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Soft hands slid down his arms. They shook slightly with nerves, but they clearly had no intention of stopping.

Abbacchio's hands were busy unbuttoning the top of the owner of those hands. He was taking his time; he had every intention of savoring this moment. Abbacchio had been waiting long enough for it.

Blue eyes shyly looked up at his. There was a hunger in them and Abbacchio knew it matched the one in his own eyes, but that didn't change the fact that he was going to take his time undressing Bucciarati. This beautiful young man deserved to be handled with the most care. Abbacchio knew what it was like holding priceless things, and this young capo was one of those.

Abbacchio finished with the buttons and slid the shirt off Bruno's shoulders. He ran his thumbs over Bucciarati's collarbone, shoulder, and then down his arms. He was much thinner than Abbacchio, but still had muscle built up.

Bucciarati sucked in a breath and bit his lip. Abbacchio drank it all up. 

The shirt fell to the floor with a soft thump. Bucciarati's chest was tanned like the rest of him. He looked like he'd been kissed by the sun itself. Abbacchio couldn't wait to touch it, kiss it, bite it. But first—

Abbacchio stepped closer and brought his hands to Bucciarati's face. He tipped the shorter man's chin up so that they were looking eye to eye. He felt Bucciarati's nails digging into his arms, and he smirked.

Bucciarati was into this just as much as he was.

Without waiting any longer, Abbacchio leaned in. He couldn't wait to smash his lips to Bucciarati's—

Ding

Ding

Ding

Abbacchio shot up. He was sweating and tangled in his sheets, but the room was cold. He turned to the source of the noise, the thing that woke up him from his dream. There were text messages from Mista asking about his favorite type of cheese.

With a groan, Abbacchio responded, a little grumpier than his usual messages. He didn't like being woken in the middle of the night unless it was absolutely necessary. And cheese was not necessary, no matter what Mista said.

Abbacchio set his phone back down and rolled over to sleep—but that was a little difficult in his current state. His dream had left him wide awake and wanting. He groaned and ran his hands down his face. This shouldn't be happening, not to him and not about the young capo.

He was the Don! How was some capo occupying his mind so much that he couldn't even escape into dreamland? Those blue eyes haunted him, but in the best way.

They'd only spoken a few times, usually about work. They were pleasant conversations, Abbacchio always left feeling happy after them. Even found himself looking forward to the next one. Bucciarati's conversations felt like the only thing that helped the night pass.

The charisma and charm that Bucciarati had was very remarkable for his age. He made friends with people easily and even the civilians loved him. He was also incredibly handsome to top it all off.

When Polpo approached him with a question, it was an easy decision. It was his approval that was needed to make Bucciarati the capo to succeed Polpo. The former had always talked highly of him and with Bucciarati's record, it was a smart pick.

The more Abbacchio learned about Bucciarati the more he wanted to be around him.

At the last Passione party he attended, Abbacchio may have drunk a little too much and began a non-work-related conversation with Bucciarati. That conversation may have been a little flirtier than he had intended it to be, and it left his imagination to run wild. He wasn't even sure that Bucciarati had flirted back.

Nothing could change the fact that this young capo now took over the Don of Passione's mind. Rarely did Abbacchio want something he knew he couldn't have. It could jeopardize both their positions…but to have Bucciarati squirming underneath him, it could be worth it. He could almost hear the moans.

Sighing, Abbacchio threw the sheets back and slid out of the bed. He knew he was going to be awake for a while still. The dream clung to him. It almost made him feel dizzy. Abbacchio needed to make it fade before the Passione event that was happening today.

He made his way to the bathroom and turned the shower on as cold as he could.

Anyone that worked closely with Abbacchio knew that the Don dressed nicely, but rarely did he go overboard. He had expressed that he never felt the need to except for very special occasions. This event was nothing out of the ordinary and therefore Abbacchio would have no need to go all out, but of course, that's exactly what he did.

Abbacchio rationalized with himself that he was trying to step up his game as Don. He wanted all eyes on him—but that was a lie. There was only one set of eyes he wanted on him tonight and Bucciarati was the reason for spending more time on his makeup and making sure his outfit was perfect.

Mista noticed right away but smartly kept quiet. The only sign he noticed was the rise of an eyebrow and a smirk. Mista didn't know who the Don had dressed up for, not yet anyway, but he would find out tonight. He would make sure of it, not only for the safety of the Don but maybe to help be a wingman for his not so socially fortunate friend.

The Don was fashionably late as usual, Mista and Ghirga escorting him in. He was only on time if he needed to start something. His purple suit fit him to a 'T'. Everything was freshly pressed and hugged every curve of his body. Unfortunately, he had to cover his chest up for most events. It looked more 'respectable' for the Don. But he left a tasteful amount of the shirt open.

The moment he walked in the room, Abbacchio kept his eyes peeled for him. He couldn't completely scope the whole party yet, not with all the eyes currently on him. He had to keep his searching casual otherwise he would draw attention to himself, or worse, Bucciarati.

Mista led the way to the Don's table. There were three seats, which made Mista happy. Only the Don and his two guards were allowed to sit here unless Don brought another chair to the table.

Like always, people's voices dropped to whispers when they passed. Everyone was staring at the Don. His presence always gathered looks, whether of fear, lust, or awe. Occasionally Mista was lucky enough to receive a glance and he almost always gave a wink.

Mista and Ghirga waited until Abbacchio sat before sitting themselves. Conversations returned to normal volume after Abbacchio sat, but the glances continued. Abbacchio ignored them, his eyes traveled around the room. He recognized many of the faces, but none were the faces he wanted.

"Vino?" A young waitress approached the table holding a glass bottle filled with red liquid. She eyed the Don up and down with a hungry gaze.

"The Don prefers a white actually. A dry white," Mista said with a killer smile.

The waitress was only looking at Abbacchio. "Oh—mi dispiace. I will go grab one from the kitchen." She spun and sauntered back to the kitchen, shaking her hips to attempt to attract the Don.

Abbacchio wasn't even paying attention to her.

"Don, you know I love this job, but it's real hard to find a date with you around," Mista grumbled and leaned back in his chair.

"Maybe if you stopped flirting with anything that moved—"

"I do not flirt with everything that moves," Mista huffed and crossed his arms, shrinking down in his seat.

Abbacchio listened but didn't engage with their conversation. This was a common conversation between the two. It almost made him smile.

There—a bob of black hair! That had to be—

"Il tuo vino, Don." The young waitress reappeared with a new bottle, effectively blocking Abbacchio's sight.

"Yes, yes." He waved his hand trying to make the waitress move.

She smiled, glad to finally be acknowledged by Abbacchio. "I'll pour you a glass!"

"Just set the bottle down—" Abbacchio leaned in his seat to try and see but to no avail.

"Grazie, signora," Mista purred.

The waitress stepped close to the table and finally out of Abbacchio's path of sight. His eyes darted back and forth, but the dark head of hair had disappeared back into the crowd. Abbacchio leaned back in his seat with a glare.

Ghirga must have sensed Abbacchio's mood shift. "You can go. Just leave the bottle."

Mista's smile fell as he looked at Ghirga confused. He glanced at Abbacchio, and the light bulb went off. "Yeah. Best to leave the bottle and move on."

The waitress glanced at Abbacchio and seeing his intense glare quickly nodded and set the bottle on the table. Abbacchio's glass was the only one with wine in it.

"Damn, she really was cute too."

"Everything good, Abbacchio?"

"Fine, just fine." He kept his tone neutral with them. It wasn't their fault that Abbacchio had lost Bucciarati in the crowd. He grabbed his glass of wine and took a drink.

"Right…"

Mista and Ghirga shared another look. They may not have looked like it, but they were putting the pieces together faster than the Don realized. They'd spent too many hours protecting Abbacchio to not realize what his moods meant.

The organizer finally stepped on stage. He must have been informed of the Don's arrival. Abbacchio settled in for another boring speech as he kept on the lookout.

Two glasses in and Abbacchio was growing bored. This whole affair was rather boring. He'd finally spotted Bucciarati. He was seated next to Polpo. Polpo had insisted on sticking around and helping Bucciarati grow accustomed to his new role.

It wasn't safe for Abbacchio to approach Bucciarati without an important conversation in mind. He was too afraid to stumble over his words in front of everyone. It wasn't befitting of the Don.

"Abbacchio, if you don't mind, I'm going to go mingle?" Mista looked bored out of his mind.

Abbacchio wasn't being very helpful with his sour mood. "Yeah, I'll be here."

Mista sighed. "If you need me for anything, anything, I'm there."

A small smile cracked on his face. "Go have fun," he said with more warmth in his tone than previously.

"Thanks," he said smiling. Mista stood and disappeared into the crowd. But not before looking back once to check on Abbacchio.

With that, Abbacchio was left alone.

Ghirga had already stepped away in favor of talking with Bucciarati's subordinate, Fugo. The two got along well enough for being opposites. He couldn't quite tell the relationship between the two, but it was almost cute. Ghirga snuck away any chance he had to go talk with Fugo.

He took another sip, finishing the glass.

With a sigh, Abbacchio grabbed the bottle. It was empty. Between the three of them, they went through the bottle rather quickly.

Abbacchio looked around the room, trying to find the waitress or anyone else who could deliver wine to him, but the other staff seemed to be busy. He set his glass on the table and stood. He made a B-line for the bar.

He was able to acquire a bottle easily. With his scowl and resting bitch face, no one approached him. The Don only had to appear at the bar for the worker behind to recognize him and pass a bottle to him. He smiled and left a large tip before making his way back to the table.

"Hey, Bucciarati! What brings you here?"

Abbacchio paused mid-step, snapping his head towards the voice. He hadn't been looking for Bucciarati, too obsessed with wallowing with wine.

"Oh, ciao Antonio. I'm sure you heard that I was promoted recently. I have to attend these functions now."

Bucciarati's voice was light and playful, it was one of Abbacchio's favorite things about him. He always seemed to be happy. And that smile was worth millions easily.

He and Bucciarati seemed to have similar feelings towards these Passione get-togethers. Most of the time they were incredibly boring and lifeless. But if they missed them, there would be some sort of hell to pay. This one was no different.

Abbacchio moved closer, trying to hear the conversation but still trying to appear casual.

"Oh right, Capo Bucciarati. A well-deserved title."

Bruno smiled politely. "Thank you. I hope to do the position well."

"I'm sure you will, you hold your position well," Antonio's voice dropped into a flirty tone. "Especially for someone your age…"

Abbacchio grit his teeth and kept walking. He needed to move away now before he did something stupid, or someone noticed him. He had no right to be upset with people flirting with Bucciarati, but he couldn't help the feeling from forming. Luckily the redness spreading across his face was easily mistakable for too much alcohol. 

"Oh…" Bucciarati cleared his throat. "I do hope to meet the standards of Passione as a capo."

Bucciarati sounded uncomfortable and Abbacchio glanced in his direction. If this Antonio was making a capo uncomfortable, then Abbacchio should step in. Looking was a mistake. The two locked eyes for half a breath before Abbacchio whipped his head away and pushed forward. He hoped that Bucciarati didn't notice the blush that suddenly spread.

If Abbacchio would have waited, he would have noticed how Bucciarati opened his mouth to call to him.

Weaving in and out of the crowd was easy. Most made a path as they recognized that the Don was walking through the crowd. Some greeted him and Abbacchio still had enough wits about him to respond politely. His anger was settling now that he was out of earshot of anyone around Bucciarati.

He let out a sigh of relief when he reached the table once more. He hadn't expected a trip to the bar to be so tiring.

A quick pop of the cork and Abbacchio poured more into his glass. He had to keep his appearance up, so he drank slowly instead of downing it like he really wanted to.

Bucciarati hadn't followed him. Abbacchio couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, but he was also relieved. No awkward conversation to explain why he ran.

To pass the time and keep an eye out for anything interesting, Abbacchio people watched. 

Mista stood across the room laughing with a young woman. She had bright pink hair, something was familiar about it. For once, Mista didn't seem to be flirting. Ghirga was still with Fugo, they had taken a seat at a nearby table and had strawberry cake in front of them. Ghirga had a small smile on his face, and he looked a little nervous. A kind of nervousness that Abbacchio had just experienced himself.

He took another sip.

And another.

And another.

The night bled on and Abbacchio watched.

Guests and other ranking members of Passione made their rounds to his table. They were all friendly, some asked about business, but they all wanted one thing: him. Abbacchio meant power, whether it was befriending him, complimenting him, or flirting, they all had an agenda.

Mista and Ghirga stopped by occasionally to check up on their boss. They could tell he was in a bad mood, and they were worried. They both offered to sit and chat with him, but Abbacchio didn't want to ruin their night. He waved them off and said to have fun tonight because they had work to do tomorrow. 

They both gave him a look but wandered back into the crowd.

Abbacchio continued to brood. Now and then he'd catch sight of the black bob and the people mingling with him. Every time that Abbacchio spotted him, someone was close to him and Bucciarati was smiling and laughing. His eyes shone with joy and happiness. It was clear that some were flirting with Bucciarati, but it was hard to tell if he was flirting back.

There was something weird about how Bucciarati appeared in the crowd. Abbacchio could have sworn he was moving closer sometimes, but then someone would drag him off. The Don was sure he must be imagining it, he'd had enough wine to do so. Maybe it was because Bucciarati never protested being pulled away by person after person. There was always a smile.

A small seed of jealousy blossomed in the Don's chest. He wanted to make Bucciarati smile and laugh like that. The warm eyes focused solely on him.

Abbacchio's mind wandered. He was sitting in front of all of Passione and on his lap sat Bucciarati. Bucciarati was sitting proudly on his lap, holding Abbacchio's hand. It was clear to the entire syndicate that Bucciarati was his and if anyone made a pass at him, they'd have to answer to Abbacchio. He'd give Bucciarati a peck on the cheek while never breaking eye contact with the crowd. How could he be any more obvious with his threat?

He stood suddenly. He needed to take a step out, maybe even leave. These thoughts were dangerous, especially in public. He'd been there long enough; the Don's presence wasn't required for the full night. He walked briskly towards the exit, quickly sending a text to Mista and Ghirga so they didn't come looking for him in a panic. He also didn't want them to follow.

He pushed through a door that led into a hallway, it seemed empty. The doors slammed shut behind him.

The hallway was completely quiet.

With a sigh of relief, Abbacchio walked to an open window. It was an old classic one, without a screen, so he was able to lean out. The cool night air was welcome on his heated face. He took in a deep breath and let it out.

He could hear cars and people down below and the lights of Napoli twinkled. One of his cities. His hometown no less. Now under Bucciarati's watch, his protection. This city needed a good leader. From his seat at the top, Abbacchio could provide the protection this city needed. He kept his people safe and fed. Abbacchio made sure the city prospered and didn't fall into ruin. The idea was sobering.

It reminded him of what he needed to do—and not to do. No distractions. There was much to do, and he couldn't afford to slip up—

Thud

Abbacchio jolted up toward the noise. He was ready to see Mista or Ghirga, but it was—

"Don, are you alright? I saw you left in a hurry."

It was Bucciarati.

Abbacchio's voice caught in his throat. What was he thinking about again?

"I'm sorry I didn't properly greet you tonight…not very professional of a new capo. Every time I attempted to escape the crowd to come talk, someone else stepped in." Bruno sighed, "It can be rather exhausting."

Abbacchio cleared his throat to attempt to clear his head. "It's alright. You're not required to talk to me at every event."

Bucciarati stopped by Abbacchio, their bodies almost touching, and looked out the window. His eyes twinkled with the lights of the city. "I enjoy talking with you, though. I thought I'd made that clear before."

Abbacchio tried not to blush at Bucciarati's closeness and words. Abbacchio focused on the people walking below. "I thought you said it was exhausting to people?"

"No, I said it was exhausting talking to them." Bucciarati's voice was soft.

Keep it together, Leone. "It's good to know I'm pleasant company."

Bucciarati shifts beside him, but he doesn't look away from Napoli. "Most pleasant."

They remain silent for a moment, watching the world go on like they don't even exist.

"If I may ask, what are you doing out here in the hallway?"

Abbacchio contemplates his response. Does he tell the truth or lie? Maybe a bit of both. "I got bored in there, so I was headed out."

"You're leaving?"

Abbacchio could have sworn that Bucciarati sounded sad.

"Yes. I tend to bring social events down if I'm grumpy. People try to cater to me too much instead of focusing on having a good time themselves."

"That's very noble of you," Bucciarati teased slightly. "Would it be alright if I walked you out? I'm not ready to go back in there yet."

"Well…" Abbacchio thought about it. He should say no considering his complicated feelings towards his capo, push Bucciarati away until he no longer thinks about him. "Alright. But just to the door, then you should go back in. I'd hate to keep your adoring fan base waiting."

They turned and started down the hall as Bucciarati chuckled. "Adoring fan base? I wouldn't call them that."

"What would you call them then? Loyal followers, loving—"

"Annoying."

This caught Abbacchio off guard and couldn't suppress the laugh. "That's rather blunt of you."

Bucciarati shrugged. "It's true. At first, it was flattering, but when no one really listens to you and only wants one thing, it becomes annoying. No one wants to have a conversation."

That was something he understood. "I get that. Everyone wants to be close to the Don for something: money, power, etc. That's usually why I keep Mista and Ghirga around."

"I can't say that I blame them, I also like being around you."

A blush crept onto Abbacchio's face.

"There's an easy-going air about you. I feel like I don't have to try as hard to have a simple conversation."

"I—" Abbacchio coughed to try and avoid saying something he'd regret. "I'm glad that you find it easy to talk to me. I want to be approachable, to a point anyways."

Bucciarati and Abbacchio rounded the corner. The path crossed through a miniature garden with a small fountain. It was open to the night sky and a cool breeze ruffled the plants. Small lights were mixed in with flowers and bushed. Under different circumstances, it could have been romantic.

There wasn't a soul in sight tonight.

"Wow, it's a beautiful night," Bucciarati whispered. He looked up at the sky with an awed look.

Abbacchio glanced at the sky and then looked at Bucciarati. He found the man next to him to be a far more beautiful sight. For a rare moment, Abbacchio wished he wasn't the Don so maybe he could really enjoy a night under the stars with Bucciarati.

"Quite beautiful," he whispered.

As if sensing the stare, Bucciarati looked at the Don, who quickly whipped his head in the other direction. He felt the fire across his face and hoped that Bucciarati missed that.

But that didn't seem to be so.

Bucciarati stepped closer, almost shoulder to shoulder with Abbacchio. He pointed to the sky. "Do you know the constellations?" his voice sounded uneven, nervous almost. "It's difficult to see many in town, but there are a few."

Abbacchio swallowed past the lump in his throat and tried to stay calm. He followed Bucciarati's finger into the sky. "I don't…I haven't had much time for stargazing."

"Here, sit with me." Bucciarati followed this by grabbing the Don's arm and dragging him to a bench. "Okay, that one there is the Big Dipper. Do you see the pan-shape?"

Even though they were close, he found himself relaxing a little. He looked at the sky for the shape. "I don't—"

Bucciarati scooted impossibly closer. Their shoulders touched and their faces were right next to each other. Bucciarati smelled nice.

He moved his hand right in front of Abbacchio's eyesight and pointed to the heavens. "Right there. Do you see it now?"

It took every ounce of willpower to follow the finger to the sky and not back to the man, but he did, and then finally…

"I see it, yeah. The pan-shaped one. You said it was called the Big Dipper?"

Bucciarati nodded. "Yes! And if you follow the handle of the pan it leads to the Little Dipper."

Abbacchio did so, following the stars that looked like a handle. There it was a smaller version of the other shape. "Fascinating."

"It is."

Abbacchio turned to Bucciarati to share his excitement, but his breath caught in his throat. They were almost nose to nose. Bucciarati was already looking at him.

This close, Abbacchio could see every detail in Bucciarati's bright eyes. They were like the prettiest blue waters, and he was immediately entranced. His eyes wandered down the lips. How could he look away from this? Bucciarati didn't move either, he stayed still and looked at Abbacchio in wonder.

Bucciarati's eyes closed partially, and his lips parted just enough. Abbacchio found himself leaning in slowly. His eyes were focused on Bucciarati's lips. He shouldn't…but—his eyes met the others once more.

Bucciarati looked so innocent.

And that's what brought Abbacchio back to his senses. Bucciarati was a young capo under his care, he couldn't do this. It was unfair of him to use his power like this. Bucciarati was likely just among the many with a small crush. He shouldn't be hurt because Abbacchio couldn't control himself.

He pulled back. He needed to distance himself quickly.

"Bucciarati—" Abbacchio cut off as Bucciarati moved closer and grabbed his arm.

There was nervousness in the movement, but also confidence.

"What are you—?"

"Please," Bucciarati whispered, sounding desperate. "Please tell me I'm not the only one feeling like this. Every time I'm near you, I feel like I can't look away, I don't want to look away. I want to keep talking. I dread when our conversations end. And even when you're gone it doesn't feel like you are." He licked his lips unknowing how distracting it was. "I don't know if it's true, but I feel like I've seen you stare—because of how much I stare."

"I…"

"Hold on." Bucciarati takes a deep breath. "I don't expect much, but please tell me that I'm not going crazy."

Abbacchio's heart strained. He wanted nothing more than to tell Bucciarati he felt the same, but he couldn't…he couldn't. "Bucciarati…"

"Please," his voice was soft, but he was almost begging. His grip on Abbacchio's arm held and his hand shook. He looked into Abbacchio's eyes, looking straight into the soul of the Don.

"Even if, nothing can come of it."

Confusion, sweet innocent confusion, clouded Bucciarati's eyes. "Why? What's stopping you?"

"Everything, Bucciarati I'm—"

"—Bruno."

"Bucciarati—"

More instantly, "—Bruno."

It wasn't worth fighting him, even if using his first name was dangerous. "Bruno." It rolled off his tongue so easily and he liked it.

Bucciarati's eyes widened with happiness, the innocent look still baring into his soul.

"No matter what I feel, if I acted on anything it would be very inappropriate. I'm your boss, the Don—you work for me."

The young man frowned.

"And then there's the age difference—"

"Really?" Bucciarati scoffed. "Age difference? I can think of several couples in your organization with a bigger age gap than us."

"But you understand our positions. They see me stringing along a freshly appointed capo. I also don't want anyone to question your standing. You earned this position; I didn't give it to you."

Bucciarati released Abbacchio's arm and set a hand on his thigh instead. "I'm not worried about them. I'll prove that I've earned this time and time again. I know several members who would vouch for me." Bucciarati smiled flirtatiously. "Besides, I think we've both earned a little companionship," he rolled the word off his tongue like the warmest invite.

It sounded nice. So nice. Impossibly nice.

"If you're worried about appearances," Bucciarati whispered in Abbacchio's ear as his hand traveled up the leg. "We can hide. Keep everything behind closed doors…"

The idea settled into his brain quickly, he liked it.

"It would be best to not display it, no one will question you either. The last thing I want to do is make your position weaker. That hurts you as well as Passione. Besides, I like your strong position."

Abbacchio blushed at the innuendo. What was it about Bucciarati that pulled him in like this?

"So, what do you say?" Bucciarati's hand paused close enough to almost touch the Don's crotch.

This was a bad idea, a terrible idea, probably the worst idea Abbacchio considered in a long time. He'd given his life to Passione and made it succeed and thrive. It had brought him wealth and power like he never could have imagined.

Maybe…it was time to take some of the fruits of his labor and take a bite.

Without a word, Abbacchio tipped Bucciarati's chin up and pressed his lips to the capo's. They were warm and surprisingly sweet. He felt a jolt of excitement shoot through his body.

Bucciarati made a small noise of surprise but leaned in right away. His arms wrapped around Abbacchio's neck and pulled them closer.

One hand caressed Bucciarati's face and the other snagged around his waist. It had been a long time since Abbacchio felt this kind of electricity in a kiss and he wasn't ready to let it go. He felt like he was floating on the sea and Bucciarati was helping keep him afloat. He could easily drown, but Bucciarati wouldn't let him do that.

Bucciarati crawled onto Abbacchio's lap without loosening his hold.

With a groan, Abbacchio licked Bucciarati's lip. The other seemed to hesitate for a moment before opening his mouth and allowing Abbacchio to dive in. He still held Bucciarati's face gently, but his lips were relentless.

Bucciarati's hand found its way into Abbacchio's hair and slowly ran through it. He ground his hips against Abbacchio and let out a small moan that was swallowed by the kiss. It drove Abbacchio wild.

Kissing Bucciarati felt like a dark, delicious, forbidden treat.

Abbacchio pulled back first, panting for air. He quickly looked around, but they were alone. He looked back to Bucciarati. His face was flushed red and panting heavily with his arms wrapping back around Abbacchio's neck.

"That was—it was…" A wide smile spread across Bucciarati's face, and he touched his forehead with Abbacchio's. "It was amazing."

That was perfect. Abbacchio kept that thought to himself. "It was. I wasn't expecting that."

Confidence spread across Bucciarati's face. "I'm glad I was right."

Abbacchio chuckled quietly. "Far more than you know." He ran a thumb across Bucciarati's chin.

"Can…can we make-out some more?" Bucciarati looked embarrassed but confident.

The air caught in Abbacchio's throat. Bucciarati sounded like a young teen hooked on the idea of a kiss. It was kind of adorable.

"I think we could—but not here."

"Right. Right, right," Bucciarati spoke like he was waking from a dream. He pulled back, but he didn't move from Abbacchio's lap. "I like sitting here." It sounded so factual.

Blush spread across Abbacchio's face; this man was too cute. He felt his heart speed up—he was nervous! "I like you sitting here." Now he sounded like a young teen. "But we can't stay here. And you should go back to the party, they're going to start looking for you."

A frown spread across Bucciarati's face. "We're not going to go back to your place—or mine? I thought maybe…"

Abbacchio had to bite his lip to hold in the sound he wanted to make at Bucciarati's proposal. "No. I—god I'm going to sound like a sap—but I don't want to ruin whatever this is with a quick fuck. No one's been stuck in my head like this before and it scares me."

Why was he being so honest? He felt vulnerable…but it felt nice.

"I'm glad to know that I've kept you up as many nights as you've kept me up. But alright." Bucciarati slipped off Abbacchio's lap and adjusted his clothes. "Just a kiss for tonight, but I want more in the future."

His lap felt cold without Bucciarati on it even though the night was warm. Abbacchio followed Bucciarati's example and fixed his clothes. His eyes never left Bucciarati's.

"How do I look?" he asked after adjusting his shirt.

"Stunning." The word fell out before he registered it.

Bucciarati's smile made it worth it. A genuine smile. "I don't have any lipstick smudged on my face?"

"No? Why would you?"

Bucciarati looked almost sad. "I see you use the expensive kind."

Abbacchio finally picked up on what Bucciarati was going for. "Only to events. Can't have my lips being ruined by wine or dashing capos, can I?"

"Good to know," Bucciarati said with a grin. "You look presentable too—except for this." He pushed Abbacchio's hair back down where his hand had run through it. "There."

He gulped. "T—thanks." That felt really nice.

"Are you going to leave now?"

Abbacchio nodded. "No one wants a bored Don." He repeated the same sentiment from earlier.

Bucciarati surprised Abbacchio for a second time. He grabbed the Don's face and pulled him into another kiss. It was quick, but it left a longing feeling on Abbacchio's lips. He pulled away with a knowing smirk.

"I wish you good night then, Don."

"Leone."

"Hm?"

"My name," Abbacchio cleared his throat. "It's Leone."

"Leone…I like it."

Abbacchio liked when he said it. "But only for moments like these, Bruno."

Bucciarati winked at him. "Don't worry, Leone, I won't slip up." Bucciarati spun around and walked away.

Abbacchio watched him until he disappeared around the corner. Abbacchio's hand came to his lips and gently touched them.

For the first time in a long time, he felt excited.