Page 258 of Alessio

That feeling.

“This whole thing with us is all about that feeling, yeah,” Alessio murmured.

“What does that mean?”

Corrado had his thing.

Nobody asked about what the fuck was going on with him and Alessio, so he didn’t offer the information willingly.

Alessio had his thing, too.

He dwelled on everything, overthought it all, and when all else failed … he managed to overreact, too.

Corrado wasn’t working on his thing.

Alessio was trying with his.

Like now.

“Nothing,” he said, willing to drop it, “I’m just running off at the mouth, and—”

The phone in Corrado’s hand rang again.

Alessio wasn’t even offended.

He just got back home from a job that had him away from this place, and his person, for three long goddamn weeks; he didn’t want to fight. Especially not about something that had never changed in nearly five years.

What did it even matter?

“Les,” Corrado said, ignoring the call, “are we good?”

He looked back at his lover.

His.

That was the thing.

Corrado was still his.

Nothing else counted but that.

“Yeah, man, we’re good,” Alessio said “Answer your phone.”

Keeping his gaze locked on Alessio, because Corrado figured this conversation wasn’t over, he answered the call ringing through to his phone without checking the ID. Alessio ignored him all the while, confirming to Corrado that despite what his lover might be saying, there was something wrong.

He planned on figuring out what.

Right after this call.

“Corrado here,” he said into the phone.

“What’s it been, Corrado, two or so years?”

He stiffened at the unmistakable voice on the other end of the call. “About that, Andino. Can’t say that time bothers me, though.”

Alessio tipped his head up, and eyed Corrado curiously at the mention of a man’s name who lived in New York. Way the hell across the country from them.

Andino Marcello chuckled. “That’s fair. I could say the same for you.”