILAN
My body and brain hurt.
Sicily’s new studio was a mess of blood and cum and there were clothes scattered over the floor, but the mess did not matter.
I had told her everything that I had been bound not to. I told her because I had almost confessed what I felt deep inside, and I could not do that without her knowing me in my entirety, choosing me despite everything I had done.
And she had.
Sicily had passed out in my arms, both of us soaked in tears that I had not shed since I was a child, as I carried her to my bedroom.
I had bathed her, cradled her against my chest as I washed every curl on her head and every inch of her body like she was sacred.
Touching Sicily was a blessing, something that I did not deserve, but having her trust me enough to let me break her and now fall asleep in my arms caused me a smile that I felt throughout my entire body.
Sicily did not wake as I tucked her into my bed, in my clothes, and told her unconscious form that she would never be leaving it again.
And then, though it pained me to do so, I left her alone to sleep.
I was covered in scratches and bruises, yet I was experiencing the intense urge to hum, drink coffee, and find Adriano.
That was what ordinary people would consider to be happiness, sated lust, and peace, and that pleasurable experience lasted until I reached his bedroom door opposite my own, and threw it open, finding my Consigliere pressed into his mattress by the former Capo dei Capi of the Outfit.
Adriano’s room was certainly not as orderly as mine, but I had always thought Adriano’s spaces were warmer than my own.
He had similar tastes to Sicily with his illogical choices of mismatched colors, navy bedsheets, and cream curtains, and I regretted any previous occasion that I had stated it was odd.
The sight before me, however, was odd, and my eyebrows rose at the act I was witnessing.
This was an unexpected turn of events, but one that was somewhat fascinatingly deviant from Adriano’s standard behavior. He had never snuck anyone into the house before and had always informed me if he planned on bringing sexual partners home.
I took a seat opposite the bed, staring intently at how he allowed Francesco to be so rough with him, his hair being pulled, his body being used.
Typically, whenever we had shared women in the past, he had been dominant, even more so than me, but he was simply moaning into his pillow and permitting this.
It indicated a high level of trust and familiarity, and clearly he was enjoying it, so I sat back in the armchair opposite his bed, took out my phone, and began to look at photos of Sicily from the wedding.
I had not understood the point of hiring a photographer back then, but I was grateful to myself now.
There were photos of her from the wedding, photos of her from events, but my favorites were the photos of her that Adriano liked to take from around the house.
She was napping on the couch like a cat in one, eating a bowl of cereal with a grin in another, laughing with pancake batter on her nose in the last. I found beauty a difficult concept to quantify, but my wife was beautiful in every possible way, even in the ones where she glared at me as though she possessed a world of hatred in those deep green eyes.
A chuckle slipped free as I analyzed that one.
It was strange how one photograph could create so many feelings. Perhaps it was happiness, or humor, or l—
“What the actual fuck are you doing here?”
My head lifted to meet his gaze. “Good evening, Francesco,” I answered. “I live here; this is my home. You should have let me know you were visiting; I would have made myself available to greet you.”
Adriano’s jaw was agape as he stared at me, still beneath Francesco. He seemed to be shocked, like he was doing something that he was not allowed to do.
“Why didn’t you knock?” Francesco said, removing his grip on Adriano’s curls to gesture to the door as if I did not understand the concept of knocking or what a door was.
Adriano made a sound that suggested he might have wanted to speak but could not, or at least chose not to.
I shrugged. “I have not knocked on Adriano’s door once in my entire life. I will adjust my behavior and knock next time.” A silent moment passed before I noticed that they were both still staring at me. “Did you want me to leave?”
Francesco drove his hips forward once, causing Adriano to groan. “I don’t care, just let me make him come before you kick me out.”
I frowned. I would not kick out Adriano’s partners; that would be suboptimal for his emotional processing, but before I could say that, the two were continuing, harder this time as though they were in a rush.
My eyes closed as I yawned, and I thought of being warm in bed with Sicily instead of sitting here. She had accepted me as I was with all my faults, and letting her go, even upstairs, made me miss her.
When the pair came loudly, together, which I thought was most sexually optimal, I stood and entered Adriano’s dark green bathroom to find a towel for the pair, but was greeted with Adriano following me, unblinking and flushed instead.
I could not deduce his expression to one emotion. It was rather confusing.
“Are you well?” I asked him, handing him the towel.
Adriano did not nod. He snatched the towel out of my hands, running it over his sweat-soaked hair before taking a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor and slipping them on.
I frowned as I watched him. I had never seen Adriano this way. He was distressed, and I could not understand why.
He stared at himself in the wide mirror above the sink, shaking his head at himself.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Adrian—”
“Why are you here?” he asked roughly.
Though I could not entirely figure out why, this conversation did not seem appropriate given Adriano’s current distress, but he waited, staring at me in the mirror like he did truly want to know.
I whispered, to keep the conversation away from Francesco, still just beyond the door, “I told Sicily. About it all.”
“You did?” He frowned deeply. “I thought you didn’t want her to know?”
“I did not, but she said she would not leave and she kept her word.”
The door creaked, and both of our attentions turned to the doorway where Francesco had covered his previous nakedness with sweatpants and a soft shirt that was definitely Adriano’s, and was leaning against the doorframe with a smile that made his dimples pop.
“Nothing says romance like loving your man over his life-binding contract.”
I blinked. How did he know?
Adriano’s face and ears tinged pink as he blurted, “I told him too.”
“And you trust that he would not tell your father that he is aware of the contract?” I asked.
Diego Sansone, my father’s ex-Consigliere, Adriano’s father, was the enforcer of the contract that had changed our lives.
If we did not obey the rules, if we told anyone, Diego had the right to end our lives, and kill those we trusted, all on my deceased father’s behalf.
Even if Diego died, there were clauses in place to keep the terms alive.
Francesco scoffed unnecessarily loudly. “Trust me, nobody hates his father more than I do. Abusive, fucked up, homophobic asshat—”
“Okay, can we just talk about what you just saw, Milano?” Adriano interrupted, shoving past Francesco to return to his bedroom and distance himself from me.
That was an evident sign of anxiety—over what I did not know. I had seen Adriano naked plenty of times, and I did not mind; he was not visually displeasing, and we had shared enough women that seeing him involved in a sexual act was not shocking.
I gestured to Francesco as I followed. “You were having sex with Francesco.”
“Why are you saying it like that?” he snapped.
“Like what?”
He turned to face me, still remaining as far from me as he could. “Like it’s…fine.”
My face became uncomfortable as I tried to understand what he was referencing. I did not understand, and I always understood my friend.
“Well,” I began. “He is wearing two earrings. That is an unacceptable fashion choice, but one that I shall endeavor to ignore if Francesco is to become a frequent visitor of our home.”
Francesco let out a deep chuckle as he settled back onto the bed and into the pillows, but Adriano did not move.
I walked across the room slowly, closing the space between us.
It was then that I noticed his hands shaking.
I reached over and clasped my fingers around his wrists like he always did for me.
He did everything for me.
“Milan.” Adriano seethed, shaking his head. “You’re my Capo. What you just saw is a punishable offence in your Famiglia.”
“Sex?” I said, squeezing his hands. “I had sex with my wife before I came here; does that mean I should also be harmed?”
“No!” Adriano growled, his body shuddering. His hands ripped from mine and tore at his hair as he raised his voice and shouted, “She’s your wife. She’s a woman. I-I love Francesco!”
The bed creaked as Francesco shuffled uncomfortably, clearing his throat like he too had anxiety over this statement.
Adriano had taken many lovers in his lifetime, but never had he allowed them into his bed afterward or looked at them the way he had Francesco tonight. He and I were alike in many ways, and that was how I knew that Adriano loved his partner.
He looked at him like I looked at Sicily.
“Congratulations,” I said, the corners of my lips turning upward. “This is most pleasing. We have dinner together as a family each night, Francesco; you will be required to attend.”
“Milan,” Adrian bit out, gritting the words between his teeth.
“Adrian?”
“I’m telling you I’m gay.”
My forehead creased uncomfortably. “I am aware of the term that describes a male’s sexuality. This information is irrelevant to me unless you are now about to inform me that you wish to engage in sexual intercourse with me… Do you?”
Adriano gaped, his eyes widening by the second, but his shoulders slumped as though this was a weight he had carried with him for years. “No. Absolutely not.”
“That is preferable.” I cleared my throat and raised my voice to be obvious. “If I observe that Francesco decreases your indicators of happiness, I will eliminate him.”
Francesco’s smirk turned to a wide smile, but Adriano simply nodded, tears gathering in his eyes.
“I find myself insulted that you did not consider informing me of your preferences as it evidently held importance to you to express this,” I said. “You appear to have believed I would approach this revelation with prejudice.”
“I just… I’m aware of the rules.” He sighed.
“I am Capo dei Capi,” I took and squeezed his fingers. “I make the rules now, and I will change them. Allow me some time and I will amend things for you.”
It was a crime to be gay in the Famiglia, and many had met their end from being discovered this way.
I found it no different from a woman and a man entering a relationship; I did not care any more or less, though I suspected the barrier was the thought of not continuing a legacy and not producing an heir.
Many Dons would not induct non-biological children of their men and would treat them as outcasts.
Made Men often did not support change, but I would do anything for Adriano.
Adriano burst into tears, and though I did not know of the correct course of action to console him in this specific scenario, he appeared to find comfort in holding my hand and standing before me, so I remained like everyone in that house had remained for me.
“Adriano,” I said quietly, my mouth moving ahead of my brain.
He looked up.
“I—” I love you.
My own eyes widened at what my brain had desired to say.
I did not have the credibility to claim such a thing, and I could not feel what was required for that statement to be true, but it was almost a burning requirement to express it.
This concluded that I had started to feel emotions, feelings that I had not thought myself capable of.
This was not permitted under any circumstance, and I would not act upon it.
“This means that Francesco is required to assist my wife with her school,” I said quickly instead.
“Already done.” Francesco yawned. “We’ve been talking about it for weeks, but you’ve been arguing with her like an ass, so you wouldn’t know that.”
I rolled my eyes.
Having Francesco in my family would be an adjustment I would struggle to make, but I would make it because Adriano was a strict requirement and he was his requirement.
In the comfortable silence that followed, a thought formed, and I asked, “Is there a term for somebody who surpasses their title?”
Adriano crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”
“Sicily is my wife; this is her title through our marriage.” I swallowed, placing a hand on my chest to rub away the ache. “There is no requirement for a wife to make me experience the sensation that if I had not met her, I would not be…me.”
The silence forced my gaze to find them and their aghast expressions.
“A soulmate, brother,” Francesco said in a hoarse tone.
“Soulmate?” I echoed.
He nodded. “It means someone who was meant for you. Like somewhere in time, the universe decided that Sicily would be your person one day.”
The notion that the outcomes of our lives were somehow predetermined by fate was illogical, but it concluded something that I had always believed; it was no coincidence that I had chosen Sicily over her sister.
It was not chance that she was the only person in history to cause me to recalibrate around their chaos.
It was not perseverance that allowed her to be the only one that I kissed.
It was not luck that I required her every second of the day to function.
She was meant for me.