The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,139
think I should…”
“I’ve prayed and I’ve read and I’ve prayed some more about what the Lord thinks of men like us. Men who aren’t men the way the world says we’re meant to be. And the more I pray and the more I read, the less I know, but the more I feel like when your heart is telling you something is right, that’s God telling you it’s right.”
“It can’t be right,” Danny whispered. “It can’t… He’s…”
“Danny.” James sat up and leaned closer to him. “Stop worrying where he came from or who he works for. Look at the man, and ask yourself if there’s a reason you shouldn’t feel the way you do about him.”
Danny didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Something about him is calling to you,” James went on. “Maybe it’s time you answered that call.”
“You think I should…” Danny held James’s gaze. “With a man like…”
“With a man who makes you hurt this much just to be away with him?”
Danny blinked. James was right. It did hurt to be away from Carmine. Especially after the ordeal with the il Sacchis, but the ache had started well before that. He hadn’t thought about it that way but, yes, it did.
James continued, “I think you know your heart better than anyone. And if your heart is telling you to go to him, then…” He gave Danny’s hand a squeeze. “Go to him.”
Danny had no idea what to say. Or if James was speaking to him as his boyhood friend, as a priest, or as a man who was something in between.
But yes, his heart was telling him to go to Carmine. Why, and for what, and to what end, he couldn’t say, just that the pull was strong, and his resistance weakened by the moment.
“All right.” He nodded. “All right, I will.”
James just smiled. “Good luck.”
Chapter 30
It had been a long day followed by a long evening, just like most of them, and Carmine was exhausted. He’d spent most of the afternoon with Maurizio and Joe Masseria, and the rest of the hours catching up on everything else.
Funny—Maurizio had warned him that moving up from a lieutenant position would mean a whole lot more work, but Carmine had never grasped how much more that actually meant. Not so much grunt work, but the taxing things like diplomacy and negotiations and keeping everyone beneath him in line. On top of that, more recently, impressing the Morello gang in hopes that this alliance came to be.
But the day and the evening were over, and he’d barely been home ten minutes before he said good night to his mother and sister and headed upstairs. With a sigh, he nudged the bedroom door shut behind him as he switched on the light, and—
“Thought you was gonna stay out all night.” Danny’s voice startled Carmine so badly he stumbled back against the door.
Stunned, he turned, and there was Danny—sitting in the armchair by the window, dressed in a suit Carmine had never seen before. A gray-banded black hat was perched on his lap, his hands on the armrests, and the grin on his lips nearly shook Carmine’s knees out from under him.
“What…” Carmine blinked. “How did you get in here?”
“You sound surprised.” Chuckling, Danny put his hat on the table beside the chair and rose. “Getting into places I don’t belong is what I do. It’s what you hired me to do.”
Carmine swallowed, then pushed himself off the door and moved closer to him. “All I asked was how you got in.” He held Danny’s gaze and slid a hand beneath his jacket, over the smooth fabric of his waistcoat. “I didn’t say you didn’t belong here.”
Danny grinned again. “Does that mean you want me to stay?”
Carmine didn’t answer. He just pulled Danny close, curved a hand behind his neck, and kissed him. All the exhaustion of the day fell from his shoulders like he’d shrugged off a heavy coat, and his heart thumped as he prodded at Danny’s lips with his tongue. Danny didn’t resist at all, opening eagerly. His mouth tasted faintly of rum, and his kiss was unhurried and decadent. Carmine stole a glance past him to make sure the curtains covered the windows, just to be sure no one caught a glimpse of him with Danny, and they were. He was alone in this room with the Irishman who’d never been far from his mind. The man he’d almost lost to a rival gang.