Page 14 of The Associate

“Right.” It angered Conor that his parents felt obliged to succumb to bribery to protect their livelihood and their clientele, more so that the San Gaetanos showed no sympathy for an ailing man. They may as well have killed his da. “This farce of an offer is meant to forgive the debt, then?” he asked. “Why offer any money at all? Why not send some goon over and force my parents to sign over the building outright?”

Patrick took the paperwork. “A gesture of good faith, I imagine. They know your father’s in home hospice, Con. This money’s for your mother, for when he dies. It shows they’re not entirely heartless.”

Some gesture. Assuming there were no further debts on the home, Mona would retire and claim her Social Security. With the mob’s pittance and nothing else of value to sell, she’d still struggle.

“Con,” Patrick said, drawing his attention. “Don’t be mad at them. The mob, they lean on everybody here.”

“And they get away with it.” Conor fumed. “Has nobody called the police?”

Patrick sputtered out a laugh. “You are naive, huh? They have enough officers in their pocket. Why waste energy?”

Of fucking course.“They expecting an answer today?” Conor asked.

“Soon as I’m done here.”

Conor scraped his chair backward, standing. “I want you to do two things for me, Pat,” he said. “First, you tell Mr. San Gaetano no deal. How much money do my parents owe, did they say?”

Patrick, his face paled, shuffled through the paperwork with shaking fingers. Conor hated that he planted the responsibility of messenger on his cousin, and he figured his mam had excluded him to protect Tess and the kids. “You can tell them this is all my doing,” he added.

“The total’s right here,” Patrick said.

Conor took the paper from him, his head throbbing at the number.

“Next,” he told Patrick, “I want you to help me get power of attorney over my parents. Call me when you have it figured out. Mam will give you my number.” He dropped the paper and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” His cousin sounded weak. “Con, please act reasonably. Your parents need you. These people…they aren’t ones to mess around.”

Well, his parents had him, for as long as it took to dig them out of this mess. Ireland and his job could wait. Conor twisted to regard Patrick. “I’m off to get Da’s keys,” he said. “I have to open the pub. You tell the San Gaetano mob once I’ve earned the back protection payments, then we can talk sale for what the pub is actually worth.”

Chapter Five

The common wall separating Gio’s apartment from the outside hallway vibrated, rousing him from the couch. He’d landed there upon his return from JT’s, too exhausted to walk the dozen or so steps to his bedroom. Better to pass out in post-orgasmic bliss on his sectional with the memory of Conor Jacob’s plush lips pursed around his cock fresh enough to carry into his dreams.

We should have fucked, Gio thought, mourning the missed opportunity. He tested twice a year to negative results, and he had an inkling Conor would have barebacked him if persuaded. At the very least, Gio regretted letting Conor leave before he could sample the Irishman’s peachy ass. Oh, how they filled out the man’s jeans. Several JT’s regulars had noticed, for certain.

Gio envisioned Conor on a plane to Dublin, if not now then soon, reclined in a tight seat with a goofy-ass grin creasing his face.

“Gio,svegliati!”Pound, pound, pound.Vic must be using both fists, Gio realized. “Open the damned door already!”

“In a second!”

The heavy knocking fell quiet, but the noise didn’t cease. Through the thin walls surrounding him, Gio heard a dog’s barks, a child’s cry, and a few muted adult voices all chorusing their disapproval at the unwanted alarm. Gio sat up and waited for his equilibrium to settle before admitting Vic into his home. While no stranger to summonses at odd hours, weekends were usually quiet for the family. It made sense for Vic to take out his frustration on Gio’s door.

He swung it open just as Vic aimed the heel of his hand for another round. Gio groused at him. “So who needs whacking at what-the-fuck o’clock?” he demanded.

“What do you mean? It’s after ten.” Vic shouldered past and hovered in Gio’s space. “You’re not answering your phone. Aldo called me to make sure you weren’t dead.”

“Far from it.” Gio scanned every surface of his compact living room, from the far arm of the couch to the pass-through counter leading to the galley kitchen in search of his phone. He suspected it might still be in his car, but Vic seemed to read his mind.

“I looked through the windows and didn’t see it,” Vic said as Gio lifted the couch cushions. “You still got yesterday’s clothes on. Did you just come home and crash?”

Gio snatched his phone, tucked into a crevice, and discovered several missed calls from the same number.Shit.“Pretty much,” he said. Friday night, and Conor, remained his business alone. “I took some of that, what do you call it, the cold medicine that makes you sleep. Knocked me the fuck out.” He side-eyed Vic, thinking he could say pretty much anything and the dimwit wouldn’t question him.

“Was the call urgent?” he asked Vic. Aldo never left voicemails, or texts. Even mobile calls posed a risk. If Aldo was reaching out to him now, Gio knew he’d eventually have to check in at the Bertinelli homestead. He wanted a shower and change first. Vic’s body language, to Gio’s relief, suggested there was time.

“Get your ass to Aldo’s, is all he said.” Hunching his shoulders, Vic loped over to the couch and flopped down in the middle. Gio read the move loud and clear—Aldo had poked Vic to poke Gio, not necessarily to bring him back. A weight settled in his chest. Whatever was about to go down involved more than collecting protection fees in Chinese takeaway containers.

Gio mumbled that he wanted to wash off last night. Vic uttered a “sure” and switched on the TV.

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