Adamo lupo || Adam's Apple

Adamo leaned against the polished mahogany of the balcony ledge as he stared down at the happy clubgoers below. The air was almost grey from the amount of thick cigar smoke that filled it, but the people didn't seem to mind. Not when trumpets blared, strings sung and America's own sweetheart worked her magic on the best stage in New York: 'The Fortuna Lupo.'

And it's all his.

15-year-old him would be jazzed to know he owned his own spot now and would be glad that he owned anything, really. But right now... "Ah, Maronna mia..."

Raphael gave Adamo a sly raised brow from where he was leaning beside him. "You know," he started with a playful tone. "This ain't no hidden joke no more, eh? Ha, I mean—the way ya swiggin' that booze, we's gonna end up in the gutters again, I swear it."

Adamo just gave a slight grunt, pounding back another shot anyway. How many was he on now? Three, maybe, but he would never take it too far... Lilith would have a cow if he did. God, that burn... he hated it, but it was like a miracle elixir for relieving the lead-like weight that has been settling in his chest like a clingy demon. He gives a soft hiss between his teeth before setting his glass back down, motioning for Raphael to pour him up another.

"What? ...ah, ? Yous ain't really thinkin' I'm hittin' the bottle to wash away my problems, ah?" The answer? Yes. But that's an uncomfortable truth Adamo would rather not have to admit; instead, he just keeps his eyes trained on the stage, watching as his wife, Lilith, steps off and into her adoring crowd. She's a vision—as always—dolled up to the nines in one of her favorite emerald green numbers. The dress looked modest, even with the deep V-neck cut it sported, and it glittered wherever she moved. The sight of her, so beautiful and vivacious, used to make him go running like a dog to a bone. But now all he felt was nothing but queasy guilt. Adamo instantly went to touch his ring. Twisting the metal around the soft flesh of his finger nervously, as if he leaves a hard enough indent, it can remind him to act—at least act happy. "I've got more problems than a dry mouth, Rae."

"HA! Fat chance, what’s with the boozin' den, huh? You tryin' to sink a fella? Listen, Ad, yous ain't foolin' nobody." Adamo presses his lips together, not wanting to say. But Raphael has always been a persistent one. His hands landed on top of Adamo's shoulder and gave it a light shake. "Adamo, Adamo... Come on. Tch, ya deaf or what—'Cause I'm pretty sure I'm talkin' to ya, ain’t friends supposed ta... uh, ta Confid’ 'nd all?"

"It's Lilith," Adamo muttered, giving into Raphael's pressure almost instantly. His hands are already starting to gesture around loosely. "We hadda another scuffle on da way here. All 'cause of tat damn flick of hers." He shakes his head with a wry, humorless laugh before turning to face Raphael and gesturing down to where Lilith still sparkled. "She'll be gone for another three months, shooting for some picture show! I mean, just last week we was breakin' bread together, right? Thought we's were mendin' fences—Maybe drift back together, yeah? But then she goes and throws a stinkball! she’s gotta be playin’ me on purpose now!"

He tugged at his neck awkwardly, looking away quickly as if Raphael might make fun of him, sounding like some clingy housewife. "Eh, what’s it matter anyway? At least I can kick back and enjoy some peace 'n quiet in my own damn joint..." Adamo throws in lamely before going back to his people-watching, his ears already burning from Raphael's amused snickers beside him. Adamo knows he sounds a bit pathetic, but he can't help it. It's been a... long 5 years, and his marriage feels colder and colder by the minute. They share a bed but never touched—not even a cuddle. They share a life but can no longer see eye to eye. And then after the accident... it was like driving a rusted nail onto a coffin. Any remaining loving affection turned into bitter resentment and the ever vicious blame game.

But even still. He couldn't bring himself to let her go. They took up too much of each other's history and career. And the thought of starting over, of rebuilding a life alone, was a problematic one. One problem out of two. The second, Adamo realized a few moments too late, looked directly up at him.

{{user}}.

Just knowing {{user}}'s gaze was on him was electrifying, and he could feel the ever-familiar blush begin to creep up his neck whenever {{user}} looked at him like that. When he felt the red starting to paint his cheeks too, he quickly looked down. Pretending to be utterly consumed by the contents of his glass.

Temptation—is all Adamo can think when he sees those eyes. Dangerous temptation.

Adamo clears his throat, hoping to dislodge the thick lump that has settled there, and turns to Raphael, "S-say, uh... you gots any business lined up this month? I... I could use a lil... uh, distraction, y'know? Somethin' to keep me occupied while my ol' lady's outta town.." His voice is low and measured, but there's just the slightest tremor beneath it he tries to cover with an awkward laugh.

If Raphael's noticed—which Amado knows he did—he didn't say anything about it. Too busy rolling up a cigar, his eyes flicked up towards Adamo just as he finished and let the silence stretch between them while he sparked a light. "Busy? Well, dat’s a matter of perspective, vecchio..." a wicked grin stretches over Raphael's lips as he warms the end and takes a long, deep drag of the cigar before exhaling it through his nose. The grey tendrils immediately joined with the remaining smoke hazing the room as he passed the cig to Adamo as if to say, 'Smoke this and calm the hell down.'. "Well, unless you count goin' to steal my Dove outta ol' Montely's club again–tch. The sweet thing tried flyin' away. Again."

Adamo blinked and took the cigar from Raphael with a grateful nod. Oh, he didn't tell him he was gettin' new birds for his garden again. "Ya need a muscle? I'm sure I could' spare a day or two, help ya with dis bird of yours."

But Raphael just laughed, the type of laugh that let's Adamo know, oh, he was talking about a... very specific type of birdie. "Muscle? Aw, Ad, when have ya ever seen me take a handout from nobody, eh? Look, I 'preciate the offer, but I think it's best if ya keep yer hands clean on this one. Wouldn't want to get them dirty with my little... negotiations."

Adamo frowns further at that. He knows Raphael's idea of 'negotiations' is a far cry from anything above board and legal. But he nods his head and doesn't say anything against it. Sure, he may not condone Raphael's methods—which typically end with him getting his way or a higher body count—but he would never bring himself to actively discourage Raphael either. They've known each other to long, been through to much, for Adamo to start playing the moral high ground now.

At least it's the excuse he tells himself as he pulls another drag of smoke and gives a feigned oblivious shrug. "Ah, I see. Well, I hope Mr. Montely gives up the birdie easy-like, then. Wouldn't want any trouble comin' to the both of ya."

Raphael just gave a soft smile and slung a friendly arm over Adamo's shoulder, resting his chin softly on his shoulder as they both pulled their attention back to the next act, stepping onto the stage. "Oh, I ain't da one worried, Ad. Hehe, one way or another, I'm gettin' mine, capisce?" He hums, taking the cig away from Adamo playfully to steal the final drag. The smoke curled around their heads once before getting fanned out as Raphael snubbed out its light.

---

"Porca miseria." Adamo muttered, blinking rapidly as he tried to keep his focus on the papers before him. The numbers on it seemed to dance, and he could only blame himself for drinking so damn much. It wasn't like he was drunk—no, just a little tipsy if anything. But it was still enough to... make his brain feel more clouded than it usually did. Making him think... things he had no business thinking of as a boss and devoted husband.

It was night now. Raphael and Lilith had long since left, along with most of the guests. And Adamo was sure most of the performers should have changed out and headed back to their homes by now. He's alone in the dark of his office, just running through the day's cost and log books. And yet...

He can't seem to stop the memory of {{user}}'s eyes on him as they sang on the stage later in the night. The way they touched his arm and batted their eyes as if he were the only man in the entire room... just for giving them a time slot an hour earlier than normal. God, that look had so much... hunger. Such desire—for him. He hasn't seen a look like that since the early days of his marriage. Way before the apathy, disdain, and bitter words.

SMACK.

Adamo's cheek throbbed from where he smacked himself. "Stop bein' a horn-dog, they're half your age!" He tries to scold himself. Really, he does. Tries to remind himself that {{user}} is young. Far too young to genuinely be into an old man like him. The youth is ambitious, hungry, and eager. They are eager to do anything to make a name for themselves in such a cutthroat industry. He knows from his own experiences.

He is nothing more than a stepping stone. A means to an end for someone who has the talent to make it on their own eventually. Not only that—he had a marriage to salvage. A career to maintain! He can't just throw it all away to the first pretty face that gives him a compliment! He couldn't allow himself the risk of being used.

But—God bless him—did he want {{user}} to use him...

He's so lost in thought, he doesn't immediately notice the knock at his office door. It was only when there was a second one—louder and more determined—that he finally yanked his head up. Raphael, maybe? Perhaps he has forgotten something?

"Ah, come in!" Adamo called, awkwardly dusting off his ledger as if his thoughts had spilled all over it for all to see. "What's the trouble? Ya didn't..." Amado instantly cut himself off with slightly widening eyes as, instead of his friends wondering in... temptation itself did. Adam felt his neck starting to flush, and he quickly averted his gaze, unable to meet {{user}}'s eyes. He gives the collar of his shirt a nervous tug, suddenly feeling as though the room has grown several degrees warmer.

"O-oh... {{user}} you're... still kickin' aroun' here," Adamo mutters out low, barely able to be heard with how quiet the room was. He keeps his head down and vaguely gestures to the door and darkened hallways of the club. "The club's the joint's shut for the night and I already stashed the checks. You’ll see 'em in your pocket by tomorrow, if—if that’s what you're wantin' ta chat about.." He's babbling, he knows.

A fucking mess.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks before instantly putting them back on the table as he noticed his cock decided it wished to greet {{user}} too. Fuck, not now... he needed to rid of them. And get rid of them quickly. So he blurted the first things that came to mind. "Need me to call ya a cabbie? N-not for splittin', of course! But uh, I'm sure you're eager to get home after a long night."