Page 17 of The Associate

The San Gaetanos believed differently.

He has to give up the place.Gio knew the consequences if Conor refused to yield to the family. He dreaded Aldo’s next directive if he came back with a negative report.

“Hey, buddy?”

Gio bit back a snappy retort. Only his superiors reserved the right to address him like that, but these people saw a bar server instead of a Mafia associate. “Yeah, whatcha need?” he asked, and took orders for the table’s second round. On the walk back to the bar, he took note of stations ready to settle up.

“Tables six and two are ready to check out, and three wants another round of the same,” he told Conor. Leaning on the service stall, he watched Conor retrieve two credit cards from the cubby used to keep tabs. “Nice showing for the first night back, you think?”

Conor fingered the first receipt streaming out of its printers, then rang up the second bill. “I’m encouraged. It’s been a while since I was here last, but it’s a steady clip.” Table three weren’t the only people wanting refills, either. Gio didn’t have to remind Conor of their order. The substitute bartender set up three rocks glasses with ice and prepared an Old Fashioned, a vodka cranberry and a gin and tonic with practiced ease.

Gio moved the glasses into a triangle before lifting them together. “Thanks.”

“You can head home after that, if you like,” Conor told him.

Gio halted his path to table three, stunned by the abrupt, though not unkind, dismissal. “What? Conor, you’ll drown if it stays this busy.” Lonnegan’s was close to standing room only, with people inquiring if chairs were available for the cordoned-off sidewalk patio.

“I appreciate your help, Joe, but I can’t expect you to sling drinks all night.”

“Hold that thought.” Gio delivered to table three before the glasses slipped out of his aching fingers. On his return, he bypassed the stall and walked right up to Conor, ignoring the audience lining the bar. “You asked me to help, remember?” he asked, and slid his forefinger along the back of Conor’s hand. They stood close enough together that anyone drinking at the bar would have missed it. “I’m here because I chose it. You’re getting all my tips, by the way.”

“Joe—”

“Gio.”

Conor furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Gio. It’s short for Giuseppe, what my friends call me,” Gio said. “I think we’re there now.”

Conor’s smile expressed his agreement. His eyes took on a bright sheen, like tears he tried to blink away. “Take a break, then, and get some lunch? I can handle everything. You’ve been at it for three hours straight.”

Three hours?Fuck. The time had flown with Gio talking up customers and flirting with Conor during the brief lulls. Aldo was probably wondering what the hell had happened to him. Thank God his capo—anybody connected to the San Gaetanos—hadn’t come looking for him.

Gio checked his phone. No messages, but the battery icon showed a thin red line at the base. “You know what?” He looked around the bar, searching for familiar faces and others too invested in his presence. The San Gaetanos employed numerous associates, and Gio was aware of their reach. “I do have an errand to run. Not urgent,” he added on seeing Conor’s worried expression, “but if you think you’ll be okay I’ll give the floor one last sweep before I check out.” He did just that before slipping into the back to retrieve his blazer and gun.

Conor met him at the bar as he smoothed the wrinkles from his blazer and asked for Gio’s number. “Not to summon you back to work, but it appears I’ll be in town for a while longer than anticipated.” Conor walked with Gio to the front. “I’d like to see you again,” he said directly in Gio’s ear, to be heard over the din.

Gio asked for Conor’s phone and pluggedJoeinto the contacts with his number. He’d figure out an alias for his phone when Conor texted him, after he reached a full charge. “If I don’t see you later on, I’m a night owl. Text me when you lock up?”

They didn’t kiss, or even touch, as they locked gazes in a silent goodbye. Gio shouldered past an incoming couple and walked to his car…still parked outside Aldo’s house.

Fuck.Assuming Aldo hadn’t left his house, he probably saw Gio’s car every time he glanced out his den window. Gio’s stomach roiled with every step down the block, contemplating the consequences of fumbling Aldo’s instructions. At best, he’d have to sit through a loud, profanity-laden scolding.

At worst, Aldo would assign somebody else, like Vic, to lean hard on Conor to sign away the pub. The pain in Gio’s gut sharpened at the thought of Vic persuading Conor by slamming his head on the bar and spraying his face with the soda gun until Conor capitulated. It made Gio want to one-eighty and plant himself in front of Lonnegan’s like a bouncer.

It sucked that the old man had fallen behind on his protection payments, and Gio admired his son’s resolve to pull his family out of the hole. Conor had to understand, though, that Don Salvatore’s offer was agift. That he didn’t assume ownership of the pub without a cent of compensation to the Malloys’ spoke of the family’s compassion for the Malloys’ predicament.

His car in sight, Gio walked faster, relieved to find the Bertinellis’ steps empty. He’d go home, charge his phone, throw out Vic if he was still there, and come up with a plan. Hopefully Vic hadn’t cleaned out his fridge, because he was starving.

He dipped into the street, aiming his fob at the driver’s side door, and was halfway into the car when a voice calling his name halted his progress.

“Gio, wait.”

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.

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