12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

ELIO

I lean back in my chair and run my thumb absently along the rim of my glass. If I have any hope of getting Orion on board with this, I need to choose my words carefully. The problem is finesse isn’t exactly my strong suit.

I tell people what I want, and they do it…

Except for him. I tell Orion what I want, and he calls me a brat and makes me suffer in ways I can’t get enough of. Does that make me as spoiled as he says I am? I have no fucking clue.

There aren’t a lot of ways to massage this request into something he’s likely to find palatable though, so I might as well just dive in headfirst.

“The guy who owns this place.” I gesture broadly at the bar around us, keeping my voice low so the bartender is less likely to overhear. I’m not sure if all the kinky, gay flirting that just happened between us made him more or less likely to try to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. “He took out a loan to keep this place afloat.”

“And he hasn’t paid up?” Orion guesses.

“He’s paying. Every month, right on time. Some months he’s even paying more than the minimum,” I answer, and he frowns, glancing around at the completely empty chairs and barstools, the bartender behind the counter scrolling through his phone with a bored expression, the layer of dust on half the bottles lining the shelves.

“How?”

“Exactly. That’s what I want to find out.”

“Why do you care?” he asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, then bringing the fresh glass of Scotch to his lips to take a slow sip. “You’re getting your money. Does it really matter where it comes from?”

“That depends.” I shrug. “If he’s earning it beating the shit out of other criminals at underground fights, we don’t mind that so much.” I smirk, and Orion rumbles a laugh. “But if he’s operating an illegal business under our noses without following our rules or giving us our cut of it? Yeah, we give a shit about that.”

He grunts in understanding. “And what does any of this have to do with me? Is this just another lesson in the seedy ecosystem of Wildcliff, or what?”

“I told you; I need your help.” I mirror his posture—elbows on the table, our faces only a few inches apart. “I have to poke around, ask some questions, get to the bottom of what kind of shit Casimir is up to so I can either shake him down or shut it down.”

Orion is quiet for a minute, waiting for me to say more. When I don’t, he lets out a frustrated huff.

“Are you being cryptic just to piss me off? Where exactly do you think I come in here?” he asks again.

“I figured we could play a little ‘good mobster, bad muscle.’ I ask the questions all nice and understanding, and if they need a little encouragement, you knock them around a bit.” I watch his expression, bracing for him to lose it and go off on me with some platitudes about not wanting to get mixed up in Mafia business. The muscles around his eyes tense and his jaw ticks, but he doesn’t flip the table or tell me to fuck off, so that’s something.

After another beat of silence, he snorts. “If someone doesn’t want to answer your questions, why don’t you just shoot them? Better yet, why chase all around the city trying to threaten answers out of people when you can go to the source and hold a gun to Casimir’s head until he tells you where the money is coming from?”

“First of all, regardless of what you might think about me, I don’t solve all my problems with bullets. Taking someone out is a necessary, messy part of this life, but it doesn’t mean it’s always the best place to start,” I explain calmly. “And second, it’s called leverage, Boss. The more I know about what’s going on before I sit Casimir down for a chat, the better.”

He grunts again. The expression on his face is too neutral for me to guess which way he’s leaning. Time to pull out the ace up my sleeve.

“I know you don’t want your debt hanging over your head anymore. Well, this is how you can work it off.”

His eyes narrow and he leans back in his seat. He looks past me, not like he’s looking at anyone else, but with a faraway expression that suggests he’s thinking things over. I keep my mouth shut to give him some time. Eventually, his eyes flick back to mine, set with hard determination.

“You already paid off my debt. I don’t owe the Morettis anything.” He pauses like he’s waiting for me to contradict him. He’s right, he doesn’t technically owe anything, and I don’t give a shit about collecting anything from him. I figured his pride over it would be enough to convince him to take me up on the offer. If it’s not, I might need to come up with another angle to sell him on helping me. But before I can come up with a new way to convince him, he keeps talking. “I want to get paid for it.”

“You…”

“Ten thousand a week,” he says firmly.

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to reconcile the man who didn’t want a damn thing to do with this world with the one who’s now demanding a fat paycheck to jump in with both feet. The panic in his eyes that I noticed when he walked in flashes through my mind again.

“Everything okay, Boss? Did something happen?”

He flinches and looks away from me again. “Wanting to get paid for selling my soul means something is wrong?” There’s a dark amusement in his voice.

“Agreeing to sell your soul without putting up a fight means something is wrong.” Pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t realized was incomplete start slotting into place in my head. Orion’s UFL paycheck should be able to buy him a better apartment than the rathole he’s living in. He’s risking his career at underground fights, taking out loans from a group of criminals he despises, and still barely getting by. Something tells me that nursing home, Shady Pines, is the piece right in the middle that makes the rest of the puzzle make sense.

“Is it one of your parents?” I guess, and Orion tenses.

He hisses out a venomous laugh. “Am I going into debt for the parents who kicked me out at thirteen years old, leaving me to live on the streets of this lawless city just because I’m gay? Hard no.”

Rage boils in my gut and I make a mental note to have Sparrow look into the whereabouts of Orion’s so-called parents. It sounds like they could use a visit.

“Then who?” I ask.

He shifts in his seat and stares across the table at me. Emotions flutter behind his eyes, too quickly to name them all. Anger, hurt, that momentary, desperate panic again, and at least a dozen more that are gone before I can latch onto any of them.

“My brother.”

ORION

“Your brother?” Elio repeats, sounding dumbfounded.

I’m not sure why I told him. Anxiety clenches around my chest, a fleeting fear that he’s going to find a way to use Jack’s injury as some kind of leverage to hold over my head. He wouldn’t even need to try. The fresh medical bills that are stacking up right now are doing all the work for him, twisting my arm and forcing me to my knees, a position I resent at the best of times.

“Jack,” I supply his name. “There it is. All the upper hand you’ll ever need over me. Want me to beat the hell out of someone? Kill them? Want me to lick your fancy Italian Oxfords for a few bucks so I can make sure his hospital bills are covered?” My throat is tight, each word dripping off my tongue bitterly, making Elio’s expression darken.

“Forget it,” he says, standing up and reaching into his jacket to pull out his wallet. He sets a twenty-dollar bill on the table and then pushes his chair in.

“Forget what?” My chair teeters behind me as I stand up too fast.

“The job. I’ve got soldiers who can play the part of menacing well enough to make it work. If you need the money, I’ll give it to you. But I’m not going to make you knock anybody around to earn it.”

Elio smooths a hand over his suit jacket and starts towards the door. I’m right behind him, my muscles vibrating with tension, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw aches. He steps outside and I grab him by the back of his collar, taking satisfaction in wrinkling the soft, expensive material in my fist as I drag him back. He doesn’t resist or struggle as I shove him up against the building, earning a few fleeting, curious looks from people passing by. In this neighborhood, I guarantee every one of them has seen a hell of a lot worse than this.

“I don’t want your pity money, Brat.” I press my body up against his, pinning him to the wall, holding him up by his lapels.

His pupils widen and his lips part. He darts his tongue out and drags it along the bottom one, drawing my eyes to the motion and stirring heat in the pit of my stomach. It’s been a long fucking day and everything inside of me feels untethered, desperately clawing for control.

“It’s not pity money, Boss,” he murmurs, sagging into me, trusting me with his weight. “I’m not going to hold your brother’s medical bills over your head like that.”

“Would you do it if I were someone else?” I already know the answer. Maybe Elio is right and the Morettis are Godzilla protecting this city from Mothra, but they’re still fucking mobsters.

“Probably,” he admits, and I grunt, shoving him harder up against the building.

“I earn my own way. I’m going to do the job for you, and you’re going to pay me,” I say firmly.

The submissive expression I’ve gotten used to seeing on his face hardens into something defiant. “I’m not the devil, Orion. You see this job as selling your soul, but I’m not in the market for it.”

His insistence is a surprise. He asked me here to convince me to do a job for him, and I’m agreeing. Now he’s trying to talk me out of it? If I didn’t know any better, I might think this bratty mob boss is soft deep down.

I lean in closer, bumping my nose against his, and the rebellion melts away. His lips soften and he lets out a trembling sigh, his cock hardening between us. If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that nothing is ever guaranteed. The ground can shift under your feet in the blink of an eye and leave you scrambling to stay upright. Elio’s predictable reaction to me is a counterbalance to the disorder that I didn’t know I needed.

“An underground fight or a criminal off the streets, is there really much difference in who gets roughed up? Hell, it might be the same damn person for all I know. I’m taking the job. We’re done arguing about this.”

He bobbles his head with a nod, knocking his forehead against mine.

“Alright, Boss.”

“Good boy,” I mutter, lunging forward to catch his lips in a hard, biting kiss. I can taste the cheap Scotch in his mouth, and something much sweeter lingering underneath. Just like yesterday, he gives in to the demand of my mouth the same way he’s given in to all of my other rough touches.

Elio’s tongue is hot and pliant, vibrating with a sigh as I stroke it with mine. My cock swells and throbs, all the tension from today pooling heavily between my legs and coiling around my muscles.

I break the kiss and he sucks in a ragged breath, his eyes shining in the moonlight and his lips glistening. Hunger gnaws at my insides, along with mounting adrenaline and a desperate need to find a way to control the chaos swirling around me. To be the chaos for just a little while.

“Run, Brat.” My voice is full of gravel, and Elio blinks as I let go of him and take a step back without warning. He stumbles, then looks at me like a startled rabbit.

“What?” He rights himself, an excited blush already rising in his cheeks, even though he doesn’t seem to understand the game yet.

“Run,” I repeat, adding an extra growl of menace this time.

“What happens when you catch me?” he asks, already taking a backward step away from me, towards the alleyway that snakes between a long row of buildings.

“If you don’t run fast enough, you’ll find out.”