Page 126 of Alessio

Love always won.

Corrado flexed his hands, the pads of his fingers scraping against the brick wall as his mouth ghosted over Alessio’s when he whispered, “I fucked up tonight.”

“You had a moment. We all have them. He’s a prick, and so fucking what if he was made, they’ll handle it, Corrado.”

Right.

But no.

“I meant with Ginevra, not la famiglia.”

Alessio let out a slow stream of air. “It scared her.”

“Of course, she was.”

“She comes from violent men. She’s sensitive to this kind of thing. Give her a second to come back. We’re not them, and it might take a bit for her to figure that out.”

Corrado looked away, the reality a little too sharp for his liking. It stung. “I—”

“We’re not saints, Corrado. This is our life; we are who we are.”

No exceptions.

No apologies.

He heard what Alessio didn’t say. This had always been their way.

“And what if it’s not the life she wants?”

“You always want what you love, even when you’re not supposed to.”

The door beside them swung open before Marcus stepped out into the alley. Corrado didn’t bother to step away from Alessio at the sight of his oldest brother—he no longer cared to make others comfortable by hiding the best parts of himself.

Because that was another thing.

Alessio?

Ginevra?

They were the better parts of him.

His better pieces.

“What?” Corrado asked.

“The cleaners have arrived. They will take the body out the back here.” Marcus fixed his suit jacket and shook his head. “You made a mess—I have to call Papa and make him aware.”

“Whatever Gian wants,” Alessio blurted before Corrado was able reply, “we’ll be happy to do for him.”

Marcus nodded, turning to head back into the club. “And Ginevra … she asked to leave, and so I had someone take her home.”

“Home as in our pent—”

“Home as in my home,” Marcus said. “She asked for some time, Corrado. Let her have a moment.”

Right.

Yeah, he expected that.