They lapsed into silence for a few minutes as the high rises petered off into smaller, older office buildings and markets.

"How'd it happen?" Cole asked, figuring it would be better to talk about that in the privacy of their car, rather than over dinner.

"There's a blind spot in the detention center," Gideon told him. "A camera malfunction. Moves around, but...they won't be able to figure out who did it because of the angle and the timing."

"It was one of your guys though?" Cole asked. "Not just one of the other inmates who didn't appreciate his attitude?"

Gideon hesitated before answering. Or maybe he was just concentrating on merging over a lane before the one he was in disappeared. Then he answered, "Yeah, it was the guy I sicced on him."

Then he pulled into the parking lot of a very old, very fancy Italian restaurant. They'd been here a couple of times and Cole was pretty goddamn sure that Gideon always had a table waiting for him because he personally knew the owners, who were definitely affiliated with the literal Italian mob.

"I'm not dressed up," Cole said in dismay, glancing down at the outfit he'd put on when he'd been expecting to go play tennis. When they came to a place like this he at least liked to wear slacks.

"There's no dress code," Gideon said. He backed into a spot while Cole flipped down the visor and tried to tame his curls into something that looked a bit less wind-blown. He heard Gideon laughing at him and scowled.

"Nobody will care what you are wearing, baby. And we'll be in one of the private dining rooms anyway."

Cole glared over, only to see Gideon yanking his tie loose. He pulled it over his head and tossed it into the back seat, while undoing a few of his buttons. Then, for good measure, he shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up the cuffs of his shirt.

"There, now I'm more casual too."

"Sure," Cole agreed, distracted by drooling over the exposed forearms. Something about the peek of skin, tanned and muscled, wrapped in a thick, no doubt expensive watch, really did it for him. As did the hint of bicep bulging against the dress shirt's sleeves above where the cuffs were rolled to his elbows. And the flash of collarbone through his undone collar.

Gideon grinned, boyish and delighted, before stepping out of the car. He came around to open the passenger side before Cole even had the wherewithal to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"I know what you're doing," he told Gideon as he got out.

"Oh?" Gideon asked mildly.

"You're distracting me with your slutty forearms."

Gideon barked a startled laugh. "I'm just getting a little more comfortable. Maybe it says more about you that you can't take the sight of my forearms."

Cole rolled his eyes, deciding not to argue anymore. He knew he was right because he did the same thing to Gideon all the time, giving him certain looks from beneath his lashes or stretching his arms to reveal his bare waist and whatnot.

This restaurant was also one of Cole's favorites, not because of the warm, familiar welcome or the selection of imported wines, but because they had a literal brick oven where they baked their bread and an espresso machine at the front of the shop that must have cost thousands of dollars. There were always people standing around it, drinking shots of espresso or sipping Americanos.

"Is this place owned by the mob?" Cole asked after they'd been ushered to the private dining room and left alone with the wine list.

"No," Gideon's eyes trailed down the wines. "But I heard it was a good place to eat through them, so..."

Cole shook his head and looked at the appetizers. Gideon could be joking, but he might also be serious.

For all Cole knew maybe this was one of the places that got a loan from the Bartas at one point or was wrapped up in some kind of protection racket that they ran. He was making a lot of assumptions because they were Italians and stood around in suits drinking espresso and smoking cigars. Maybe their loyalty was really with the Hungarians despite all that. And they had to welcome Gideon warmly and give him a private room at the drop of a hat because they knew he was the one who'd show up if they didn't make payments on time.

He tried not to think about it too much. Everyone seemed friendly enough. A waitress with dark hair piled on top of her head and a million tattoos gave them a megawatt smile when she came to take their drink orders. Gideon ordered a bottle and asked them to bring a caprese salad. Once Cole was two glasses of wine deep and eating enough tomato and mozzarella to spoil the rest of his dinner, however, he found the question popping out without permission.

"So, if it's not run by the mob, is it like under your protection?"

Gideon peered at him over the rim of his glass as he swirled the contents. His eyes were dark, wheels turning behind them as he considered how to answer.

"I thought you didn't want to know about this stuff."

The last time Cole asked about the family business, he'd been fishing for information for his blackmailer.

"I don't want to know specifics," he waved a hand casually. "I just...its not going to scare me off if I know you have enough influence in the justice system to have someone killed or for a table to always be ready for you at your favorite restaurant because you control the neighborhood or whatever."

Gideon set his glass down and leaned back in his seat to cross his arms.

His gaze made Cole start anxiously rambling to explain himself. "I was serious back during... you know, that situation with James when I said I wanted to get to know you better...all of you. And we have been getting to know each other better. I mean we live together! But you actively hide this part of yourself and I...like I said, I don't want to know specifics, but..." He trailed off, feeling a little silly.

It was one of the action items in his grand plan to get Gideon to finally accept Cole wasn't going to run off. It wasn't like Cole wanted daily reports or to be involved in the family business himself, but he did want to get rid of the wall that Gideon maintained between that huge part of himself and Cole. He just couldn't luxuriate in the wealth in complete ignorance, especially when Gideon had bags under his eyes and half empty cigarette packs in his pockets. He wanted to at least share the mental burden if he could, even if was just by knowing the gist of what Gideon did and still staying.

Gideon was smirking at him, though, which was not the reaction he expected.

"You know, baby, I'm really glad we are getting to know each other better and you are more comfortable to ramble like that."

Cole's cheeks warmed and he pursed his lips in exasperation.

"It's cute," Gideon added, because he was a menace. "But you don't like it when we talk about serious stuff over meals."

The half-eaten caprese salad looked innocently up at Cole when he glared at it. "If I don't distract myself somehow, I'll spoil my dinner. And the food hasn't come yet. So, I'm not eating right now."

They fell into silence, Cole deciding whether to just let it drop and Gideon tapping his fingers against one of his crossed arms. Just as Cole inhaled to tell him nevermind, he spoke.

"They use the accounting firm for their finances," Gideon told him. "My relationship with them is above board. As far as I know the family doesn't have any active connections to organized crime."

"Oh." Now Cole felt a little bad about his assumptions, but the Bartas weren't renowned as demons from hell because of their above-board accounting practice. Maybe because of their above-board law practice, but that was another matter.

Gideon uncrossed his arms. Before he could say anything else, though, the food arrived. It smelled incredible. Until Gideon, Cole had thought of Italian food as spaghetti and pizza. That was worlds away from the chicken cacciatore they brought Gideon, or even the stuffed shells Cole ordered. Just the marinara sauce was better than anything that could come out of a can.

"Don't tell Andre I said this," Cole huffed around a mouthful of molten cheese. "But this food is better than the Italian dinners he makes."

"Well, he was trained in France, so..."

Cole laughed.

Then, Gideon said, "So does it feel easier to exist in the world knowing Logan isn't in it?"

The hot cheese scalded his throat as Cole gulped it down in surprise. That was the last thing he expected to hear next, despite this being a dinner in celebration of Logan's demise. The timing had to be a playful revenge for assuming these people gave Gideon the private dining room out of fear, rather than out of professional respect. He winced and took a sip of water.

"You should let that cool a little bit more before eating it," Gideon said sagely while neatly cutting up his chicken.

Cole rolled his eyes, "Fuck off. And yeah, I guess. Mostly I just feel less...guilty? Like all of this," he gestured to the private room and then to Gideon, "You. It all seems too good to be true and I always feel like I cheated somehow, getting out of that place. And the others were just...still dealing with him. So, I'm glad Elijah will be in charge now."

"Too good to be true, hm?" Gideon plucked that particular detail out.

"Yeah," Cole sliced a piece of his stuffed shell off with the side of his fork, swirled it in the marinara and then blew on it. "Although I'm starting to realize that it is true. This is my life now. And you are mine. And I'm happy, even if you like to say unexpected stuff whenever I'm eating."

Gideon stared at him, giving no response as Cole continued to blow on his bite and stare back. Then he picked up his wine glass and took a sip. The motion did little to hide the pink in his cheeks. Pleasure jolted through Cole at the sight. It wasn't often he managed to make Gideon blush.

The way he took care of Gideon after they played in bed usually consisted of accepting all of his aftercare and assuring him that he'd loved what they did, that he felt safe and cared for by his amazing husband, that he was happy. Maybe that could be applied more generally, just like their pre-play communication could be applied more generally. Cole tended to go on about how strange and amazing going to a country club was or having free time was. But maybe it would be better to stop making everything into a big deal—too good to be true—and just settle into this life, telling Gideon that he was happy, instead of wondering about how on earth they always managed to get a private room at a booked restaurant.

He made a mental note to add this as an action item in his plan to get Gideon to stop waiting for him to run off. Start acting like he belonged here.

Then Gideon's phone rang.