Dark Soul Vol. 5 (12 page)

“Why did you?”

“I had to decide whether you’d be more loyal to me or the
Cosa
Nostra
. Considering how close you are with Falchi, and that you’re his heir, and that you told me you can’t imagine a different life, I figured getting you into my deal with the authorities wouldn’t work out.”

Silvio frowned and stepped closer. “You could have asked me.”

“I had to make the cal , tough as it was. You never committed to me. I understand now that maybe you can’t. That’s okay. I mean, you’re here.”
With a gun in your hand, ready to execute me. So my call
wasn’t that far off, was it?
“But as long as Donata is going to be all right . . .”

Silvio’s frown darkened. The pistol nudged up, traced Stefano’s cheekbone to his temple. “Committed?”

“Like a lover. Silvio, I love you, okay? Donata accepted you. We could have . . . I don’t know, made something from this, but you never really understood that feeling.”

“What feeling? Love?”

The muzzle rested against his temple now. Stefano did his best to ignore it. He had nothing to lose now, so he did his best to tell the truth. “Yes, that feeling.”

Silvio huffed. “Because up until then, I was your dirty secret. I was never Battista’s secret. He committed to
me
before he asked the same. You were still trapped in all that shit, the lies, the rules. I never thought you’d break free.”

“Well, I have. Pretty late, huh?” Stefano sighed, tried to expand his chest beyond the pressure bearing down against his ribs, ignored that the muzzle was now flesh-warm against his skin. It didn’t feel threatening, like his body trusted Silvio. It was his rational mind that was on the verge of freaking out. “Who’s ordering the hit? Viero?

Falchi? Somebody from another family?”

Silvio shook his head to wipe that question away. “Maybe it’s my hit.”

“Come on. Falchi’s gotta love this. He’d be the only guy who knows where I am. Was. Have been.” His mind stumbled over the idea that he was already dead, just still talking, but he managed to not turn into a gibbering idiot, at least.

Silvio didn’t respond immediately; the silence was thoughtful while Silvio likely grappled with all the things Stefano had confessed.

Making up his mind, whatever the decision would be at the end of it.

“Battista doesn’t need to know,” Silvio finally said.

“You’ve shared everything with him.”

“I didn’t.” Silvio pushed the safety back on and put the pistol back into its shoulder holster. “I found you for myself.”

Stefano caught his breath, felt that terrible pressure lift and felt suddenly, giddily alive. “What . . . are you going to do?”

Silvio looked around the shop, then shrugged. “Keep your secret, I suppose.” He stepped back and half-turned. “You should be safe from anybody else. Nobody knows about Donata’s uncle.”

“Yeah, they asked. I . . . totally forgot that you knew.”

Silvio pulled his zipper back up. He reached for the helmet on the horse when Stefano came after him. “Don’t go. Please. Silvio.

Please
.”

Silvio left the helmet where it was and turned to him. He didn’t flinch when Stefano grabbed his shoulder. “Silvio. I’m sorry for what I did. I didn’t mean to leave you behind. I honestly didn’t think you’d choose me if I made you choose.”

“I wouldn’t. But it was my fucking choice anyway.” Silvio glared at him.

“Yes, you’re right. But it wasn’t just my life in the balance.”

Silvio nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

Silvio Spadaro is only half-human. He’s so stunted he doesn’t even
realize he’s barely able to feel anything.

Stefano gritted his teeth. “Don’t leave. Stay. With me, and with Donata. I meant it. I want you in my life. Ours. Donata is fine with it. We could be your home. Like family.”

Silvio’s lips quirked. “Not family. Family is too complicated.”

“Yeah, seems we both haven’t been too lucky with that.” Stefano reached down to Silvio’s hand, opened his fist. “Stay.”

Silvio sighed. “Did you think I’d kill you?”

“To be honest . . . yeah.”

Silvio smiled, a little, and it didn’t look very natural, like there was still a lot of stuff going on in his mind that kept him from expressing himself any better. But he sure had emotions; he just didn’t get them out very well.

Stefano didn’t care. People were all different, and now that he understood the reasons behind Silvio peculiarities, he could work with them. He understood Silvio well enough—and his need to belong.

Franco had been totally right. Silvio needed somebody who anchored him, who he could belong to, and Stefano was ready to be that man now. He’d grown from obsession and fear to love and understanding. Accepting Silvio exactly as he was, how he acted and how he responded.

“I want you to belong to us. Not like you belonged to Falchi.

Better. You’ll get a much better deal this time. We won’t send you away.”

“Ever?” Silvio asked, and there was so much hope in that word that Silvio’s voice cracked.

“Never again,” Stefano promised. “I’m sorry I did, but I won’t do that again.”

Silvio nodded and allowed Stefano to fold him in an embrace.

That was the essence of the man, leather and strength, but also an odd generosity in all his loyalty. For all the mercilessness of his career, Silvio could and did forgive.

Stefano held him for a long time, felt without a doubt that this would work out—all obstacles were removed, this was a fresh start, and maybe Silvio would actually choose them over his career. But unless he told anybody he’d found Stefano, he didn’t even have to change jobs, didn’t have to retire, at least not yet.

All this would require patience and understanding, and he was ready to accept Silvio, whatever the other man’s choices were for his own life.

“Come. There are some people I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

“Donata’s uncle and his husband. We’re meeting them for dinner.”

Stefano kissed him. “Oh, and what about the dog?”

“Best I know, he’s destroying things in my hotel room,” Silvio said with a fond smile. “That was when I knew you meant it.”

“Meant what?”

“That you care about me.” Silvio took the helmet again and stared at it like a postmodern Hamlet. “Franco told you about Toppolino.

You remembered. I knew you cared about me.”

“Of course I do. I love you, Silvio.” He didn’t cringe inwardly when Silvio answer wasn’t the one his wife gave him immediately.

Silvio wasn’t good at this, and he accepted it.

Silvio smiled and turned toward the door. “Same thing.”

Also by

Aleksandr Voinov

Dark Soul Vols. 1–5 (Riptide Publishing) Break and Enter, with Rachel Haimowitz (Samhain Publishing) Counterpunch (Storm Moon Press)

Scorpion (Dreamspinner Press)

Dark Edge of Honor, with Rhi Etzweiler (Carina Press) The Lion of Kent, with Kate Cotoner (Carina Press) For a full list, go to www.aleksandrvoinov.com/bookshelf.html About the Author

Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living near London, where he makes his living editing dodgy business English so it makes sense (and doesn’t melt anybody’s brain). He published five novels and many short stories in his native language, then switched to English and hasn’t looked back. His genres range from horror, science fiction, cyberpunk, and fantasy to contemporary, thriller, and historical erotic gay novels.

In his spare time, he goes weightlifting, explores historical sites, and meets other writers. He singlehandedly sustains three London bookstores with his ever-changing research projects and interests.

His current interests include World War II, espionage, medieval tournaments, and prisoners of war. He loves traveling, action movies, and spy novels.

Visit Aleksandr’s website at http://www.aleksandrvoinov.com, his blog at http://www.aleksandrvoinov.com.blogspot.com, and follow him on Twitter, where he tweets as @vashtan.