Will & Patrick Meet the Mob (8 page)

“It’s about time you had some fun in the sack, sweetheart. Life’s too short to roll around with duds. Take my word on it. Your grandfather was talented in many ways, and dangerous in many others, but in bed he was a pussycat and
boring as hell
.”

“Please save this kind of information for Patrick. And for when I’m not around.”

Eleanora snorts elegantly. “You are such a dear prude. Kevin had far too much influence on you growing up. Regardless, darling, I’m thrilled for you. No wonder you’ve been so quiet since the New Year. You’ve been—wink-wink, nudge-nudge—otherwise engaged!”

“Nonna, can we focus on issue at hand? I’m scared for Patrick’s safety if Dad thinks we’re not actually in love. I’m worried for Good Works too.”

“Don’t be worried, darling. No matter the feeling involved, your intimacy with Dr. McCloud has forged something between you that your father’s interpreted as love. Whether it’s true or not…” She rolls her eyes. “For Patrick’s safety and the welfare of Good Works, that’s not a bad thing.”

“I don’t understand. Mom told him the truth about how we met and why we’ve been pretending. He knows everything.”

“And we know how much he respects your mother!” She laughs and shakes her head. “Come now! He probably assumes she concocted a reason for him to visit to…what are the kids calling it today? Catch his D?”

“Nonna!” Between speculation on his sex life and now this, Will is so mortified he thinks his face is going to catch fire. “Never say that again.”

Eleanora laughs. “Your doctor must have so much fun embarrassing you. You’re adorable, sweetheart. Never change.”

Will forges on, determined not to get dragged into more conversation about his parents’ sex lives. Or his own. “You truly think we’re safe?”

“I think your father loves you and he believes you love Dr. McCloud. If you were desperately unhappy enough to risk Patrick’s well-being to ask your father’s help, I agree with your mother he has more influence over the Molinaro family than I do or ever will. But since you’re content to keep your situation as it is, then it’s best to keep him out of it. Allow him to believe in your love.” She smiles wickedly. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

They talk a little more about dinner the next night and Will fills her in on his goal: get Tony to leave Healing ASAP before he has a chance to mess with Kimberly’s new relationship or upset the kids’ lives again. Eleanora agrees to be complicit in the plan and then Will checks his watch. It’s been a busy day, already late afternoon, and he hasn’t even been into the office. He supposes he can go in tomorrow. His team has all of the urgent projects covered and he can check his emails tonight after dinner and sex.

He flushes, glad his grandmother can’t read his mind. He remembers Owen saying that he should be careful he’s not replacing one addiction for another. Maybe he is, because his lust for Patrick feels as strong—no stronger—than his desire for liquor.

Worse, if he’s honest, he really doesn’t care if he gets his Good Works emails answered tonight so long as he gets Patrick’s cock in his mouth and ass, and he gets to hear Patrick’s voice go all deep and scratchy with need, and he gets to watch Patrick fall apart above him and in him and over him.

“Darling, are you feeling okay? You’re flushed.”

Will jerks back to the present and clears his throat, going even hotter. “It’s warm in here.”

“I’ll ask Reba to turn it down.”

“No, it’s okay. I should go check on Patrick, make sure we’re right about Dad and that he’s okay.”

“Yes, check on our dear doctor.” Eleanora winks and Will rises from his seat, and then bends over her desk to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks for your help.”

“Anything for you.”

He’s on his way out the door when Eleanora calls him back.

“You didn’t ask about Frankie and his bride.”

Who? Oh, yeah. His cousin who might need a divorce before Will does
.

“Oh, um, right. Anything new there?”

Eleanora’s eyes narrow slightly. “You used to be so anxious about ridding yourself of this ball and chain. ‘Hurry, Nonna,’ ‘as soon as possible, Nonna.’ Now? You’re more worried that your father believes in your wedded happiness than in getting out of your marriage. How a little intimacy changes things!”

Will clears his throat. “It’s not just that. Patrick’s not in a hurry since he has the neuro unit, and I’m fine with the way things are.” He wags a finger at her, aiming for light-hearted but feeling more like a pinned bug. “Don’t leap to conclusions, Nonna. We’ll both be glad when this is all over, and I didn’t ask because I know you’ll call if Stun Gun Stan finds a loophole. But for now, we’re fine.” His smiles feels weird and rubbery. “You know how it is.”

Eleanora chuckles. “Oh, do I ever, darling.” She comes around her desk, pats him on the arms, and shakes him a little before hugging him in a short, fierce squeeze. “You just continue to tell yourself these little lies. It’ll make for an entertaining disaster down the road.”

“It’s not like that!”

“As you say.” She releases him. “Go. I have work to do. And never enough time to do it.”

Will shuts her office door behind him and leans against it for a moment. He can hear Reba singing in the kitchen, and he decides to stop by to see if she has any cookies or pie he can steal for Patrick before heading back to the Tallgrass.

Once back on the road with lemon drop cookies and a small container of fudge, he swings into the hardware store for rope, then to Luigi’s for calzones. The cheesy, garlicky smell fills the car, and he grins thinking about how happy Patrick is going to be with his gifts.

Patrick steps into the Tallgrass bar for only the second time in the several months he’s been living in the hotel. He’s tired of being holed up in their room. There’s only so much
MasterChef
a man can watch without ordering the entire room service menu. He really wants to hold out for those calzones Will promised, so he’s staying away from the Meadowlands too.

So the bar it is. It’s as cozy and intimate as he remembers from the last time he came in, but there are fewer other patrons given it’s the middle of the day. It’s also nice that on this visit he doesn’t have gut-churning fear for Will eating up his insides.

The same barkeep is working. Her hair is shiny and dark under the low lights and she grins. “If you’re planning on knocking back another half-dozen shots and then leaving my bar a mess of broken glass and spilled beer again, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Not today. Club soda. Lime.”

She nods and winks. “Now that I can handle. Name’s Ella, by the way.”

He doesn’t reply. He’s not in here for social hour. He just wants to get out of the room, check out different scenery, and maybe see if Dr. Johansson is here picking up young male travel nurses again. Patrick might be, for all intents and purposes, off the market, but he can still be vicariously thrilled by another man’s conquests—and dutifully report them to
The Hurting Times
forums.

“Where’s the husband?” Ella asks.

“I’ll tip big if you don’t talk to me.”

She shrugs. “Don’t have to twist my arm.” She moves along to clean bar glasses until they sparkle and glint in the low light.

The club soda scrapes against his tongue and palate, leaving a refreshing sensation. Alas, Dr. Johansson isn’t here, but there’s a twinky young nurse in the corner with dark skin and short, straight, black hair. He’s pleasant to look at and sends Patrick a flirtatious glance now and again. Patrick doesn’t mind that in the least. He’ll draw the line if the kid comes over to talk.

“Mind if I join you?” Tony Molinaro’s husky baritone slithers up Patrick’s spine like a snake, and he grits his teeth to keep from shuddering.

“I do actually.”

Tony sits at the bar beside him. He’s left his fedora behind and is dressed casually in a red sweater and black pants. His dimpled chin and strong jaw are like Will’s, but his skin and hair is much darker. His lip is still a little ripe from Will’s fist, and he fixes his wounded gaze on Patrick. The doctor inside him wants to take the bait and somehow make things better for this devastatingly handsome man. Maybe from down on his knees. It’s annoying.

“What do you want?” Patrick asks.

“To make friends.”

“Your spies followed us around long enough before the holidays for you to be well aware that I don’t have friends or want them. So let’s pretend we made friendly and you can go.”

“I don’t scare you?”

Patrick’s got the sweaty palms to prove his next words as lies, but he isn’t giving Tony the satisfaction. “Why should you? I don’t think you want me dead half as much as you don’t want your son to hate you. And you know enough now to guess that killing me isn’t going to accomplish that.”

“Canny in and out of the operating room, I see.” Tony orders a scotch neat when Ella swings by to take his order. “You’re not going to hold a grudge about the other night are you?”

“Yes.”

Tony exhales in sharp disgust. “I thought you have a better sense of humor than my son.”

“My sense of humor is amazing. Just like everything about me. I also have a healthy aversion to being held at gunpoint.”

Tony smiles. “You’re as arrogant as they say.”

“Deservedly so. As for finding me a disappointing spouse for you son, get at the back of the line.”

Tony laughs softly. “I assume you mean Kimberly and Kevin?”

“Not my biggest fans.”

His bruised mouth folds into the valentine shape Will’s makes when he’s considering something. “No, they wouldn’t be.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Kevin clings to his good old fashioned farm values far too much. And Kimberly…she’s never been the best judge of character.” He winks and taps his own chin with a hunky grin. “Case in point.”

“They’re both annoying.”

Ella delivers the scotch, and Tony takes a swallow. “Kimberly has some redeeming qualities. She’s passionate and intense. A wild ride in the sack.”

“Classy.”

“As for Kevin…” Tony shakes his head slowly. “He was a lot more fun when Roy was alive.” He tosses his head back when he laughs, exposing some chest hair in the V of his unbuttoned shirt. “Never mind. I take it back.
Roy
was fun and Kevin went along to glare and fret and bring everyone else down.” Tony sips his drink, growing serious again. “It’s terrible what happened to Roy. Did some good work for me back in the day. He was a special man.”

Patrick stirs his club soda with the straw. “He’d have to be to put up with Kevin.”

“Oh, but Kevin was quite the looker! Don’t get me wrong. I don’t enjoy dick myself—”

“I was pretty clear on that fact. Thanks.”

“But I know a handsome man when I see one. And Kevin was one of the handsomest I’d ever seen.”

Patrick crunches some ice between his teeth. “He’s still got a certain grim something.”

“Does he now?” Tony’s eyes flash with amusement. “Well, I’m glad he hasn’t let himself go to seed since Roy’s death.” He sips his drink again and rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t see him much anymore. He’s never liked me, and to be honest, I prefer to drop in, wreak havoc, and get the hell out of Dodge.”

Patrick lifts his club soda and toasts Tony’s scotch. “Would that I could.”

They drink and sit in silence for a few minutes. Tony’s the first to break it. “You can’t really blame me for wanting to test the validity of my son’s relationship, Patrick. May I call you Patrick?”

“I prefer Dr. McCloud.”

“Good to know.” Tony chuckles. “I like you, Dr. McCloud. You’ve got balls.”

“So do you.”

“Comes with the territory.”

Patrick swears for a half a second Will’s father is flirting with him.

Tony takes another swallow of scotch. “And, as I was saying, the other night was a test. Nothing personal.”

“Still not feeling inclined to forgiveness.”

Tony scoffs. “Any father would want to ensure their very wealthy son is in a happy and mutual marriage.”

“Most fathers don’t test their child’s relationship by threatening to murder their lover.”

“Sure they do. That’s where the term shotgun marriage came from, son.”

“I’m not your son.”

“No, you’re not.” Tony turns to face him more fully. “You’re a much more self-actualized person than my Guglielmo. If you stay together, I think you’ll guide him into manhood quite well.” He tilts his head, his eyes hardening and scouring Patrick like he can see into his heart and read his intentions. “If you don’t? Well, I’m no longer inclined to believe the marriage’s failure will be your fault.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re in love with him.”

Patrick sneers. “Of course I’m in love with him. He’s my husband.”

“You were drunk strangers when you married. Do you think I didn’t have the entire event investigated thoroughly the day it took place? Do you think I don’t know about your attempt to annul the marriage?”

Patrick sips his club soda and wishes he had something a lot stronger to burn a path down to his stomach.

“But my spies here in Healing told me you had no ill will toward my son, and so I left the romance to run its course. I assumed it would eventually lead Guglielmo to ask me for help in dissolving the union. Instead, it seems to have lead
you
to fall ass over floppy tits in love with my son. And it seems his feelings for you aren’t negligible either.”

“My pecs are firm and sculpted.”

“I’m sure Guglielmo appreciates that more than I do.” Tony smiles and his dark eyes crinkle at the edges.

Will has Kimberly’s smile: sunny, wide, and full of optimism. Tony’s is entirely different. It’s world-weary and warm, and yet somehow reveals that this man has happily snuffed people out like candles.

“The test wasn’t just for you. Seeing how you reacted to being on your knees was one thing, but more importantly, I wanted to know how my son felt for you. Did he care for you the way he would any friend, or was there something more beneath the surface? Something stronger?”

“He loves me,” Patrick says, and the lie feels like gravel in his throat.

“I agree. His feelings are much stronger than tolerance for a poor decision.” Tony’s voice slips into an almost seductive purr. “More than friendship. More than lust.”

Hope pushes up through Patrick’s chest, making it hard to breathe, making him sweat. Still, he speaks carefully, unwilling to own up to anything. For all he knows this is another test, and he doesn’t want to end up dead.

“Witnessing Guglielmo’s reaction was illuminating. He was more than ready to put himself in the way of harm for you.”

“He’s loyal.”

“That he is.”

“And a good man.”

“Did you know?” He cocks his head and stares at Patrick. “About his feelings?”

“We’re husbands.”

“Bound by vows.”

“Yes.”

“Vows you have no wish to break.”

Patrick shakes his head.
No. Not anymore.

“Exactly.” Tony nods, a shrewd expression on his face. “Yet another thing I like about you. You keep your promises. I could have use for a man such as yourself.”

“For what? Procurement of black market brains? Hate to tell you but there’s not a lot of success in the brain transplant business yet.”

Tony blows a raspberry. “I’m talking about a real opportunity here.”

“Oh, golly. A real crime opportunity? Count me out.”

Tony rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, exposing thick, corded forearms with dark hair and a tattoo of the Molinaro family crest. “Don’t be so fast. Let’s talk business.”

Patrick waves his hand. He doesn’t think he has a choice in the matter.

Tony goes into lecture mode, and Patrick listens as the history of the Molinaro family is revealed. He doesn’t think he ever wanted to know about Timmy the Rat and Chuck the Cuck or any of Tony’s other mafioso pals, but now that he’s getting their story, he has to admit to a certain admiration for their arrogance.

Tony’s eyes are brown, like Will’s, but less amber and more the dark walnut of Patrick’s first piano. While Will’s eyes glow with his basic human goodness, Tony’s eyes have the haunted look of a man who’s stared too long into the abyss and found it staring back at him. Just like Nietzsche warned. It’s an expression Patrick’s seen in soldiers he’s operated on, patients with brain injuries from war.

Twenty minutes pass before Tony gets to the point. “Since the enforcement of RICO laws in the nineties, the family’s been forced to focus our business on smaller-time gigs and gambling. But with the government now preoccupied with preventing terrorism, they don’t have the resources to pay attention to our work. I’m ready to take us large.”

“Casinos?”

Tony sputters and shakes his head. “Casinos are always good money, but drugs are better.”

“Didn’t Don Corleone say drugs are too dirty for family honor?”

“This isn’t
The Godfather
, Dr. McCloud.”

“I didn’t think so, but now I’m not so sure.”

“The mob fell from power for a lot of reasons. The arrogance of mob bosses and RICO enforcement played their parts, sure but the biggest blow was laziness. A lack of creativity. The world changed and we didn’t change with it.”

“Wishing for the golden days of yore, huh? Busting knee caps, shoving people off docks with cement blocks for boots?”

“You joke, but that’s the truth of it.”

The irony of a man who’d only the night before held an antique pistol to his head while wearing a freaking
fedora
talking about the failure of the mafia as a whole to move on from stereotypes makes Patrick snort.

“The mafia is just like any other organization. We sell something of value. Tell me, Dr. McCloud, what is our product? What do we sell?” Tony motions for Ella, indicating he’d like another scotch. He finishes off his first as she drops it by and then answers the question for Patrick. “Freedom. We sell what the government doesn’t want its people to have.”

“At a steep price.”

“Freedom is always expensive. Didn’t they teach you that in history class?” Tony sips the scotch and smiles warmly at Patrick, the liquor apparently loosening his shoulders. His gaze is relaxed and Patrick shifts in his seat under his seductive gleam. “So, tell me. What’s one thing the government doesn’t want people to have?”

“Sex with children.”

“Oh, Patrick. Think outside the box.”

“Raping kids is inside the box? I’m more disturbed by the moment.”

Tony’s eyes harden and Patrick’s heart hits his breastbone. “No more smart mouth. I’m offering you a position here.”