Page 25 of The Associate

Gio marched over to Vic and planted his bare heel in the man’s groin.

Chapter Eight

Conor crept into the house, careful with door closures and steps on creaking floorboards, so as not to wake his parents. A brief check found Hugh sleeping peacefully with Mona at his side. She sat stretched across two chairs facing each other, holding her husband’s hand. Conor said a prayer in his head for their well-being and went up to his old room, where he stripped to his briefs and fell into bed.

When sleep claimed him, Conor’s subconscious self gasped as the images surrounding him forced reenactments of moments from his waking life. Everywhere he turned in his dreams, Gio waited with his arms open for an embrace. In the pub, in Gio’s apartment, even in his bedroom, his dream self succumbed to the mobster’s fevered kisses and caresses. God help him, Conor groaned when his body reacted to a full, aching bladder about an hour before he normally woke. He hated leaving his erotic dreams, and more than that he hated that he longed to slip through the veil again.

Sitting upright in bed, rubbing his face, he detected the fading scents of garlic and sex. He pressed his fingertips to his lower lip and pulled, darting out his tongue to taste what remained of Gio. In any alternate universe, Conor might have smiled at the memory of Gio coming apart underneath him, and counted the seconds until their next tryst. Much as Vic’s actions and words angered him, Conor had to credit the man for giving into his prejudices and interrupting them. How much longer could Gio have strung him along otherwise?

He showered, scrubbing a rough-surfaced bar of soap over every reachable inch of skin. Its light mint and leafy scent replaced last night’s dinner and sex but couldn’t erase all evidence of Gio. Conor closed his eyes as he faced the warm spray, still aware of how Gio felt under and around him. Not once in his dating life had somebody made such an indelible impression in a short time.A weekend,he thought. Not even.Holy hell.Conor forced Gio out of his mind, for now. Other issues took precedent.

At breakfast, he sat with his parents and summarized his day at Lonnegan’s, passing along well wishes of regulars and omitting Gio’s three-hour shift. “We pulled in a fair amount of money. Business was steady from open to close,” he said as the family shared juice and speculoos gingerbread cookies in the hospice room. “I made a bank deposit at closing, but I have to be honest with you both.”

Hugh and Mona looked at him and Conor read their faces. They knew what he had to say, but he had to give the words life.

“This whole situation with the San Gaetano syndicate will get us one way or the other,” he said. “Da, if yesterday taught me anything, it’s that I’m barely capable of manning the pub by myself. We can’t afford to hire on, and it doesn’t help Mam if both of us are driven underground from exhaustion and stress.”

Mona choked out a sob and covered her face. Hugh nodded at Conor, melancholy creasing his face. “Con, we had a great run. Lonnegan himself would have been proud,” Hugh told him. “We understand why you opened the pub yesterday, but you mean more to us. It’s not for you to pay for our sins.”

“You haven’t sinned, Da.” Conor squeezed his father’s other hand. Blame the mob for taking what wasn’t rightfully theirs in the first place. The thought that he might have contributed to the Malloys’ protection payments, had his parents confided in him, passed without comment. No sense twisting that knife when distancing themselves from Lonnegan’s altogether provided an opportunity for Hugh’s health to improve.

“You were probably set to heed Patrick’s advice before I arrived, so I’ll support your decision,” he added, then faced his mother. “I don’t want Da dealing directly with those people and worsening his condition. Do you trust me to act on your behalf?”

Mona wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Of course, Con.”

Conor asked her to call his cousin to the house. Whatever it took to get his parents out of trouble, so be it. It wouldn’t surprise him if the San Gaetanos lowered their offer further out of spite. When he met with the family, though, he wanted one concession. Conor hoped the don listened to reason and granted the request without pulling him deeper into the mafia’s debt.

Hugh waited for Mona to leave the room before speaking. “It’s a shame Lonnegan’s has to end with me, but it’s for the best. You have a life in Dublin, and we never expected to live vicariously through you.”

“Da—”

“If the San Gaetanos keep the pub as it is, if they tear down the building and put up condos, I don’t care,” he cut in. “If I die this week, all I want is assurance that your mother is safe.”

The words pained him, but Conor gave a sharp, short nod as his promise to fulfill that wish regardless of Hugh’s fate.

“Here’s hoping they forgive our negligence, and we can worry about what’s next.” A shadow fell on Hugh’s features. “Your mother showed you where we keep all the important papers, right?” he asked. The end of life plans, the numbers for the funeral home and church. The list of first calls after the last breath.

“Yes.”

“I get it, Con. We’ll talk about something else until Patrick gets here.” Hugh’s eyes then brightened as they locked gazes. The notion of freeing themselves of their obligation to the mob seemed to work healing magic on the man. Conor relayed what local gossip he’d overheard while at the pub, and Hugh filled in gaps about people Conor hadn’t seen in ages. “What about that Sicilian fella you met the other night?” his father asked. “Did he stop by?”

Conor’s mouth ran dry. He shook his head and said, “I never told him about the pub or my connection to it.” Not a complete lie. “Like I told you earlier, I can’t say anything will come out of that.”

“I see.” Hugh pouted. “Shame.”

Conor heard the doorbell ring. He leaned over to kiss Hugh’s forehead and stood. “Yes,” he said. “Damn shame.

* * * *

Before leaving his apartment, dressed neatly in a charcoal suit with matching tie, his shoes shined and hair neatly combed, Gio did something he’d neglected for several years. He prayed.

It’s me, Giuseppe, he spoke in his head, mimicking a childhood book of old. Members of the San Gaetano family attended the same parish, the one attached to Gio’s old high school, though only the older women seemed to find comfort in the rituals and sacramentals. Gio showed for holidays and other holy days of obligation, as well as various life events. It amused him to see Monsignor keep a straight face while administering the Eucharist to some of the nation’s most prolific and unrepentant criminals.

As Gio panned his gaze around his apartment, pausing at the bleached spot on his bedroom carpet where he’d scrubbed out Vic’s bloodstain, he wondered how the old priest would handle his eulogy. He was due at the San Gaetano house in thirty minutes. Two o’clock, as directed by the don’sconsigliere, and no further details. Gio had a good idea of the topic of discussion, but was keen to guess how Don Salvatore wished to resolve the family’s internal conflict.

He could grant Gio a second chance at full initiation provided he married a woman, perhaps one of his choosing, and produced a child as proof of Gio’s conversion to ‘normality.’

He could turn a blind eye to Gio’s sexuality but keep him a low-level associate forever, then maybe promote Vic above him just to fuck with his head.

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