Page 41 of Alessio

His cell phone.

He dragged a hand down his face, willing away the grumpiness he always felt first thing in the damn mornings, and pulled the phone closer to his face. He blinked, making the screen come into focus when he turned it on to check for something.

A missed call.

Any texts.

A fucking smoke signal.

Not that the last one was possible, but anything would be better than what he had been getting, which was nothing. Anyone else, he called or sent a word to, and they were quick to get back to him.

Andino Marcello was an asshole.

And he did not care.

Out of everything Corrado knew about the man, he was quite aware that Andino being an asshole was the most truthful. It was obvious Ginevra was missing her sisters, and that she worried about what was happening back home in New York. Regularly, Corrado had sent a message to check in with Andino just to make sure he was still where he needed to be, so was Ginevra, and that nothing had changed.

He never got a response.

Ever.

Corrado didn’t know why that was except to say Andino was being his usual asshole self and didn’t want to return a fucking call or message. What other excuse did the man have? Through the contacts Corrado had with his twin in the Guzzi Cosa Nostra, if Andino or any other Marcello was dead, then he would know it.

They were alive and well.

Except that one’s husband.

Cella Marcello, was it?

A bystander, Chris had told Corrado. Wrong place, wrong time, but it looked purposeful, too. Not that it made any fucking difference to Corrado either way.

If the Marcellos wanted to go to war in New York, then they could do that. He would rather keep Ginevra here with him while they did it, so she wasn’t another innocent bystander in their goddamn feud with her half-brothers’ organization.

And even so, she continued to worry.

Silently.

So, he kept sending messages.

Frustrated at the lack of a response from Andino—yet again—Corrado threw the phone to the blanket and rolled over so his back was against the headboard. Through the opened door of his room, he could see the empty bedroom across the hall from his. That wasn’t unusual, either, considering Ginevra was often up and around long before he ever was.

Same with Alessio.

He was not rolling his ass out of bed before nine if he wasn’t doing it to fuck someone. He didn’t make the rules of life—like needing sleep to survive—but he could sure as hell decide what he did about it.

It took Corrado too long to get out of his bed and make his way to the attached bathroom. He did his business, wishing he had just stayed in bed the entire time. Mornings were not his thing, and the less time he spent around other people, the better the rest of it went for him.

Why pretend?

The only exception to that rule was when someone was in the bed with him. And since that wasn’t happening, either, because both people he wanted to fuck decided they would rather sleep in their beds that weren’t his, then his ever-present pissy mood was a constant in the mornings.

What could he do?

He dressed, opting for gym shorts and runners because once he stuffed his face full of something suitable for breakfast, he would hit the gym in the penthouse. Corrado slipped out of the bedroom with his head down. He expected to find Alessio and Ginevra in the kitchen, making their usual noise and waiting for his moody ass.

Instead, he found it empty.

Well, mostly.