Page 1 of Alessio

Pain taught Alessio Sorrento a lot of things.

A motivator, punishment, or a reward. In true pain, someone would find their boundaries, and the ability to go beyond their limits, too. Nothing reminded someone they were weak more than pain, and it was one of the few things that proved humans had the capability to be godlike at the same time.

Alessio hated pain.

Loathed it.

He much preferred numbness because it was a far more dangerous thing. Sure, pain made people do inexplicable, unexplainable things, but numbness? That was the flip side of the same damn coin.

In numbness, one found nothing. And one didn’t have limits or boundaries, one didn’t need a motivator or a reward when nothing was the goal. It was a vicious place to be, so numb that even happiness couldn’t find its way through to one’s heart.

And still …

Alessio would take numbness over pain any day. One allowed him not to care, and the other forced him to care too fucking much. He also felt like his entire life had been one huge mountain of pain, time and time again.

People said pain was growth.

Survival.

Well, fuck that trash. He’d taken enough pain to last him several lifetimes over, and now, he didn’t want to feel at all.

The unfortunate thing about loving someone else was that love didn’t afford the gift of numbness. Which was every reason, instead of sleeping like he should be at two in the morning, he sat on a wicker chair in the warm August air with darkness all around. A humid dampness clung to the air, reminding him where he was instead of where he might have been if this situation had been different.

The back property of the Guzzi mansion expanded a far ways into a line of forest under the moonlight. Manicured pathways veered off to a large fountain with dancing stone doves at the top, and then into the flower garden that would make anyone with a green thumb jealous. Mostly, the silence called to him late at night. He stared at the stars—had to be alone.

Things hurt less here.

There was a time when coming to this place—Corrado’s childhood home—seemed awkward for a variety of reasons, and none he cared to list. Not that any one person here gave him that impression, but he wasn’t used to … this.

They all loved.

They supported.

If someone needed something, then a few hands would be able help. The Guzzi family—just Corrado’s immediate relatives—were enough to seem like a small army, and that was something else Alessio got used to. A part of him had been so used to taking care of himself for so long a family unit seemed like a foreign thing to him.

Sure, he had a family unit of his own, in a way. The situation Dare and Cree gave him wasn’t the same as the Guzzis. Parenting hadn’t existed for him, and his most important lessons from Cree and Dare had been learning how to take care of himself.

And still when he came here, Alessio found a sense of home. He forgot the rest of the world for a time and focused on what he needed to do the most. No one here would judge him with their no questions asked policy when he walked through the front door, unless he wanted to talk. He’d never told Corrado those things because he shouldn’t need to, but it was true. Here, he found comfort that didn’t exist elsewhere.

That was why, when he had a hundred other places to hide away and stay under the radar, he came here.

The voice coming out of the speaker of his phone dragged him from his thoughts at the same time he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He didn’t bother to end the conversation because he wasn’t ready to.

“And I suppose I owe you something, don’t I?”

“What’s that?” Alessio asked.

“A happy birthday,” Dare said.

Alessio almost smiled, but pain was a fucking bitch. Twenty-three years old today, and he’d forgotten. Someone else had to remind him. Appropriate for it to be Dare. At the darkest points in his life, Dare always remembered his birthday for whatever reason.

“Is it, though?” he asked.

“What?”

“A happy day.”

Dare made a noise under his breath as Gian Guzzi came to sit next to Alessio in the wicker chair beside his. Corrado’s father said nothing, dressed in his night clothes with a black robe tightened at his middle, he stared over the back property, and rested his hand along his jaw as he waited for Alessio to finish his conversation. It was late for the man to still be awake.