My Son's Teacher Is a Mafioso (MANXMAN)

Chapter 1

This is a spin-off of Hitman in Love (18+), but can be read separately. Hope you enjoy! Please let me know if you'd rather read this.

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Wasted, sottish, struggling to walk straight and barely holding the contents of his stomach inside, Orazio made his way home on foot, or at least he tried to. His car keys were nowhere to be found, all he felt was his gun, hidden under his jacket, so he couldn't drive home, and even if he had his keys, he was in no state to drive. He couldn't even walk without bumping into street lamps or tripping over his own feet.

He couldn't hold his liqueur, and he knew it. He bloody knew it, that's why he avoided alcohol, but as the underboss of the Serraino-DiGiovine family he had to attend parties, even the drinking ones, especially if it was his boss who invited him. No one, not even Orazio with reputation almost as bad as Dante Serraino-DiGiovine, turned down the don.

And Dante, being the jerk he was, had made him drink and drink until his head had dropped to the table as though beheaded. It had been so sudden the loud bang had startled other mafiosi, and then they barked with laughter, but he wasn't awake to hear them, for the moment he hit the wood, he was out like a light.

After half an hour he had come to. His buddies and boss had been still drinking, so he had figured he should steal away while he could. It had been a miracle he had been able to think in his inebriated state.

He walked, swaying like a wilted todger. His feet carried him to an unknown neighbourhood, flanked by nice-looking houses. Orazio lost balance, and fell on the pavement. He pushed up, then realised it felt better to be on the ground, so he lay down again, not caring about being seen, or worse, being recognised, for if a word got to Dante, he wouldn't hear the end of it - a member of the Serraino-DiGiovine family kissing the pavement in the dead of night, that was unacceptable. But at the moment, he couldn't care less about that. He closed his eyes, and it didn't take long for him to nod off.

Gabriel Leone stepped out of his house to check the man who had been reported by one of his neighbours from across the street. According to her, a man was lying outside his house, and knowing Gabe was a police officer, she called him to do something about the suspicious man.

He wasn't happy to be called at 11 p.m. He had been about to hit the sack when the phone had rung. However displeased he was about the onerous task of going out at night to see what fool had found the pavement comfortable enough to lie on it, it was his duty to make sure there was no one disturbing his neighbours, although he didn't give a shit. As long as no one was screaming and messing around in front of his house, he didn't care if a group of people camped there. If they were as quiet as a mute film, didn't flash light in his or his son's window, and disappeared before dawn, he wouldn't stop them from sleeping on the street. His job dictated otherwise, however.

With a big sigh, he stepped outside into the autumn night in a shirt and trousers he had put on so he wouldn't turn into an icicle in a second. From the door he could see a dark form on the ground, and gathered it was the man the old lady had been talking about. He rushed over to him, got down on one knee, and carefully turned the stranger over. Gabe had felt the alcohol from him when he had been a few steps away from him, and now that he was hovering over him, it was even more obvious the man was legless. (A/N: No, it doesn't mean he didn't have legs.)

But if he disregarded the snoring that was common after drinking sessions, the stranger was quite handsome. Strong features, high cheekbones, a square jaw, long eyelashes, dark hair and thin lips that were currently slightly apart, annoying sounds escaping his mouth. Too bad he was a drinker because he was Gabe's type, but he didn't like alcoholics.

Gabe carried him into the house. He didn't make a habit of taking drunkards home, but this man didn't appear to be dangerous. He was too gorgeous to be a criminal. His was not a face of a murderer was what Gabe thought.

Quietly so as not to wake his son, Gabe carried him to the guestroom where he lay him on the bed. Before leaving, he took off his shoes, and put it next to the bed. He thought of taking his jacket off, but the man might get offended to find out another man had touched him even though he had helped him. If he had done it, he would have seen the gun behind his belt, and realised the stranger was not to be trusted.

Before going to bed, Gabe went to check on his son. Seeing him sleeping soundly, he retired for the night.

Orazio woke up, suffering the wrath of grapes, the inexplicable headache a memento of the previous night.

Never again, he told himself as he rubbed his temples. He knew he would have to pick up a drink again at the next drinking party, however.

When he looked about, he registered his surrounding, but didn't recognise the room. It was neat, clean, and smelled faintly of summer flowers, probably from the laundry detergent. Looking out of the window, he tried to find out where he was, but even the street didn't look familiar. He had never been there.

How had he got there? He didn't remember anything. Had anyone taken him there? How the hell had he got to the house that didn't belong to anyone he knew? He needed to get out of there.

But first, he had to check the house for occupants. Feeling the gun at his side, he felt assured. Whomever the house belonged to, he or she was careless or dumb or both to let an armed man sleep under his or her roof.

He put on his shoes and tiptoed to the closest room to the room he had been put in. There he found a man, sleeping with his chest bare. Maybe his lower body was bare, too, but with the duvet covering him, Orazio couldn't tell. It was a shame he couldn't see what was down south, though, for he liked the upper part. And he liked it a lot. Especially the man's face that was more beautiful than his last lover's.

As he stared at the man, something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He stealthily approached the bedside table, and what he found on top of it stopped him cold. On the wooden surface lay a police badge. He was in the house of a fúcking cop!

He needed to bug out. Now. But as he turned, he saw a child standing at the door. His eyes were like saucers, taken aback to see a stranger in the house, in his father's room. He probably thought Orazio was there to rob them because he looked scared and about to cry.

"No, no, no, no, no! I'm not a bad person," Orazio said in a low voice. As a mafioso, he didn't want to wake the cop. "I won't hurt you or your father."

The boy didn't seem to believe him. Smart kid, unlike his father.

"What's happening?" a deep voice asked, and Orazio cursed his luck. The father in question was sitting up, fully awake with his eyes fixed on Orazio, certainly thinking the man was up to no good.

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