A Special Christmas

A Special Christmas Julie L. Hayes

 

Published by Silver Publishing Publisher of Erotic Romance

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer. WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000." Cover Artist: Reese Dante Editor: Dawn Sievers A Special Christmas © 2010 Julie L. Hayes ISBN # 978-1-920484-18-7 All rights reserved. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model. PUBLISHER http://www.silverpublishing.info

Dedication

For Aly Scrignoli, who inspired me with her love of all things Italian, as well as her love of gangsters and Mafiosa and history For Kitty Bastein, my untiring cheerleader and supporter And to the late Alphonse Capone, for the use of one of his beautiful suits

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Tommy-gun (The Thompson Submachine Gun) Murray's Hair Pomade: Murray's Worldwide Inc.

A Special Christmas

Julie Lynn Hayes

Preface On January 16, 1920, over the veto of President Woodrow Wilson, an exercise in futility became law when the 18th Amendment, commonly known as the Volstead Act, took effect in the United States. It prohibited the sale and manufacture of intoxicating alcoholic beverages. The Webb-Kellogg Act, which came later, prevented its transportation. Interestingly, the actual use of alcohol was not prevented. Referred to by some as the Noble Experiment, this era is commonly known simply as Prohibition. Immediately after Prohibition began, the criminal element saw a way of making a great deal of money from the new law by supplying a demand which had not disappeared simply because it was now illegal. The country's major gangsters, such as Tom Dennison in Omaha and Al Capone in Chicago, not only grew wealthy from bootlegging, but gained the admiration of many people, both locally and nationally, acquiring the status of heroes. Ordinary citizens wanting to drink, despite the prohibition of said drinking, went to secret establishments known as speakeasies; they were also called blind pigs. Those in higher socio-economic circles held cocktail 6

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parties. By 1926, more and more people were sympathetic to the bootleggers and their cause — the population wanted their liquor back. In 1926, interesting things were happening in the world — Gertrude Ederle became the first woman to swim the English Channel; Hirohito was crowned Emperor of Japan; Benito Mussolini gained control of Italy; US Route 66 was created, which ran from Chicago to Los Angeles; and Henry Ford announced the forty-hour work week. Also, as the year drew to a close, and Christmas approached, two young men who lived near Chicago — Florian Donati and Nick Giannakopoulos— were about to meet, and their lives would never be the same again.

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Chapter One Florian Donati could charm any woman with a single glance. One flutter of his fabulous baby blues was enough to induce cardiac arrest among the strongest females. One warm glance could halt all traffic within a thirty yard radius, never mind that disarming smile. His lips alone could make a nun regret her vows of chastity. Black wavy hair, free from artificial intervention, and a dimpled chin completed the perfection that was the twenty-year old Florian. Florian remained blissfully unaware of his charms, for he was possessed of an almost child-like innocence, set within the body of a god. He was graced with a sweet and generous disposition, and the patience of a saint. As well as an undying love for the greatest singer who'd ever lived — the late Enrico Caruso. When Caruso died, in August of 1921, the sixteenyear-old Florian had been devastated. He'd wanted to attend the funeral, in order to pay his respects. But that was logistically impossible, as services had been held in Naples, in the old country, home to his family for many generations. So Florian had to content himself with holding a private memorial service at the dry cleaners which his family owned and where he worked, in Cicero, Illinois. The 8

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only other person in attendance also worked there — his co-worker and friend, Loria. The Donati family were long-time friends of Johnny Torrio — and in Cicero, that meant a great deal. The crime lord had been instrumental in their being in the dry cleaning business. He had brought them from New York with him where he had given them the funds for their first store — Donati's Dry Cleaning Emporium, on South Whicker— and they were very grateful to him. He helped them to buy the store in Cicero, and recommended the establishment to all of his colleagues. When circumstances forced Torrio into taking early retirement in 1925 (after nearly being killed by a would-be assassin, he decided that Florida possessed a certain charm), his business interests became the domain of his associate, the amiable and well-dressed Alphonse Capone. And just as Capone inherited Torrio's territory, so did the Donatis inherit Capone's dry cleaning. The silver bell attached to the shop door tinkled whenever it was opened, signaling the advent of a customer. During the summer, the front door, as well as the back, remained open, mostly due to the heat from the equipment in the back room where the actual cleaning and pressing was done. This heat would build up until it virtually flooded every nook and cranny of the emporium

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with an intense warmth that was almost infernal. But during the winter, the store provided a welcome respite from the fierce Midwestern cold without. Florian did not work the equipment, although he'd been around it all of his life. That was Loria's job. She also waited on the customers who came into the store, took their clothes and tagged them, checking them carefully for rips and tears, loose buttons that might otherwise meet an untimely end if not taken care of, and she supervised the dry cleaning that was actually going on in the back. She retrieved the clean clothes for returning customers, and she took their money. Florian's job was to keep the floor swept and the windows clean, keep fresh flowers upon the counter, and to help Loria with heavy lifting should she require his assistance. But his primary duty was to radiate sunshine, to make the customers feel at home — and to sing. Although he was no Caruso, and he had no desire to follow in his idol's illustrious footsteps, he had a sweet untrained voice, somewhere in the baritone range, and he was the delight of everyone that stepped foot inside Donati's. Loria had been bugging him all morning about his singing. Not that she disliked it, far from it. She loved to hear her friend sing, she would listen to him twenty-four

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hours a day if she could. No, it was nothing against his ability to carry a tune; it was his choice of material. For here it was, almost Christmas, and he refused to sing any Christmas carols, preferring instead to favor her either with selections from his favorite operas, or with the Italian melodies he had grown up with. "Uccello," she protested, leaning against the counter, watching him sweep the already immaculate floor. He was such a perfectionist. Uccello was the nickname he had acquired as a young child, when first he began to sing. Uccello canterino bello. Pretty songbird. "Uccello, just a little something for Christmas, for me?" The thirtysomething blonde reached out as he came within reach and punched his shoulder lightly, in her typical Loria manner. Florian was an accommodating guy, but he also had a bit of a mischievous streak in him. In fact, he was a very playful fellow. Pausing in his work, he wound his arms about the broom, as if it were a lover, and began to serenade her in his native tongue. "Sul mare luccica, l'astro d'argento," he crooned, his beautiful blue eyes so expressive that Loria seemed about to cry. He sang to her of the sea, and the wind, and a silver star. By the time he got to the chorus, his heartfelt "Santa Lucia" did indeed bring tears to her eyes. She wiped

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at them unabashedly with the corner of her work apron. This was the nature of their relationship — nothing romantic, simple friendship. At times, Loria was like a second mother to Florian, having known him since he was just a boy. The shop bell tinkled, but Florian continued to sing. He was used to an audience, and most of the customers were used to his singing, never interrupting his arias for something so crass as business. They invariably preferred that he finish before they proceeded. This customer was no exception. Only when the last note was reverberating through the cozy shop, did he turn to find himself the object of admiration of a swarthy, elegantly dressed man. This man was flanked by two others in dark suits, obviously subordinates. Their professional glance never stopped moving about the shop, as if they were anticipating an ambush. The jagged scar, which cut diagonally across the first man's cheek, made his identity a surety. "Ah, Loria, what a radiant vision of loveliness you are," he complimented her. Approaching the counter, he reached for her hand, and kissed it respectfully, before turning his attention to the young man who leaned against his broom. "Bellissimo," he praised the youth, "you have a

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magnificent voice, cugino piccolo. Someday you will be as famous as Caruso." He tousled Florian's dark hair in a friendly manner, before turning back to Loria. "You have something for me, yes?" "I do." She nodded, holding up one finger. "One moment. Right back, Florian." She motioned to the youth to take her place, and when he came around the counter, still clutching his broom, she ran up the stairs to the office, where the safe was kept. Florian had nothing but respect for the man who stood across from him. To the Donatis, as to many other immigrant families, he was a hero, as Johnny Torrio had been before him. A benefactor in many ways. He admired the way that Capone and his men dressed, the style they displayed, especially in the matter of the beautiful suits which the gangster left to be dried clean. Even now, a third henchman was bringing in a pile of suits, which he left in their accustomed spot. This was a well-known routine. "Sing something else," Capone requested, "you know what I like." Florian did indeed. He knew that the crime lord had a thing for opera, just like Florian did, and was also a fan of the late great Enrico, and had also mourned his passing. The difference between them was that Capone had been

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able to actually attend his funeral. He chose "Vecchia Zimarra", from La Boheme. It made no difference to him that it was meant to be sung by a tenor, such as Caruso. He merely wanted to emulate his idol as much as possible. Loria re-emerged from the office just at the end of the song. In her hand she held a large white envelope, stuffed and rubber-banded. She handed it to Capone who took the measure of it by simply holding it in the palm of one hand before sliding it into an inside pocket. "Grazie, bella." He smiled at her, before snapping his fingers at his men, pointing toward the door. "I'll see you next week, no?" she asked in a conversational tone. He paused in the doorway. "No, I'm going away for a little bit. Get some sun. I'll be back for Christmas, though. I'll bring you your present then. Both of you." He winked and smiled at them once more and left. They caught a glimpse of him through the closing door as he ducked into a long black sedan which was running at the curb. The bell tinkled at his departure. Neither Loria nor Florian spoke at first, as though all the energy which had been in the room had just been sucked out with Capone's departure. "Must be nice," Loria speculated, as she began to go

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through the bundle of clothing which had been left on the gangster's behalf, marking and tagging as she went. As she worked, Florian picked up one of the suits, his fingers caressing the fine silk material. So soft beneath his fingertips. So very elegant. As elegant as Don Capone. Such nice colors too, so very beautiful. A man wearing a suit like this could never be mistaken for anything less than classy. Loria took the suit from his hands, intent upon her work. "Sing some more?" she encouraged him, the better to keep him occupied so that she could do what she needed to do. She didn't want him thinking he could play with the merchandise either. Especially not anything belonging to Alphonse Capone. With an amiable grin, Florian began to sweep once more, and the sounds of "O Sole Mio" reverberated through the store. Loria just shook her head.

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Chapter Two "Milo?" "Yeah, Nick?" "See that blonde that just walked in? No, don't look." Nick Giannakopoulos hissed, casting his eyes down to the smooth wood of the counter. "Then how can I see?" Milo protested. But he dropped his eyes as well, obediently. "Wait a second." Nick dared a quick peek. The girl in question had stopped in front of the magazine rack. "Okay, it's jake," he told his cousin. Instantly Milo raised his head and took a good hard look. "What about her?" "I think she was looking at you, when she come in the door." "At me?" Milo pinked. The blonde brushed back a stray strand of hair, as she thumbed through a current fashion magazine. Both boys panicked when she moved, pretending to busy themselves behind the counter. When after a few minutes they realized she hadn't moved, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. "Oh dry up," Milo berated him, good-humoredly. "She's cute, don't you think?" 16

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"Yeah, she is." "Bee's knees cute?" Nick looked again, nodding. "I think you should talk to her. Maybe she like to go out with you? Tell her you have a car." "I don't have a car," Milo protested. "My father has a car. Sometimes I get to drive it, that's all." Now she laid the magazine down, standing undecidedly, before opening up a small flowered coin purse which hung from a chain about her wrist, rifling through the contents. Finally, she picked up the magazine again, and made her way up to the counter. The scent of flowers wafted with her. "I'd like to purchase this please," she addressed them demurely, but her eyes were clearly all for Milo. Nick took a step backwards, almost running into the shelves behind him, at the same time giving his cousin a small push forward. Nick turned around; it was the most privacy that he could offer them short of walking out of the store entirely. Several minutes of innocuous conversation and ten cents later, the transaction was completed. The girl left the store, happily clutching her fashion sheet, while Milo deposited ten cents in the till, beaming at Nick. "She says she'll come

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back again. Next time, you'll see, I'll ask her out." Promise of future happiness. That satisfied both boys for the moment. Milo leaned against the counter, his head propped in his hand, his eyes fixed dreamily upon the door to the shop. Nick smiled at the sight. Shaking his head, he gave his cousin a playful punch in the arm as he came out from behind the counter and began to straighten merchandise on the shelves. The bell over the shop door tinkled again. Both boys turned to look as a heavyset, middle-aged man in a thick coat entered. A light layer of snow lay upon his graying blond hair. Instantly Milo straightened up. He reached beneath the front counter for a cloth and began to rub industriously. "Good afternoon, Uncle Stavros," Nick said, "Is it snowing?" The answer was obvious, but he was trying to buy his cousin some time, hoping to distract his uncle's attention, even if for only a moment. "It is, Nick, looks like we might have a white Christmas after all." He smiled, shaking stray snowflakes from his coat. "Let's get the mat out so people can wipe their shoes, why don't we?" He glanced around the store, as he walked toward the back, to the room where he filled prescriptions. Milo's father, Stavros, who was also Nick's uncle,

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was not only the pharmacist but also the proprietor of the drug store where the cousins worked. They kept the store clean, stocked the shelves, and delivered prescriptions for those who were unable to pick them up. And they watched the store and waited on customers while Stavros filled prescriptions in back. "Yes, sir," Nick agreed readily, "would you like that we start shoveling the sidewalk, so the customers will not slip?" "Yes, thank you, Nick, that's a good idea. Did anyone come in while I was gone, Milo?" "Yes, Papa," Milo replied. He proceeded to give his father the rundown on who had been in the store, the sales that were made. Satisfied, Stavros ruffled his son's hair before he headed for the back. "I have some deliveries I want you to make this afternoon," he called over his shoulder. "They'll be ready soon." "Yes, Uncle Stavros." "Yes, Papa." Both boys replied at once. Nick and Milo were both nineteen years of age. They had become instant friends when Nick came to live with his mother's brother and his family in this small town in Illinois, less than a year before. The two young men shared a room, and considered themselves lucky to only

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have to share it with one another. In other families sometimes several siblings slept in one room because of space considerations. Milo's sister, Maria, the only girl in the family, had her own room, next door to theirs. Nick loved America. He dreamed of becoming a citizen someday. His other dream was to become one of the gangsters whom he admired so greatly, the ones who filled the newspaper headlines more often than not, as well as fired his imagination. His cousin Milo was also a fan, and together the two boys devoured all the information which they could glean about their heroes and spent countless hours spinning fantasies about what they would do if they were ever to get the chance to join one of the gangs. They would wear nothing but fancy clothes; they would own a big black sedan with a tough looking driver who would open doors and Tommy-gun the opposition if they got too close. All the pretty girls would carry a torch for them and beg for a ride in their car! That would be the best life ever, the cat's pajamas! The shop bell tinkled again. A young man breezed in, with a face full of freckles and a ready smile. "Jeepers creepers, it's getting cold out there!" he laughed. Nick had just located the mat when he heard the door. He hastened to set it down for the newcomer.

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"Thanks!" he grinned, wiping his shoes. "Hey Milo, whaddya know?" "Hey, Joe!" Milo returned, "everything's ducky here, you?" "Copacetic!" They both laughed, as Joe approached the counter. Nick laughed too. He didn't always understand the modern slang used by his cousin and his friends, but that didn't bother him. He was a good-natured guy. Nick spoke English pretty well, considering it wasn't his native tongue. He'd begun his lessons with the letters that his uncle had sent from his new home in America to his family in Greece. The village priest, who spoke fluent English himself, had taught Nick. It was quite a proud day when Nick read one of the letters aloud by himself for the first time. Nick spoke with a mild accent yet, but he was understandable, if he took his time and didn't rush his words. In times of stress, he fell into his native tongue. "I have your mom's prescription," Milo said, rummaging through some small paper bags which sat on a shelf behind him. "Is she feeling any better?" "You betcha she is, she yelled at me!" Joe joked. "Then she's getting better," Milo agreed, turning around with the bag in his hand. "Want to look around, see

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if you need something else?" "Nah, she'll tan my hide if I take too long." He fished some coins out of his pocket and laid them on the counter. "Besides, I need to see a man about a dog, if you know what I mean. I don't want her to get suspicious." "Your mother does not like dogs?" Nick asked, confused. "No, not a real dog." Joe glanced around, into the corners of the store, but relaxed when he realized he was the only other person there, save for them. "I gotta pick up some hooch for the party next Friday night. They put me in charge, but it isn't easy, ya know?" "I know what you mean," Milo sympathized, although Nick had no idea what he was talking about. "Say, I have a swell idea," Joe said, "Why don't you guys come too?" "To a party?" Nick asked, incredulous. "Well, sort of. A group of us are heading out toward Joliet, to this speakeasy we heard about. You should come with us, we're going to have a swell time, you know what I mean?" Nick and Milo exchanged glances. Nick had never been to any sort of a party, other than those thrown by his family, and to think, this one was going to be in a real

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speakeasy! There might be gangsters there, real ones. Not to mention illegal liquor. "There's gonna be dolls too, cute ones." He raised one hand into an upright position, the other one level, behind the back of an imaginary partner, as he did a little bit of a dance step. "We can get our wiggle on, if you know what I mean?" Nick was only confused, but Milo responded enthusiastically. "That's wonderful!" He clapped Nick on the back. "We'll call it a Christmas celebration, cousin, we'll have more fun than we…" He stopped suddenly, started counting his fingers. "When did you say, Joe?" "Next Friday night." "But Joe, that's Christmas Eve." Joe nodded. "Yeah, that's right. Christmas Eve. It's gonna be great. You'll come, won't you?" Milo shook his head reluctantly, to Nick's disappointment. He gave his cousin an inquisitive look. "We can't. My family… You know… They'll be expecting us to be here for that. If it was any other night… We can't do it, Joe. Sorry." "That's too bad," Joe commiserated. "It's gonna be fun. Hey, I gotta blow, or I won't make it. Talk to you later!" He gave them a quick wave before hightailing it out

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the door. The two young men looked at one another, dejection evident in their eyes. Nick put his arm around his cousin in an attempt to cheer him up. "It's okay, maybe we can go some other time, yes?" He gave Milo a smile. "Christmas will be good, my first Christmas in America." "That's right, your first Christmas. We'll have fun, you'll see." He couldn't help but glance at the door and sigh over lost opportunities, though.

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Chapter Three With the advent of Christmas, as well as the promise of snow, business was booming at Donati's. Winter coats and party finery were brought in to be revitalized in expectation of harsher weather, as well as for making the holiday rounds between friends and family. There was a constant state of fluctuation as the residents of Cicero either fled the cold for warmer climes or prepared to welcome seasonal visitors into their homes. Loria had decorated the dry cleaner shop with bits of Christmas finery — pretty bows, wooden toys, a teddy bear, and a Father Christmas. Upon the counter she and Florian put the ceppo. An Italian version of the Christmas tree, it was triangular in shape and made of wood. They covered the frame with pretty red paper and greenery, redolent with the scent of fresh pine. It had three shelves, two of which contained fruit and nuts, while on the bottom was a small nativity scene. Sitting proudly on the very top was a gold star. One of the girls that worked in the backroom impishly hung a sprig of mistletoe at the end of the counter, where Florian was sure to pass beneath it — at least several times a day. Although she waited her chance to catch the handsome young man beneath it, Loria also watched out, 25

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and made sure that that never happened. She was very protective of her friend, and didn't want to see him used by anyone. She realized how innocent he was, and she thought he should stay that way, at least for now. Florian never knew the significance of the hanging decoration. He thought it was just another pretty plant. Florian was fascinated by all the fancy clothes that passed in and out of the shop, but of course he thought none were as nice as those that had been left by Alphonse Capone. They were long since done and ready to be picked up, simply awaiting their owner's return. No rush, after all, since he was out of town, enjoying the sunnier clime of his home on Palm Island, in Florida. Loria was constantly chasing Florian away from the expensive silk suits. Not that he would harm them in anyway, but better safe than sorry. The silk felt slick and cool beneath his fingertips. He lifted one sleeve, brushed it across his cheek. He could drown in such a feeling, bury himself in a sea of silk suits. Without thinking about what he was doing, he pushed the dark grey jacket from its place on the hanger, admiring the pinstripes which threaded it. He held it lightly in his hands for all of a moment, before he slid one arm inside, and then the other. Although he did not share Capone's girth, he was no small boy, either, solid and well muscled. The arms fit

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fairly well, and if he buttoned it, the jacket was fashionably loose, he discovered. And it felt so good. "Florian!" Loria chided him. She had only been gone for five minutes. What had he gotten himself into now? Florian flashed his dimples as he turned himself about for her inspection. "Doesn't that look good? Isn't it beautiful, Loria? I look good in it, yes?" She tsked as she assisted him out of the coat, but she couldn't keep from smiling as well. "Yes, it looks very good on you, Florian. You look wonderful in it. Now please, don't touch." She placed the coat back where it belonged, along with the pants, on a hanger, waiting for the return of their owner. The shop bell jingled before she had a chance to launch into any sort of tirade, even a well-meaning one. "Hey beautiful!" a familiar voice greeted her. An energetic young man with dark slicked back hair and a knowing smile threw himself across the counter, beaming at Loria. "How's the most beautiful woman in Cicero doing? No, I take that back, in all of Illinois, if not the whole United States!" Loria shook her head, but smiled in spite of herself. She pushed him good-naturedly from her counter. "Don't

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do that, you'll mess things up, Frank. Shouldn't you be working?" Frank laughed, as he straightened up. "I am, Sis, I am, don't worry, just running some errands for one of my bosses. See? I got the car." He jerked one hand in the direction of the street. "I thought I'd come by and see what my lovely sister was doing. Hey Florian, whatcha know?" Florian came around the counter, a welcoming smile upon his lips. He liked Loria's little brother. He was only a few years older than Florian, but he was very worldly wise, a real man about town. The fact that Frank was allowed to drive his employer's car in the course of his work only added to his stature in Florian's eyes. "I'm working, of course, what did you expect?" Loria shook her head, even as she followed Florian around the counter, hugging her brother. "You do remember that Christmas is Saturday, don't you? You are planning to come over for Christmas Eve with the family, aren't you?" She ruffled his hair without thinking then frowned. "That's too greasy, can't you use anything else?" "Too greasy? Aw, you're screwy! It's swell. It's that Murray's, just come out on the market last year. Everyone's using it!" he protested, swatting her hand away from him. "Not me," Loria pointed out. "Not Florian. So not

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everyone." "Aw, you know what I mean." He affected a slight pout, as his sister returned to her position behind the counter. "I don't know yet about Christmas Eve, Sis." "Whaddya mean you don't know?" She placed both hands on her hips, giving him a stern look. "It's Christmas Eve, you have to come. You want Mom to cry?" Frank held up both hands defensively. "I didn't say I wouldn't come, now did I? Did I, Florian?" He appealed to his friend, who had returned to sweeping the floor. Florian never looked up as he carefully considered the question. "I never heard you say you're not coming," he said at last. "See?" Frank nodded enthusiastically, patting Florian on the shoulder for his support. "All I mean is that I might be a little late, that's all. The boss has some stuff for me to do that day, and I don't know how long it might take." "What kind of stuff?" Loria asked suspiciously. "Deliveries," Frank replied, waving his hands in a vague gesture. "I gotta go all the way out by Joliet, so I don't know how long it will take. It depends on how fast I can get it done. And the weather, too. How bad the snow is. I was supposed to go with Benny, but he had to leave town,

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so it's just me now. Another fella would sure make the job go quicker, though." "Too bad you don't have one," his sister commiserated, "You know how disappointed Mom and Dad will be if you don't show." "I know, I know," he agreed, shaking his head. Suddenly he stopped in mid-shake, as if he'd been struck by some previously unconsidered notion. His head swiveled toward Florian, Loria's turning in tandem with his. Florian remained unaware of their attention. He was singing softly to himself as he swept, hoping to dispel some of the tension in the room. Music made everyone feel better. When he glanced up, at the sudden cessation of conversation, he found himself to be a person of great interest, for some reason. "Did I do something?" he asked. "No, of course not, Florian," Loria assured him, even as Frank snapped his fingers. "He'd be perfect, why didn't I think of it sooner? Hey Florian, wanna help me do some work Friday? You'd really be helping me out of a jam." "I don't know about that," Loria protested uneasily, but Florian's eyes revealed his excitement at the idea. "What kind of work, Frank?" he asked, turning an eager face to Loria.

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"Nothing too hard, just delivering some stuff. Easy stuff," Frank assured him. "We'll be in and out before you know it, and with you helping, we'll get back in plenty of time for Christmas Eve with the family. Whaddya say, Flor, can you help out an old pal in need?" His voice dripped with pure pathos. Loria rolled her eyes, but Florian was taken in, hook, line, and sinker. "I'd love to," he said, his eyes growing wide. "I've never been to Joliet, I'd like to see it. Loria, do you mind if I go? I'll work harder, day after Christmas, I promise." Loria sighed. It was so hard to turn Florian down, he asked for so little. And he never went anywhere; he spent all of his time here, at the dry cleaners. It wouldn't hurt him to get out of Cicero, even if just for a few hours. Making a little extra cash never hurt either. "I don't know, Florian, what about your parents?" Her protests were just a formality now. She was about to give in, and she knew it. She also knew that Florian's father would be pleased that his son was showing that sort of initiative and wouldn't complain about his being gone, as long as he returned safely. She waggled her finger in her brother's face. "You pay him good for this, you got it? And you make sure nothing happens to him, and that he comes home in time for Christmas Eve. Both of you. Capisce?"

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"Capisce," Frank replied, nodding eagerly. "Capisce," Florian echoed, beaming radiantly at both his friends. Loria wasn't naïve. She had her suspicions about Frank and what he did to make his money. He was involved, at least in a small way, with the bootlegging operations which were thriving throughout the country, especially here in Chicago and its environs, despite the best efforts of the government to curtail them. But she also knew that her brother had a level head on his shoulders, even if he sometimes acted goofy, and he didn't take unnecessary risks. He was probably just a minor courier, no more. She took her few remaining qualms and she quickly quelled them. "I'll pick you up here Friday morning." Frank clapped Florian on the shoulder. "About eight, is that good for you?" Florian nodded. "I'll be ready." "Wonderful, wonderful!" The high-spirited young man winked at Florian, pleased at having gotten his own way. "I promise you we'll have a swell time! Say, I gotta go." He leaned across the counter, and kissed Loria's cheek with a resounding smack. "Thanks, Sis, you're the cat's meow." He hurried toward the door as if afraid she'd

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change her mind. Opening the door, he let in a blast of chill air. "Oh, Florian," he said, almost in an afterthought. "Wear something really nice, we're going to be at some fancy places. Your best suit." He ducked out the door, without waiting for a reply, the bell tinkling at his exit. Florian was so happy he was almost dancing. "Thank you, Loria!" He sailed around the counter, and caught her up in a big hug, lifting her from her feet as he twirled around with her in his arms. "Put me down!" she laughingly protested until he complied. "What are you going to do about a suit? Do you even own one? Maybe your dad…" Too late, she realized just what Florian had in mind, as he walked with singleminded purpose to the rack where the suits of one notorious gangster hung. "Oh no, don't you even think about it," she warned him. Florian turned around, his big blue eyes gazing at Loria in hopeful anticipation. "Just for a little while," he begged, his voice dropping into a husky contralto. "I want to look nice for Frank's customers, so he won't be ashamed of me. Please, Loria, I won't hurt it, I promise. Don Capone won't be back until Christmas, I'll be back before that. I would ask him, if he were here, I would. Please?" Loria fought back her first impulse, which was to

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say no. She knew she should. She knew she overindulged Florian in everything. But it was so easy to do. And he was a very good boy. "You make sure you come straight here when you come back, and give it to me," she admonished him, "or you'll wish you never came back at all." Florian hugged her again. "I love you, Loria!" he cried happily. Loria smiled at his heartfelt sentiments. She swatted him lightly against his dark head. "Save your love for the pretty girls," she joked, hoping she wasn't making a terrible mistake in giving in to the handsome young man.

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Chapter Four Nick wondered if he should pinch himself again, just to make sure, even though he could still feel the bruise he'd given himself the first time he'd wondered that. Milo had laughed at him for thinking he was dreaming. Nick still couldn't believe that they were here —actually here— in Romeoville, in a real speakeasy, on Christmas Eve. Although the path they'd taken to arrive here was not one which either one would have chosen. A telegram had arrived at the pharmacy just the day before, addressed to his Uncle Stavros. It was from his sister-in-law in Chicago, telling them her husband had suffered a heart attack and been taken to the hospital. Nick's Aunt Elena had been very upset, almost hysterical, and nothing else would do but that they go to be at her sister's side. Right away. Stavros had weighed everything out and decided to go, at least for a night, to see what they could do, see what needed to be done. He'd decided to leave the boys behind, both to watch the store, and to make what deliveries needed to be made. They couldn't fill prescriptions, of course, but he was confident that he would be back before any of his regular customers needed him for anything. He had planned to close the pharmacy early on Christmas Eve anyway, and all 35

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day Christmas, so he would not lose much, if any, business. This also meant that he was leaving them his car so that they could make deliveries. His wife was too concerned about her sister, or she might have argued against leaving the two young men alone. Perhaps it crossed her mind to worry when Milo and Nick dropped them off at the train station that they would be alone. But the moment passed and nothing more was said, and the two young men waved the pair off with cries of bon voyage, before returning to the pharmacy. Perhaps nothing more would have come out of it, despite the apparent serendipitousness of it all, had Milo's friend Joe not reappeared at the pharmacy, needing to pick up something for his mother. He turned up Thursday evening, as the cousins were engaged in cleaning up the store, at which time they apprised him of the unexpected turn of events. And two plus two thus became four. It didn't take much persuasion to convince them to go to the speakeasy, that they deserved a break after taking such good care of the pharmacy, and after all, it was Christmas eve, they shouldn't be home alone, right? Wasn't it better to spend the holiday among friends? Staying home wouldn't solve anything, would it, or make anyone feel better? Of course not, so why not go with Joe? They agreed

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to go. Friday afternoon felt like it would never be done, the hands of the clock on the wall moving at only half their normal speed. Joe was going to pick them up when they closed the store and take them home so they could dress. Despite the layer of snow which lightly covered the ground, or perhaps because of it, and because of the threat of more, people were coming to get what they thought they might need for the new few days. It was with a sigh of relief that they turned out the lights and locked the front door. Milo lent Nick some of his own clothes — nothing fancy, but definitely nicer than everyday wear. Milo sported grayers — the gray flannel trousers which were currently all the rage, while Nick wore a beige pair. Milo's shirt was pale blue, and Nick's was a cream shade, which suited his coloring. Joe had brought another friend with him by the name of Pete; their other friends were going to meet them at the speakeasy, in Romeoville. Joe had written down the directions, as well as the password. Not to worry, he assured them. He knew right where it was — not far from the train tracks. He found it with little difficulty, despite the falling snow, although when they first pulled up in front, they were thrown for a loop. From the outside, it appeared to be a funeral home. However, as they quickly

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learned, once they had given the requisite secret password, inside was another matter entirely. Now here they were, in the crowded basement of this funeral home, having the time of their lives. Nick was still nursing his first drink. He wasn't really wanting to get drunk, just have a good time. Milo had had a couple of drinks. At least. He had already met a cute girl and was deep in conversation with her at the next table to Nick's. They had lost Joe and Pete and their friends a while before, but Nick wasn't worried. He was sure they would find him when it was time to go home. Nick sipped at his drink. He couldn't remember what Joe had called it, but it had a pretty red tint, and it was sweet. Sweet in a different way than the ouzo of his homeland, which possessed the strong sweetness of anise. He glanced around him curiously. People were everywhere, laughing, drinking and enjoying themselves in the closepacked confines of the speakeasy. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke, but no one seemed to mind. There was a small dance floor, with a few brave couples pressed up close and personal on it, dancing to the tones of a small jazz quartet crowded into the corner. It was not what one might consider a fancy place, but it more than served its purpose. It was a direct slap in the face of the Volstead Act,

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and it was a place for people to get together and have fun. "Hey, buddy, is that seat taken?" Nick was shaken from his momentary reverie by a voice. Someone looking for a place to sit. Not surprising in this crowd. Nick didn't mind. He liked talking to people. "No." He shook his head. "Please, sit." "Hey, Florian!" the stranger yelled, "c'mon, we can sit here." A moment later a vision appeared before Nick's eyes. He had never seen anyone so lovely in his life before, male or female, as this man. He watched dumbly as the dark haired beauty with the hypnotic blue eyes smiled at him, taking the chair next to Nick. Nick felt weak just watching him do it. "You are sure we are no trouble?" he asked in the most melodious voice, possessed of a slight accent. Nick couldn't quite place it. He wasn't even sure how he could hear it so clearly with the crowd noise in the background the way it was. It was as if he were attuned to it somehow. He found that he didn't even really care how as he returned the man's smile. "Sure, is no trouble," he replied. He held out his hand to the angel… that is, man. "My name is Nick. Nick Giannakopoulos."

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Florian took the soft hand within his own. "I am Florian Donati." "I'm Frank," Frank introduced himself, although no one had asked. It was almost as if he didn't exist. They had eyes only for one another. That was obviously his cue. "Hey, Flor, I see the fella I'm supposed to meet, I gotta go finish some business. See you around!" Using his finger and thumb as an imaginary gun, he aimed it at Florian and pretended to shoot, then leapt up from his seat like his pants were ablaze, disappearing quickly. "Your friend, he is in a hurry?" Nick asked, as Frank melted into the crowd around them. He leaned closer to Florian to make himself heard, unsure of being audible. Florian nodded. "We've been very busy today," he said proudly. "Frank let me help him work. We made many deliveries." Nick refrained from asking what sort of deliveries. It wasn't his business, and he didn't wish to be rude, or overly curious. His eyes flitting over the handsome man, he couldn't help but admire the suit that Florian wore. He reached out one hand, running his fingers over the soft silk. "That feels very nice." Florian glowed at his praise. "It does, doesn't it? It is… how do you say?" He struggled to find the right word,

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one he'd heard used by some of the men that came into the dry cleaner, "tight… that's it. It's very tight, don't you think?" He took Nick's hand, pressed it against the double breasted lapels. Nick stopped breathing for a moment, before taking his hand back, reaching for his drink. "It is, very tight," Nick agreed in a husky voice just before he took a good swallow of the sweet liquid. "What is that you drink? It looks very good," Florian commented. "I'm not sure of the name, Joe get it for me," Nick admitted. He held the glass toward the other man, offering it. "Here, take a drink, see if you like it." He found himself making a conscious effort to prevent his arm from trembling too much. Florian took the glass with a nod, his fingers brushing against Nick's in the process. Nick's heart stopped for just an instant at the contact. He was amazed at how much of a reaction that such a slight touch had wrought in him. He was suddenly grateful for the table that kept it hidden from view. Florian took an appreciative sip of the drink, letting it flow over his tongue. He handed the glass back to Nick, patting his hand unselfconsciously. "I like that. It's sweeter than wine. Very nice."

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"Here, you can have it," Nick said impulsively. "I'm not really thirsty." "We can share," Florian suggested. Nick forced himself to look away before he could be sucked into those eyes. Those very beautiful eyes. Turning back toward Florian, magnetized by him almost, Nick nodded, not trusting himself to speak quite yet. He was not as innocent as Florian appeared to be, although he thought that he was probably a little younger. When he lived in Greece, he'd flirted with a young man in his village. It was nothing serious, just for fun while they worked together in the fields. But that boy had not stirred him the way that Florian did, he had not wanted to kiss him the way that he wanted to kiss Florian. He pushed such thoughts away. He knew that most of the men in America were not like those in Greece. He'd been warned of that before he ever moved here. What was most important to him at the moment was that he not scare Florian away. "You have a pretty name," he said at last, when he felt his voice was more firmly under his control. Success, it didn't crack — much. "Grazie," Florian said. "I mean, thank you. In English, it means flower." He took care to enunciate his English very distinctly.

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"Ah, you are Italian?" Nick realized, even as he thought to himself that it was an appropriate name. "You come from Italy, yes? I am Greek." He proudly pressed one hand against his chest, as if to punctuate his words. "Are you born there?" "No, no, I am born here, in America. My parents, their parents, they come from Italy, a very long time ago. Before they come to Chicago, my parents live in New York. Someday I would like to go there." "New York looks very big. I only see a little bit of it," Nick admitted. "I come here to live with my aunt and uncle and my cousins. We live in Elwood, Illinois. You probably do not hear of it. Where you live?" "I live in Cicero," Florian said. Nick's eyes grew big. He knew what kind of people lived in Cicero. The gangsters which populated his dreams. "Have you ever seen Al Capone?" he asked, unable to help himself. Maybe it was the wrong question to ask. For all he knew, they weren't allowed to talk about such things there. But he knew if he lived there, he would want to talk about it all the time. Florian instantly took on the status of a hero in his eyes at that moment. "Oh yes, Don Capone." Florian nodded happily. "This is his suit, very very beautiful, eh?" He completely

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forgot that perhaps that wasn't something he should be admitting to a veritable stranger. But he felt comfortable talking to Nick. He was sure Nick would not abuse the information. Nick felt himself go weak inside. Not only did Florian know Capone, the most notorious and infamous gangster ever, as well as the most admired, but he was wearing something that had touched him. He had definitely been blessed by the gods today. "Very," he agreed, shyly touching the sleeve which Florian held out, but his words encompassed Florian as much as the clothing he wore. He suddenly became aware of the world around them, which had seemed to recede during their conversation, during which time he had seen no one, heard nothing but Florian, as if he had developed a severe case of tunnel vision. Before he could get his next question out, they found themselves intruded upon by Florian's friend. The one that was in a hurry. He still seemed to be in a hurry. "Hey, Flor, good, you're still here. Listen, this fella, he owes me some dough, so I'm going with him to collect it. You wait here for me, I'll be back. Don't worry. We'll get home in plenty of time to keep Loria from kicking our asses." He laughed at his own humor, even as he slapped

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Florian on the back. Turning his attention to Nick, Frank added, "Maybe you won't need me after all, I see. You can get a ride from your friend, can't you? Good. I'll see you back in Cicero, Florian." Before Florian could even think of responding, Frank had disappeared into the crowd once more. Florian and Nick simply looked at one another. Florian didn't really know where he was, nor where this place was in relation to where he lived, but he trusted that Frank would not leave him in a difficult situation, so everything must surely be alright. Nick wasn't quite so sure, himself, but as long as it meant he could spend more time with Florian, he wasn't about to complain. Surely Milo and Joe could help him out, make sure that Florian got home safely. He hoped. He wasn't going to worry about that right now, though. As if on cue, Nick noticed that Milo and his new female friend had moved over from his table to theirs. He saw that they were even holding hands. "Nick, I'm sorry I've been neglecting you," his cousin apologized, a little shamefaced. "I've been talking to Allison. Allison, this is my cousin Nick, the one I told you about." Allison came up to about Milo's shoulder. Her brownish-blonde hair was set in finger waves beneath a

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stylish little flapper cap and she obviously liked beads — there were long strands of colorful beads of all sizes hung about her neck in droves. She looked like a cute little pixie, and she gave Milo the most adoring glances. She broke off her worship of Nick's cousin long enough to giggle, and say, "How are you? Pleased to meet you," in a very highpitched feminine voice. "I am pleased meet you," Nick responded politely. Impulsively, he added, "This is my friend, Florian. Florian, meet my cousin Milo and his friend Allison." Hands were shaken all around, greetings exchanged. "Want another drink, Nick?" Milo asked, "We're getting another one ourselves. You too," he generously included Florian, which earned him Nick's gratitude. "Would you like one for yourself?" Nick questioned Florian, noticing that between them they had almost drained the one he'd been nursing for so long. "I don't mind sharing with you," Florian replied ingenuously. Nick felt his insides turn to goo. He resisted the sudden impulse he had to kiss those pretty lips, forcing himself to face his cousin instead. "Another one like that, please?" he said. Maybe sharing a drink would be better; it would certainly keep him

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more sober. Keep his mouth occupied. Somehow he suspected that would be a very good thing indeed. He watched as Milo boldly reached for the cute flapper and kissed her full on the lips, there in front of everyone. Well, everyone that happened to be looking, that is. Nick was afraid if he even dared try that with Florian the least he would receive was a slap in the face. Who knew what the worst that could happen was? He didn't want to find out. And yet, in a twisted sort of way, he did. Nick didn't know just how it came about, but he felt his hand nestled inside of Florian's, both hands resting lightly on the table between them. Florian didn't seem to think anything wrong with that, how could Nick snatch his hand back? He couldn't. And he didn't really want to. No one was taking notice of them. It was dark. They were among strangers. All sorts of excuses were flowing through his head. His body seemed to be moving of its own accord, leaning toward Florian. Florian's was following suit. Nick felt his heart beating like a timpani drum. His lips suddenly felt dry, and a moment of panic assailed him, even as he ran his tongue over first his bottom lip, then his top lip. His eyes were fixed on Florian's beautiful mouth, even as he wondered what he would taste like. Like the drink they'd

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shared? Or something more? But before he could find out, the lights of the speakeasy began to unaccountably flash, blinking off and on in rapid succession. He heard a voice behind them cry out, "Cheese it, the cops!" Then bedlam ensued.

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Chapter Five Women screamed as if they were in mortal danger, while men cursed ineffectually at one another in the chaos of the speakeasy beneath the funeral parlor, panic filling the air. The lights stopped flashing, once the message was given that the police were there. An unnecessary pronouncement as they could be heard forcing their way into the building above. Nick and Florian looked at one another, their hands involuntarily tightening in their clasp. Nick wasn't sure if he should panic too, or be grateful for an excuse to hold on to Florian. He wasn't even sure what was happening, it was all so confusing. He looked around for some sign of Joe or Pete, hoping that maybe one or the other could shed some light on the situation, but he couldn't find them in the roiling crowd. It was Milo's date who provided the key to the mystery. She told them to grab their coats and come with her. They didn't need to be told twice. "This happens all the time," she said. Rough voices and heavy footsteps clattered down the stairs they had originally used to get down to this underground playground, cries of, "Police, stop where you are!" The four of them kept as close together as they possibly could, forming a human chain. Allison was first. She was attached to Milo by an arm about her waist, while 49

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he held one of Nick's hands, the other being owned by Florian. Allison led them through a back exit —along with at least half of the people who had been inside the gin joint— up and out of the building, into a large alley, shared with the other businesses in this section of Romeoville. "It's okay," she assured them, as they stood in the cold snow. The sounds of the police were coming from the front of the building, and inside the building, but so far, none had made their way to the back, which Milo commented on. "They won't," Allison shrugged. "It's just for show. They don't really want to catch anyone. This place is too good for the local economy. But we can't get back in tonight; it'll stay closed for the rest of the night." Milo and Nick searched among the heaving throng as they made their way from the speakeasy, but no sign of their friends could they find. Florian, too, searched in vain for Frank. It was obvious that he had gone without him. "We can't stay here," Allison shivered, shifting from one foot to the other uneasily. Milo put his arms around her for warmth, and for a moment they became lost in one another's eyes. Nick discovered that he and Florian still held hands. Rather than sever that connection, Nick boldly stepped closer to the beauty.

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"Florian…" he began uncertainly, "will someone worry for you if you are late?" Already he was thinking ahead to how they would all get home from this place. For now, there was no one expecting him and Milo, luckily. It was Florian he was concerned about. And yes, a little jealous part of him wanted to know if there was a girl waiting for him to come back. And hoping otherwise. "My Papa and my Mama," Florian nodded, "and Loria. Loria will be angry with Frank for leaving, I think. He is supposed to be, how do you say…" He searched for just the right words, unconsciously running his tongue over his lower lips. "Keep an eye on me, she say." He laughed with delight at having remembered Loria's last words, thrown at them as they were leaving. "She worries too much, I think." "Loria? Who is that?" Nick wondered, his smile becoming almost painful. He didn't realize that he had involuntarily tightened his hold on Florian's hand even more. "Your girlfriend?" "Girlfriend?" Florian repeated. "She is a girl, si, and she is friend. Is that what you mean?" "No, um, no…" Nick stammered, trying to think of a better word. Failing, he bluntly asked, "Are you going together with her?"

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That didn't translate any better. Florian wasn't understanding the question. Nick wracked his brains, but they were too filled with Florian to do any good. Deep in their conversation, they were startled when they found themselves interrupted by Milo. "Allison says we can lay low with her for the night, and tomorrow we can figure out how to get home. She's watching her grandparents' house for them while they're taking a vacation in Florida." "Florida," Florian smiled. "Just like Don Capone." Watching Florian smile like that, Nick thought he had surely died and gone to heaven. For a moment, he simply couldn't speak. "How will Joe find us?" he asked. Milo shrugged. "I don't know. We can come here in the morning and look for him? He wouldn't leave us here, would he? C'mon, we gotta go." "Does she have a car?" Nick asked, hopefully. "Her father has one. I don't know if he'll let her use it for us or not," Milo shrugged uncertainly. Nick couldn't help thinking to himself that this girl's father would definitely not let the car be used if he found out his daughter let them sleep in the same house with her. "For right now, we're walking." There was nothing else for it. Everyone else was

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dispersing, so they decided it was time to go as well. Milo and Allison took the lead, while Nick and Florian trailed behind. Florian took Nick's hand, and nestled it in his coat pocket with his own. Nick melted. He set thoughts of the mysterious Loria aside… for now.

****

Florian had never enjoyed a day so much in his life. From the time he had left Cicero with Frank, Loria's instructions ringing in both their ears, it had been a marvelous day. The snow which lay on the ground didn't impede them in any way from their appointed rounds. The car which Frank was using —he said it was on loan from his boss— was a big black sedan, which Florian loved riding in. Someday, he thought, he would have a car like this. Everywhere they went they were met with smiling happy faces and Christmas greetings. And gifts. Lots of gifts which they piled up in the back seat, to take back with them. Florian was convinced, though, that all their happiness was tied in with this suit — Al Capone's suit. There was a special magic that clung to it, he was convinced, and it made magic things happen. They had driven all day, to various destinations in

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this part of Illinois, to the homes of people that Frank knew. Some very beautiful homes they were, too. Florian was glad that he was dressed as nicely as he was. He helped Frank deliver ribboned bottles to the people who lived in the nice homes — he said they were Christmas gifts. Florian accepted everything Frank said with a smile. And now, the best of all — this place, this speakeasy. It was like a dream come true. Especially meeting Nick. From the moment they took seats at Nick's table, there amid the crowd of happy, laughing, celebrating people, Florian had found himself drawn to the handsome blond Greek with the soft green eyes. He felt comfortable with him, at peace. And he felt very happy. He found himself wanting just to sit there, for as long as he could, and bask in Nick's glow. For he thought that Nick indeed did glow, with an inner light, one which Florian could not resist. When their hands met for the first time, something happened to Florian. He understood something about the attraction that people felt for one another — Loria had explained it to him when, as a child, she'd caught him playing an innocent game of I'll show you mine if you show me yours with the neighborhood children. At least it was innocent on his part. She'd sat him down and told him

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that his body was something private, and you didn't show your private self to just anybody, but when the right somebody came along, you would know who that person was, and then whatever you did with that person would be all right. Florian had listened to her words and heeded them. And although there were times when he was mildly attracted to other people, he just knew they weren't the right people, and those feelings were nothing compared to what he felt with Nick here and now. Loria was right. He had waited, and the person he had been waiting for was here. And his name was Nick. The fact that he and Nick were both men never entered into the equation, for Loria had taught him that love was love, no matter who it was with. And he both trusted and believed her. They walked together, behind Nick's cousin and his cousin's friend Allison, trudging through the snow to the house where they were apparently going to stay for the night. Florian wasn't sure what had happened to Frank, but he knew Loria's brother would find him somehow. If not, he'd find his own way home. He wasn't worried. He was too happy to be worried. Even though it was cold, and they were walking through the drifting snow in a strange town. Even though it was Christmas Eve, his first one without his family around him. Even though the noisy speakeasy had

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gotten even noisier when the polizia had made an unexpected appearance. Florian was too busy falling in love to pay them any attention. The house where Allison was staying was a small bungalow, set amid a row of similar houses, several blocks from the speakeasy. It was an older neighborhood, filled with people in the lower income bracket, quiet for the most part, except for the occasional bark of a dog. A few of the houses were gaily decorated for the holiday season, but not the one whose driveway they turned up; it was completely dark. "I forgot to leave the lights on," Allison laughed, as she opened the front door. "Watch out for Piper! Don't worry, she's harmless!" The warning came just as a streak of white came bolting toward them, tail wagging a mile a minute, barking a warning. Not a high pitched bark, more of a medium one, one that said 'I mean business and I mean it now!' Allison hastened to switch on the nearest lamp, bringing a warm glow to the living room. As well as throwing into relief the small white terrier that was now running circles around them. Enchanted, Florian knelt. The dog raced up to him, still yapping. He picked her up and cradled her, cooing to her in Italian. She gave him a quizzical look before licking

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his nose. Florian laughed. He held the puppy up to Nick. She licked his nose too. "She's very bella," he said to Allison. "Beautiful. What is her name?" "She's Piper. Behave Piper, be a good girl. Here, let me take your coats, and you can make yourselves comfortable." Everyone carefully wiped their shoes on the mat and removed their outer coats. Allison took them, playing hostess. She hung them in the closet, before taking the dog from Florian's arms. "That'll keep Piper out of them too," she admitted. "She has a thing about people's coats. She thinks they're for her to nap on." "Is she your dog, Allison?" Milo asked, trailing her into the kitchen. Nick and Florian stood where they were for a minute, before taking a seat together on the sofa, as of one accord, looking around them. The room was simply decorated. The brown sofa was a little threadbare in places but comfortable. A crocheted blanket done in colorful granny squares of various hues hung over its high back. A cushioned rocking chair sat adjacent to the sofa, and two arm chairs helped to complete a cozy circle. Handmade braided rugs lay upon the wood floor. In one corner, a Christmas tree stood, its lights currently unlit. On the

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mantle a wooden nutcracker was the king of all he surveyed, which included the three stockings hanging hopefully over the fireplace. Nick and Florian found that their hands possessed a natural affinity for one another. No sooner had they sat down together than their fingers were twined once more. No words were necessary. They were comfortable as they were. Milo and Allison were still chattering when they returned from the kitchen. "I'm sorry there's nothing to drink in the house. My grandparents don't keep hooch, but I can make some hot chocolate, if anyone likes?" As she spoke, she bent down, and plugged in the Christmas tree, and then turned out the lamp, so that the tree was the sole illumination for the room. A sated Piper climbed upon the sofa and settled onto Florian's lap, curling up into a ball, and promptly fell asleep. Allison laughed at the sight. She and Milo took a seat together in one of the large chairs, the girl ending up on the boy's lap. "She must like you, Florian, you should feel honored. She doesn't usually do that for people she doesn't know." Florian stroked the soft fur of the white puppy with his free hand, the other firmly entrenched in Nick's. No one

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wanted any hot chocolate. It didn't sound like a good follow-up to the liquor they'd been imbibing. Instead, Allison turned on her grandparents' radio, and they listened to the Christmas music that played. Outside, it had begun to snow again. Fluffy white flakes blew past the window, some clung to the glass. It made them appreciate being inside on such a night. They talked for a while, each of his respective home towns and of their lives. But there came a time when yawns began to dominate the conversation, and the gaps between words began to lengthen. It was time to consider calling it a night, but the big question remained to be asked and answered — who was going to sleep where? It was a two bedroom house. And, as Allison explained to them, the living room was Piper's domain, nobody slept on the couch but her. Two bedrooms, four people, simple math. They were all adults, weren't they, modern thinkers in a modern age? The concept of free love was not a new one. And today's young woman was not afraid to speak her mind. Didn't she show it by cutting her hair, and shortening her skirts? "Guys, I think I'm going to get some sleep. I'll call my dad tomorrow and ask him about the car, if you can't

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find your friend. Does that sound copacetic?" "Definitely," Milo agreed, looking at the other two for their approval. They nodded because he did. "Let me show you the bedroom," she suggested. Obediently, they followed her down the small hallway, where the two bedrooms were located. The secondary bedroom was a small room, tidy and clean, dominated by a double bed and a single dresser. Allison removed some blankets from a chest at the foot of the bed and laid them on top of it. "Here," she said. "I think there's everything you need, but if there's something else you want, let me know." She gave both Florian and Nick a quick kiss on the cheek, then took Milo by the hand, leading him through the door. "Night, Nick," he called over his shoulder, "Night, Florian." They quickly disappeared into the master bedroom, closing the door behind them. Florian yawned, stretching. "Maybe we should go to sleep?" he suggested, looking at Nick. Nick nodded, his eyes avoiding the single bed in the room. Florian was too innocent to put any other connotation on their sharing a bed. He just knew that he was happy to be sharing it with Nick. Without hesitation, he began to strip, carefully removing the valuable suit. He placed it onto a hanger in

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the closet. He knew Loria would be upset with him if he did any less. Then, piece by piece, he removed his clothing until he was left wearing only his knee-length nainsook drawers and his long thin black silk socks. He glanced at Nick, surprised that he hadn't removed any of his clothes yet. Florian wasn't sure why not, unaware that the blond had been too busy staring at Florian's innocent yet sexy strip tease to even attempt to do so. Florian took a seat on the bed, pulling off his socks, pushing them inside his black patent leather shoes. He smiled at Nick, waiting for him to join him.

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Chapter Six Nick couldn't help but look at Florian as he prepared for bed, no matter how much he tried not to. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was another male. He was used to undressing with Milo in the room they shared. That was no big deal. This was. Florian's body seemed perfect to Nick. Florian reminded him of statues he'd seen of the ancient Greek gods. He was surprised at how strong his desire was to touch that perfect body. He hoped that Florian couldn't see that desire reflected in his eyes. He was sure to hate him, if he knew. He waited for Florian to settle beneath the blankets before he mumbled something about turning off the light, claiming it was a little bright. He closed the door and flipped the light switch. Then he quickly stripped down to his underwear, placing his clothes on top of the dresser, before he too slid beneath the sheets and blankets. Although it was dark, it was a snow darkness, where the light reflected against the brilliant snow more than illuminated the small bedroom where they lay. Without trying, Nick heard every last sound in this strange place — the passing of occasional traffic in the distance, the howling of a dog, the sighing of the wind. And Florian's breathing. Florian's very close, very intimate breathing. 62

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Nick could tell from the way he breathed that Florian was awake. Nick was very awake himself, despite the fact that he'd been yawning openly just a few minutes ago. But he was suddenly too aware of his proximity to Florian's beautiful body to be anything else but awake. He felt the bed dip and heard the blankets rustle as Florian rolled over. Daring to peep at him, he saw that rather than turning away from him, Florian was now facing him, and his eyes reflected the moonlight. "We'll find a way home tomorrow," Nick reassured him, telling himself that that was the reason Florian was awake, concern for the next day, and how he was going to get back home. Maybe to that Loria he'd mentioned. "Don't worry about anything." "I am not worried," Florian said softly, "I know that everything will be okay." He gave Nick a disingenuous smile. "You do not need to worry, Nick, yourself." Nick found himself rolling closer to Florian despite his intentions not to. He couldn't help himself, he felt drawn to him. He tried to tell himself that it was in order not to disturb the other inhabitants of the house by their talking. Even though he doubted that their whispers could be heard through the closed door. "Tell me more about Cicero," he said. Florian had talked a little about Cicero when they'd all been chatting

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together, about things he'd seen, especially gang related sights. But that's not what Nick wanted to know. He wanted to hear about Florian's life. He wanted a little part of him that he could hold inside of him later, once they were each back in their respective homes. "What do you do at the dry cleaner?" "I help Loria," Florian said promptly, which evoked a jealous groan from Nick that he quickly stifled. Not quickly enough. "Nick, what is wrong?" "Nothing," Nick stoically maintained. "Do you think… I mean… someday, will you and Loria get married?" He didn't know where that question came from; it simply came out of him, no matter how much he tried to bite it back. Florian's smile grew even broader, and he laughed softly. "Marry Loria? That is funny, Nick. Very funny." "It is? Why?" "Loria, she is like a mother to me. She is my friend. Why would I want to marry her?" Suddenly Nick felt one hundred percent better. Florian didn't have a girlfriend — he had a girl who was a friend. That's what he had meant. Damn language barrier. Especially since English was neither of their native tongues. Everything was clear to him now. He had been

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mistaken, at least in that regard. Maybe there was someone else, though. He shoved the unwanted thought aside. "So you help Loria, yes?" "Si, I help her keep the store clean, and I help her carry heavy things, and make sure flowers are fresh, I help her talk to the customers, and I sing for them…" "You sing?" "Si, I sing. Like Caruso, but not near so good," Florian said modestly. Nick had heard of Caruso, but he didn't know anything about the man or his music. The thought of listening to Florian sing, however, definitely excited him. "I love music," he confessed. "I'd love to hear you sing someday." To me, he added to himself, not daring to speak the words aloud. "This is good day," Florian said. As if aware that the sound of his voice might travel, he put his lips close against Nick's ear. Nick thought he would melt at the feel of Florian's warm breath alone, not to mention the hand that now pressed against his back for support. But when Florian began to sing, he totally came undone. Nick had no idea what sort of voice Florian had, knowing nothing of range, and not caring either. He couldn't have said whether he was trained or not, or

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whether the world at large would consider him to be good. All he knew was that when Florian's voice reached his ear, he thought that it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. The words were Italian; he had no idea what they meant, but the vibrations that flowed through the words from Florian to him were doing things to his body, creating urges that he fought against. Florian was not likely to be appreciative of his advances. Worse, he would hate Nick for acting upon them. When had Florian stopped singing? Was it when he'd begun to kiss Nick's ear? Nick's breath caught in his throat. There was a second heartbeat in his body, it was pulsing in his groin, and suddenly he found that his pants were incredibly tight. He tried to speak, at least he thought he did, but his words caught in his throat and came out as a moan instead. He told himself that he meant to stop whatever was happening when he lifted his hand to push Florian away, but instead he found his fingers threading through those dark locks, and he was turning Florian's face toward him, not away, so that he could press their lips together. Their first kiss was soft and gentle. Nick quickly realized that Florian's eyes were upon him. He found himself staring into those molten blue depths.

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"Nick, you are special," Florian whispered. "You are my special. That is what I sing to you. 'O sole mio'. My sun. You are my sun, Nick." Had any words ever been so beautiful? Nick answered Florian's declaration with another gentle kiss upon Florian's soft lips. "You are special to me too," he murmured. He pressed closer to Florian, so close that their bare chests made contact. He shivered at the touch of the other man. They were so close now that he could feel the similar effect their nearness had wrought upon the other man. It felt good to have Florian's erection hard against his own. It felt right somehow. His heart felt ten times, no a hundred times, larger than normal. It filled his entire body, as if he were nothing but one large heart. His entire being felt as if it were centered upon this moment. And this man. And yet his heart also hurt at the knowledge that after this night, he would never see Florian again. He didn't know how to deal with the pain, or even explain it. How could someone he had just met become so important to him in such a short period of time? But he knew the reason, if he were to be completely honest with himself. He'd been struck by one of Eros' arrows, from which he had received the gift of love at first

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sight. He'd heard of it happening to others, and he'd always wondered if it was true, or if it could ever happen to him. Now he knew. "Florian, I love you," he whispered daringly, almost frightened to say those words he'd never spoken aloud to another person, not in this context. "I love you, Nick," Florian replied. Nick relaxed into the warmth of his words, and of his love. He wanted this night to last forever. If only they could stay here, in one another's arms, life would be beautiful. Their lips met again, passionate and yet innocent. Their bodies reflected their desires, but they made no move to act upon them. Being together like this was enough. For now. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed. Nick counted the chimes. Twelve. Midnight. A new day. Christmas Day. "Kala Christouyenna, Florian," Nick murmured, his lips brushing over his beautiful angel's. "Buon Natale, Nick," Florian replied, "Ti amo." "S'agapo, Florian." Nick didn't need to know Italian to know what Florian had said, his heart had translated the words.

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Nick's groin felt as though it would burst. He found himself moving his hips in an attempt to alleviate the stress, but found that instead he was rubbing up against Florian and his own need. Their lips came together again, as Florian responded in similar fashion. His hand gently caressed Nick's back. Nick's hand fluttered unsurely before finding a home on Florian's hip, anchoring itself there as their bodies continued their massaging contact, the friction between them building. Instinct was taking over from rational thought. Nick ceased to think about what they were doing, allowing his body to react as it would. It felt too good to do otherwise. He was momentarily surprised to feel Florian's tongue against his lips. He opened his mouth, meeting it with his own. They delighted in this new game, intent upon their mutual exploration, tasting and licking, and sucking at one another. Their legs tangled in their unconscious desire to bring their cocks into closer contact, even through the cloth which separated them. Their hips became whirling dervishes, rotating, thrusting, grinding most deliciously against one another in their private dance. Their mouths meshed hungrily. Nick knew what was bound to happen if he didn't stop, but he didn't care. He was beyond caring. He

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was completely consumed by Florian, nothing else mattered. His hand gripped Florian's hip. A sudden movement dislodged it, and in his attempt to replace it, he inadvertently pushed at Florian's drawers, accidentally moving them down on his hip. The blankets had long since been consigned to the foot of the bed, so now Florian's bare flesh was revealed, heightening Nick's desire. Rather than seeming to mind, Florian helped him, unbuttoning them, then wriggling and pushing down on them until they were down to his knees, well out of the way. Nick grew dizzy at the sight of so much Florian. Florian's hands were at his own waistband now, and he was grateful for the release of his weeping cock. Bare flesh against bare flesh now. Florian's fingers were now firmly entrenched in Nick's short blond locks, while his own had settled in Florian's silky black waves. Harder and faster they rutted together, in a frenzy of desire. Nick felt himself explode in the most glorious feeling ever, waves of pure pleasure flowing through him, his body vibrating with the intensity of it. He continued to thrust instinctively against Florian even as he came, watching him as he went through the throes of his own release. They had to stop kissing in order to breathe, but

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they kept their lips close to one another, each murmuring endearments in his native tongue. Nick was trying to find the words in English to express how he felt at this moment, but they weren't coming. He locked eyes with Florian, conveying his message in that way. He was sure it was received when Florian sent him one of his own. They both began to smile. Nick's smile began to fade, though. Today would come, no matter how much they wished it wouldn't. Reality would intrude, which meant their separation. He couldn't even be sure he'd ever see Florian again. The thought induced panic. He felt tears forming in his eyes. He hastily dabbed at it with the back of one hand. "Nick?" Florian asked in alarm. "What is wrong?" Nick considered lying, but he couldn't do it. That wasn't how he was. "I want to be with you, Florian," he confessed, "I don't want to lose you." "Lose? You are my special. We will be together." Florian kissed him, and the tenderness only added to Nick's pain. He appreciated the sentiment, but he thought Florian was only dreaming, as he was. "You live so far from me, how can we?" Nick asked, feeling as if his heart would break. "Because we can," Florian asserted.

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Nick buried his face against Florian's shoulder. Maybe for now it would be best to let the illusion remain, why shatter it any sooner than necessary? He clung to Florian, almost desperately. Florian tilted Nick's head back, and kissed him again. "I will come to see you," he said with confidence. "You will come to see me. We will find a place, a place for you and me. Together." Nick wanted to pinch himself. Again. Surely he was dreaming? Had he imagined those words coming out of Florian's mouth? Wishful thinking, surely. "I can drive," Florian added, "I know how. I will come to you, and then we find a place of our own, to live in." "But how?" Nick dared to ask. How echoed over and over in his brain. That and amazement. For some reason he had assumed that Florian didn't drive any more than he did. Where he lived in Greece, it was an extravagance, so he'd never learned. It hadn't been necessary. He'd not tried to learn since he'd come to America. "We need money for that, Florian." "I have money," Florian replied matter-of-factly. "I work, like you. I have saved my money for a long time for something special. Now my special is here." He kissed the

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tip of Nick's nose. "Now we can use the money to make a home." Nick's heart leapt as every dream he'd ever had appeared to be coming true. He reached for Florian's lips again, and they became lost in one another. Nick's thoughts were racing. He knew that he would have to explain things to his aunt and uncle when they returned from Chicago. He and Milo might just be in a bit of trouble over this as well. But knowing that he would end up with Florian when it was over was a great palliative. Nick nuzzled against Florian without hesitation, inhaling the sweet aroma he exuded. They were going to live together, and live happily ever after. Nick felt like he was living in a fairy tale, one he never wished to wake from. In America, anything was possible. America was the land of opportunity, after all. And love. Suddenly, Nick was tired, but in a very good way. They would be busy today, finding their way home, and making arrangements to see each other again so they could begin their new lives together. But that was okay. He could tolerate that because he knew that at the end of the rainbow was Florian. That's all that mattered. "Sleep," Florian urged him. "We sleep now. Tomorrow we talk more. Tomorrow we go home."

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Nick mumbled that tomorrow was today, but his sleepy words became tangled with Florian's lips. They nestled close together and closed their eyes, falling asleep in one another's arms, until Christmas Eve became Christmas Day. It would be the best Christmas Day of their lives, the first of many.

The End

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About the Author Julie Lynn Hayes is a dreamer of dreams, a lover of life; a believer in justice for all. A lifelong resident of the St. Louis area, she lives with her youngest daughter Sarah and two cats, writing and reviewing and working to see that gay marriage becomes a reality in her lifetime. She would love to hear from her readers, and welcomes all comments. You can reach her by email at [email protected], or at her website — www.julielynnhayes.com.

Also by Julie Lynn Hayes Available at Silver Publishing: Dark Love (coming soon)

Available at All Romance Ebooks: To the Max (Dreamspinner Press) Lawn Boy (Wicked Nights) Sex on the Beach (Wicked Nights)

Available at Dreamspinner Press: The Prince Wore Pink Stilettos Sweet Dreams, My Love (coming soon)

Available at Wicked Nights: Captivations (monthly serial)