Page 28 of The Associate

Gio’s heart lifted at that, but Conor’s next words applied a pressure that kept him grounded.

“Aggie said it, you’re not the only queer person in the organization,” Conor said. He raised his hand as though to touch Gio, but to Gio’s disappointment lowered it after a second. “How big is the family?”

Gio shrugged. “About a hundred or so associates alone, answering to the capos. If you ask me, though, she was probably referring to herself.” Gio got that vibe from Aggie. Either way, he appreciated having an ally able to bend Don Salvatore’s ear.

“It’s been said that ten percent of the population is gay.” Conor’s line of vision tracked a car covered in stickers, one showing a rainbow flag, rolling past. “A hundred or so associates…it makes sense there are at least nine others.”

For certain, Gio knew he could eliminate Vic from a list of guesses. He rounded on Conor and stepped closer. “How areyou?” he asked, longing for the warmth in Conor’s gaze and the opportunity to offer comfort. “That couldn’t have been easy for you back there.”

“At the end of the day, it’s just a building.” Conor turned up his lips, but the smile didn’t reach the rest of his face. “My family will always hold Lonnegan’s dear, but we still have each other for a little while longer. That matters more.”

Conor took out his phone and called up his rideshare app, politely declining Gio’s offer of a ride. The nearest car, about two minutes away, began its approach on the map screen. Enough time to face the inevitable.

“So this is it, huh?” Gio asked. “Eventually you go back to Ireland, and scout churches and warehouses for the movies, and I never see you again.”

“I’m not leaving tomorrow.” Conor pocketed his phone. Gio relaxed, being spared the countdown until their separation. “As for us, Gio, I don’t know. The near-assault by your mob buddy aside, there’s a lot to unpack.”

“I know,” Gio said, crestfallen. “You think I’m a bad person. Unworthy.”

This time when Conor lifted his hand, he curled it at the join of Gio’s neck and shoulder. He brushed his thumb at the corner of Gio’s mouth, and Gio chased it for a quick kiss. On a sidewalk, out in the open. Two days ago, the notion would never have crossed his mind.

“Gio, if I believed that I wouldn’t be talking to you now. I don’t approve of how your bosses operate, but after the time we’ve spent together I like to think you are good at heart. Maybe you and Aggie can change how things work,” Conor told him. “I’m no angel myself. Granted, I’m not connected, and I won’t ask for details on what you’ve done in your time with these people.” He glanced back at Salvatore’s brownstone. “My parents taught me to give people the benefit of the doubt. I don’t think you’re unworthy of love.”

Conor let his hand fall to his side. “I can’t say that I’m the one to give it to you. At least not right now.”

Gio understood. Despite their chemistry, they came from very different backgrounds, and their timing sucked. Case in point, a sedan with a neon logo on the dashboard turned onto the street and slowed before them, preventing a deeper discussion.

“For what it’s worth,” Gio said as Conor stepped toward the curb, “I wouldn’t have harmed your parents. I’d have learned some Irish to relate to him.” Throughout his career as a bagman, he’d never resorted to violence. “I’ll pray for him, in fact.”

Conor turned, and Gio expected a smile as the bare minimum. It surprised him when Conor came back and pecked him on the lips. “If you’re open to talk in the future, I’ll know where to find you,” he whispered.

“Please.” Gio then watched Conor slip into the front passenger seat, and waited until the car turned a corner before walking away. Conor still had his number, he hoped, but the more thought about it, he wondered exactly what Conor meant.

Chapter Nine

Six months later

“Can I get a dirty martini and a G&T?” Aggie asked from the service stall.

Gio looked up from the taps, completing a stout pour, and acknowledged the order with a short nod. Friday night, as usual, meant a packed house at Lonnegan’s, and December brought people seeking post-shopping comfort. Close to seven, Gio expected much of the crowd to soon signal for checks in order to get out in time for nearby movie seatings and late dinner reservations. He looked forward to the brief lull, and sitting down for a few minutes, before receiving the first trickles of the late-night rush.

For now, he fulfilled Aggie’s latest booth order and set the cocktails near the stall. “How you holding up?” he asked her.

Aggie took a drink in each hand, winking. “Tips are good tonight. Must be that generous holiday spirit.” Indeed, the glass container on the bar overflowed with dollar bills as well.

After finalizing the transition of the pub to The SSG Group’s ownership, Gio had left collections behind for a crash course in bartending. Salvatore and hisconsigliereelected to keep the Lonnegan’s name and decor, since the community identified so well with it. The only change made to the business involved adding liquor from a local distillery—another San Gaetano venture—and some creative accounting.

Vic, Gio heard from Aggie, now ran errands for a different capo on the other side of the city. Still lived with his mother and refrained from patronizing Lonnegan’s. If any of the other San Gaetano associates were aware of a gay man among them, they paid Gio no mind.

Gio remained an associate, yet to hear talk of a full initiation into the family. Truth be told, if he stayed a low-level mobster and manager of a pub front in his old age, fine by him. From day one, he’d established a rapport with the ready-built customer base that enhanced his nights behind the bar. A few veteran drinkers had been sad to see ownership change hands, but Gio liked when they shared their memories.

He served drinks and listened in as they talked. Three months into the job, he’d learned from those who’d called on the Malloys that Conor’s father had slowly recovered to the point he no longer required home hospice. Friends attributed the recovery to a divine miracle, but Gio guessed that the absence of mob pressure allowed Hugh Malloy to focus on his health and gradually heal. Gio was happy for him, and for Conor, though the news that the Malloys had sold their home and retired to Ireland canceled out that joy.

Unless a cousin or other relative over here married or died soon, Gio figured Conor had no reason to visit. He hadn’t looked at another man since Conor had rolled out of his sight after the meeting at Salvatore’s, nor had he patronized JT’s. The don hadn’t forbidden him from going there, however. Long hours at Lonnegan’s left Gio exhausted in his free time, too tired to carry himself anywhere else but his bed. If Gio caught the interest of a man while at Lonnegan’s, he acted aloof. Of the three servers in rotation, Aggie got the most phone numbers, but she wasn’t interested in men, either.

At the moment, the aspiring mob queen wanted to learn more about the pub. After the movie crowd bundled into their winter coats and filed out, she brought over a tray of empty glasses to wash. “How about a trial run?” she asked. “Next order, you let me make it.”

“Aggie, you know the rules.” Gio flicked his gaze to the window, watching light snow swirl in the wind. “You’re still too young.” At nineteen Aggie could wait tables, but twenty-one was the minimum age for bartending.

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