2. FRANKIE

Cal had become my everything. I woke up with a headache and saw him sleeping peacefully beside me. His cell clutched to his chest. He must've been up late trying to see if any of the cyber traps he'd laid out on the internet had attracted any flies. I didn't know much about that side of things, but Cal was certain that he'd find out more information this way.

It had been two years, and there were no leads on who'd done those things to him. I'd almost driven myself crazy after that first month, I rampaged through street gangs, tying them up underground and putting volts of electricity through them until someone spoke. But nobody did. The people who'd hurt Cal had gotten away with it.

Last night had been rough. I didn't know what had gotten into me, other than pounding back shots to celebrate my little brother's, Alessandro's twenty-ninth birthday. He had a wife and a daughter too, he rarely got his hands dirty, and the family joked about that.

I knew we shouldn't have left the family bar; it was firmly within Borgesi territory. The moment we left it, we were targets. The funny thing is, whenever a target was put on my back, the person who stuck it there was usually worse off.

My night came back to me in flashes as the radio in the kitchen played hits from the 80s.

It started with a couple of gay slurs, and then a bottle smashed over my head. That's when the games began. I went feral.

A smile appeared on my face as I fetched the frozen waffles from the freezer. I pressed my bruised and aching knuckles against the side of the freezer. I recalled busting someone's face straight open and elbowing another. There was a heat map of all the aches across my body.

I hadn't always been this way, I used to be calculating and prepared. But since Cal came into my life, I was ready to bury people.

The local radio played hits from the 80s as I cooked up some frozen waffles in the toaster oven. I wasn't the best cook, I could whip up an egg scramble or a potato hash, but anything beyond that was too much.

With a drizzle of syrup, I placed the waffles on the small table in the kitchen. Cal walked in moments later, completely naked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"I knew that would get you up," I said.

He hugged me for a moment and then pulled his hands away to slip them down the front of my sweatpants. He grabbed at my cock freeballing. "You're warm," he said, cupping my balls. "Can we just go back to bed and sleep?"

"I know what you're trying to do," I said, kissing his forehead. He could've been down there all morning playing with me, it wouldn't change the plans of the day. "Wash your hands, I made you waffles, and I'm about to fill the coffee pot."

Cal moaned and shivered. "I'm just tired."

"I saw that it was another night of falling asleep with your cellphone in hand."

He pulled his hands out of my sweatpants. "It's too early to talk about this."

I knew what he did all night on that thing, and I tried not to let it consume him. I'd been consumed by revenge before, and sometimes revenge needed to be shelved until you could act on it. Chasing it would only bring more problems.

"Let's talk about putting some clothes on, there's a window right there, and I don't want someone snapping pictures of you." My tone becoming serious and deep. I grabbed the knife from the stand to slice open the bag of coffee grounds.

He giggled. "You know people already have pictures of me."

"Yeah, and I fucking hate it."

I knew Cal was on those cam sites, he was masked, my stipulation for him to be on there. He was baiting trying to bait out those men. I only allowed him to do it once or twice a week, and not for too long either. It was something he remembered from the month-long kidnapping; they would watch porn on those sites.

"Relax, baby," he said, placing his hand over the hand I held the knife with. "Once I get someone, I'll stop, you know that."

It got me all worked up, every time I thought about him performing for people on the internet. They threw tokens at him virtually, expecting him to do things for less than a dollar. I sucked in a breath and looked back at him. "I know," I said. "Now, go wash your hands and put some clothes on."

For years, I was invincible. I killed in cold blood. It was all in the name of the family. I stalked my prey, I popped bullets in their heads, and then I sliced them where it was required, usually a finger with their ring still intact as proof that the hit had happened.

I never had a weak spot. I could take punch after punch and still come back swinging. I'd take bullets and knives in the back, but none of that slowed me down. It stung like a bitch, but none of it hit me where it could do damage.

It took practice and plenty of training to know which blows to my body could become fatal.

But nothing could've prepared me for the one thing I couldn't always control.

Cal.

He became my weak spot quickly.

After that night two years ago, I took him in here. I didn't tell anyone that I'd found him in that crack den that night. I nursed him back to health with soup, vitamins, and a promise that I'd never let anyone hurt him ever again.

"Oh, did you see the mess you made of the coffee table?" he asked, pulling me from thought.

"I did, and I'll repair it," I told him, filling up the coffee machine. The immediate aroma of coffee hit the air, seemingly relaxing how tense I'd become from thinking about how far Cal had come. "Thank you for taking care of my hands last night, and I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

He tutted, tugging at the end of his crop top. "I wasn't going to let you fuck me unless you got cleaned up."

"You're so goddamn cute." I sat at the table and cut the waffles up with the knife and fork. "And trust me when I say this, you're the only person I ever want in my life." I held the waffle on the end of the fork to his mouth. "So, whatever you hear today at the house, ignore it. Don't let them get in your head. I can't leave them; they'd have me put in the ground before that happened. And I can't leave you, because I'd rather be in the ground."

He took the waffle from the end of the fork, grinning at me. "You know, I think that passes for sexy talk," he said. "Tell me what else you'd do for me."

This was our version of foreplay. I continued to feed him. "When I get my hands on those bastards, I'll gut them, this won't be any quick death. I'd slice them right here." I demonstrated on my own torso. "I'll go across the abdomen, and then I'll go up, like I'm giving them an autopsy while they're alive."

His smile was relief, like a dream he could see coming true. "I also had Sutton increase the alerts he set up," he said. "He's added in the thing about fentanyl and crack, but homeless and drug user deaths are rarely investigated when it's an overdose."

Sutton was his friend; he'd helped him home in on his coding skills. I'd never admit to Cal how scary the internet could be, but once you had a slither of information about someone, their entire life was a click away.

"We know they're not in Philly anymore," I told him. I'd turned this city upside down looking for a match on the supplier. The brick of cocaine I'd taken was pure shit. My brothers wanted to sell it, and it wasn't long after that when it disappeared. I blamed it on one of them, but there was still a small baggy of it left so that when we did find them, we'd have solid proof. I didn't want Cal getting his hopes up for nothing. I'd happily shoot through a gang at even a whiff of a positive ID, but Cal needed to be there for his own healing.

"I'm also thinking that—" he screwed his eyes. "If I could hear them, then I might know." We'd been down that path before, and I wasn't going to let him have any more of those waking night terrors.

"No," I said, plainly, stabbing another piece of the waffle on the end of the fork. "I'm letting you do your cam thing and online data scraping, but I'm not letting you come with me when I'm looking into a lead."

He hummed, chewing the food. "It was just a thought."

"We're not talking about it." That was the end of the discussion.

I handed him the fork and went to make coffee as the pot had been filling up.

With my coffee, I went into the living room to assess the damage I'd caused last night.

I recalled my efforts to be quiet and not wake him up. He needed to be sleeping for eight hours, and I must've woken him up when I tried to put myself to bed on the sofa. The table legs had snapped, probably at an attempt to sit or lay on it. And then there was blood on the sofa.

"I'll buy a new coffee table," I called out to him.

"Just be glad it wasn't that glass table I wanted to buy," he chuckled.

That was a good thing. "I also remember promising to buy you something sparkly."

Cal stood in the doorway of the living room. He cocked his head and looked at me. "Is this your way of proposing?"

"You already told me I can't propose." It was a daily reminder almost, because I would've had a ring on his finger and a commitment for life on paper in a heartbeat. "But I promise you, the day that I can, I've already got the ring."

"No, you don't," he said, his body becoming stern as he leaned against the doorframe.

"It's in the safe." The combination of which he didn't know. "And I'll open it when things have been squashed and we don't have this looming asshole over our heads."

"Looming asshole," he giggled.

"I'll go medieval on them and present their heads on spikes," I told him. "And then pop the question." This was my way of expressing myself to him. There were only so many I love yous that I could tell him because there had to be an action accompanying it.

I straightened out my posture, cracking my knuckles against my chin. Cal jumped into my arms and smothered my face with kisses.

"I think we might be too busy for anything else today," he whispered in my ear. "Take me back to bed."

I knew what he was trying to do, and he'd almost caught me off-guard as well. I carried him into the bedroom and threw him down onto the bed. His slim frame bouncing. He giggled, slipping both hands down the sides of his shorts to push them off.

"No," I said. "We're gonna get ready to go. I know your game. You think you're slick, you're smart, but you do this every single week. And I'm no fool."

His smile faded. He scoffed. "Then promise me we won't stay there all day."

I couldn't make that promise to him. I knew I'd have to explain myself to my father for what happened last night. I was supposed to be the level-headed one, staying out of trouble. The only trouble I was allowed to get into was where there weren't any witnesses. "Bring your Switch with you," I said. "And you know all the best hiding spots at the house, so you'll survive."

He rolled over on the bed, pounding his hands into the pillows. "It's not fair," he screams were muffled.

I sat beside him and gave his bare ass from where he'd pulled at his shorts a spank. "Nothing in life is ever fair," I told him. "Someone is always going to try and get one over on you." I squeezed it. "But this is my family, all you have to do is smile, nod, and don't insult my mom."

His brows crossed together. "I've never insulted her."

"Not directly, but last time, you didn't eat all of the food she served, it was Nonna's recipe, she's proud of it," I said. I hadn't wanted to mention it to him. I didn't like putting limitations on him, except for this one day a week when there were some rules in place.

"I'll eat it all this time," he said, reaching out a hand. "But only because I love you, and you're letting me bring my Switch. Speaking of, where's your credit card?" He batted his lashes. "I'm gonna need a new game to keep me occupied."

It was the price I was willing to pay for his happiness. "Oh, and one more thing, don't get any red sauce on your shirt. I had to throw that last one out."

That was another stipulation. As much as I wanted Cal in his shorts and a crop top, that was not going to fly around my family. They were the type to say they didn't mind the gays, but they were homophobic if you pushed it in their face. Cal understood and he had his time to vent in the car, but when he was at the house, he was in a shirt, a pair of nice chinos, and some nice brown leather loafers.