Page 26 of The Associate

He could authorize a hit on Gio, and send a powerful message to the rest of the organization.

Gio hoped his near spotless record of service to the San Gaetanos tipped him in favor of options one or two, though he wasn’t certain which one he’d prefer. Infidelity among mafia husbands came with the territory, but damned if Mrs. Giuseppe Spatafora would tolerate her husband stepping out on her with another man. Easy way to hopscotch to option three.

Of course, if the don arranged a marriage, his future wife could rest easy. Conor Malloy had spoiled Gio for men, sex and companionship. An outsider might think it odd Gio felt that way after a weekend’s acquaintance, but no other man had stayed in Gio’s mind like Conor. He hadn’t wanted Conor to leave last night, and the reason had nothing to do with Conor witnessing a near-lethal scuffle. Gio had needed comfort after Don Salvatore’s goons carried off Vic, but begging Conor to stay would have put him at risk.

He could love a man like Conor Malloy, which meant letting him go.

Gio rang Don Salvatore’s doorbell at one fifty-nine. A round-faced, unsmiling woman in a gray housekeeper’s dress escorted him down a dark-paneled hallway into a den lined with bookshelves. Salvatore San Gaetano sat behind a large oak executive desk surrounded by framed photographs and stacks of paperwork—no computers or gadgets, quite an old school scene. Two leather sofas positioned in the middle of the room faced each other atop an ornate rug. The don’sconsigliereand Aldo Bertinelli, also in suits, sat at the end of the one looking out toward the door.

Gio spied a familiar head of ginger hair opposite them.

Conor looked handsome, calm, if not a touch out of place in dark jeans with his white oxford shirt. He acknowledged Gio with a curt nod and stayed silent as Salvatore stood and rounded his desk. “Giuseppe, thank you for joining us,” said the crime boss. “You are already familiar with Mr. Malloy, we heard, so we can dispense with the formal introductions.”

Salvatore shot an arched brow in Gio’s direction, as though daring him to react to the mild barb. Gio spoke his quiet thanks and sat next to Conor as invited, almost hugging the far end of the sofa. Conor’s presence confirmed one item of business for today, the transfer of the pub’s ownership, leading Gio to think option one awaited him.

Responsibility of the pub, as the don had suggested on Friday, after Gio’s quickie wedding to some wiseguy’s mousy sister or niece. Gio’s gut roiled to think the don might lay out plans for the blessed event in front of Conor.

“Friday evening, Aldo and I discussed with Giuseppe the prospect of the acquisition of Lonnegan’s Pub to The SSG Group’s growing business portfolio,” the don continued. “Gio has proven himself a capable associate, going above and beyond in his work to ensure various deadlines are met.” Salvatore quirked up one side of his mouth and gestured to him. “Aldo says he’s a real people person.”

Gio bowed his head, embarrassed by the praise. Last week, he’d have raised his chin and puffed out his chest. Hearing this with Conor in the room put a different spin on his accomplishments. He’d spent his prime years aiding and abetting rich men in petty extortions, and stood to see all that work dismissed because of his attraction to men. Conor, by comparison, had made something of his life independent of a legacy he was about to give away.

What bullshit.

Salvatore shifted against his desk to face Conor. “Mr. Malloy, please accept my condolences on your father’s ailing health. I’ve had the pleasure of many nights spent at his establishment. It’s an asset to the community, as is your family.”

“Thank you, Mr. San Gaetano.”

“But this is business, you understand,” said Salvatore, his smile gone.

“Perfectly.” Conor nodded to theconsigliereand unlatched the plastic presentation envelope in his lap. “My family’s attorney presented us with the necessary paperwork,” he said, but presented a paper different from the San Gaetanos’ contract. “I was recently granted power of attorney over both of my parents, so only my signature is needed for this transfer to take effect.”

Salvatore and theconsigliereexchanged glances, expressing mild surprise. Perhaps they expected angry resistance, or pleas for mercy? It appeared Conor was about to fold. Gio fought his instinct to interrupt the transaction. He’d seen how Conor engaged with Lonnegan’s regulars and radiated pure joy while behind the bar, despite moments of frenzied activity. He might not want to follow his father’s dream, but Lonnegan’s belonged to the Malloys. There had to be a workable compromise.

Who am I kidding?he thought. That word didn’t exist in a mafia dictionary.

“I am prepared to sign these today,” Conor said, taking out his copy of the contract, “on one condition.”

Faces hardened all around, staring down at the Irishman. Conor maintained his firm seated posture.

“I acknowledge this is a generous offer, given my family’s current situation. I’m not asking for more money than what is written here.” Conor set aside the paperwork. “All I want is The SSG Group’s word, on paper, that no harm will come to Mr. Spatafora, nor will he be subject to any discriminatory practices on the basis of his sexual identity, for as long as he is a member of your organization.”

Conor congratulated himself for his steady voice and hands through his short speech. His insides thumped and fluttered like a rock festival audience, and he tasted bile when he swallowed. He might have laughed at the collective shock of the three wise guys staring at him, were he not scared of a bullet between the eyes.

He chanced a side-eye at Gio, who dropped his jaw and faked a yawn to cover his obvious surprise. Gio, Conor guessed, assumed his summons involved punishment of some sort. Perhaps so, and while Conor was still angered by the man’s deception, he understood that Gio didn’t deserve harm or death because he was gay. If neither of them made it out of this room alive, Conor could at least rest easy knowing he tried to get these people to see reason.

“Mr. Malloy,” theconsiglierebegan, and Conor held his gaze. “Why would you think Mr. Spatafora is in any danger?”

I saw it myself. Gio had spoken to this man about Vic over the phone, and revealed his sexuality, but how much the don and Gio’s capo knew about their relationship remained a mystery to him. Conor played it safe for Gio’s sake. “My family are not connected, but I’m familiar enough with the Irish syndicates to know what behaviors they find unbecoming of their members,” he said. “I’m also quite observant. Major corporations will adopt rainbow colors as part of their branding through the entire month of June, then spend the other eleven months pretending LBGTQ people don’t exist. It’s all talk, isn’t it? Your organization can come forward and say you aren’t discriminatory, but will you turn a blind eye if one of your associates harms another because they’re gay or bisexual?”

Throats cleared, and bodies shifted.That’s what I thought. Don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t care.“I’m not here to tell you people how to run your business, but I will say this,” he added. “I don’t see myself as less of a man because I am not sexually attracted to women. Neither should anybody else.”

His words earned him winces and stony expressions. He’d just come out to a hostile room, but it wasn’t the first time. Salvatore, whom Conor judged as the oldest of the trio, shook his head.

“You are rather eloquent, Mr. Malloy. Nonetheless, who you are, who he is”—he pointed at Gio—“goes against nature.” The man’s voice turned harsh. “After God created man, he createdwomanfrom a part of his body, as his mate. Two halves to make a whole, be fruitful and multiply. That is the law He set forth.”

Conor expected a biblical argument. “God also set forth a number of commandments which speak against killing, adultery and theft,” he said. “Also, if you’re familiar with Romans, you’ll know the passage where Paul advises man to acknowledge the laws of civil authorities—”

“Mr. Malloy,” the don cut in, his face reddening, “we are here to discuss the sale of your family’s pub. My organization’s concerns with Mr. Spatafora are not yours.”

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