Page 223 of Alessio

This was meant to be a fun task, too, for the most part. Or rather, something that most prospects enjoyed. Getting set in front of a mess of dismantled weapons and being told to figure out what went with what was a hell of a lot easier than getting the shit beat out of you in the gym, after all.

“Problem?”

Corrado’s head swung around at Alessio’s question. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, and gave the man across the space a look. A silent, well?

“You spy a lot,” Corrado muttered. “People don’t like that, you know?”

Alessio shrugged. “Keeps me in the loop.”

“Well, stop.”

Probably not.

He didn’t tell Corrado that.

“What’s going on? That’s the first time I’ve seen Chris get that pissed here.”

And it wasn’t like the other Guzzi twin didn’t have a reason to get mad at The League. Everyone here had one reason or another to get pissed at someone or something. That was the whole point of this goddamn place—to push one’s limits to the breaking point, and then beyond.

“It’s nothing,” Corrado muttered, and then, he held up a tiny spring, “is this for the AR or the AK?”

Alessio arched a brow. “Neither.”

“Fuck.”

Corrado threw the spring back to the table, clearly disgusted that he’d been wrong. Folding his arms over the white T-shirt stretched across his chest, he glared at the many pieces he still had left on the table. No one ever told them how many guns were on the table, but it became obvious once someone started counting the clips and magazines.

Usually six to seven. All in as many little bits as they could be broken down into so that it could be more challenging. Little nuts and everything. Yeah, it was like a whole puzzle.

But with guns.

“Are you avoiding what that was all about with your brother because you’re in a mood, or …?”

Corrado glanced up, his brow furrowing as he took Alessio in again. “No.”

“You sure?”

Because wouldn’t that be typical Corrado?

Alessio figured so.

Corrado shook his head, dropping Alessio’s stare as he reached for more parts to begin his task again. Negative reinforcement was a popular tactic at The League—this task wasn’t any different than the others. So, if he didn’t get those guns put together, now made more difficult by the fact he was doing it alone, then he was going to be here all night.

No dinner.

No bed.

No sleeping.

Nothing.

He would be here until he finished.

That’s how it worked.

Alessio didn’t miss that Corrado was quick to work, though. That he didn’t care he’d been left alone to do the task, or that he would probably be here for a few more hours because of it, either. He didn’t complain; he simply got to work.

That meant good things.