The lesson had been hammered into his head for as long as he could remember.  His father, sitting behind his desk, a tall, slight man made imposing by the hardness in his eyes and the black leather of the wingback of his chair.  ”The thing to keep in mind about our business, son, is you must be careful about who you love and who you choose to marry.”

When his great uncle died and his father and brother took over, Blaine was caught by the wrong people when he was leaving a dance with his date, Jason.  To say the two fifteen year olds had the shit kicked out of them would have been an understatement.  Six months later, after the scars had begun to fade, the fractures had healed, and hair (though tamed underneath gel) had grown back, he found himself in his father’s—no, in Cooper’s office—his brother’s taller frame and broader shoulders filling the wingback chair.  ”Blaine, I know our father has mentioned this before, but in light of what happened, I thought a refresher would be useful.”

“Coop?”

“You must be careful who you love, who you fuck, and who you care for, especially if your actions make it public knowledge.”

Blaine’s head dropped at the jab at his sexuality in Cooper’s words.

“That is not what I meant, B.”  He shifted in the chair, leaning towards Blaine’s place across the desk.  “I’ve known you were gay probably longer than you have.  It doesn’t change anything, squirt.  What I mean is that due to the nature of our business, the enemies that we make, anyone you care for will be in danger at any point simply because hurting him will be a way of hurting you and therefore hurting us.  You need to be able to protect him or be willing to let him go or lose him in order to keep us safe.  Nothing before us, Blaine.  Nothing.”

“Yes, sir.”  He met his brother’s eyes evenly.  It wasn’t like he didn’t know that.  Just another lesson constantly instilled in his brain.  Nothing before family, nothing before the business.  But hearing it laid out so plainly, that just by loving someone he would be killing them was painful.

“Blaine..”

“Sorry, Coop.”

“I know it sucks sometimes,” drew a wry laugh from the brothers, “And maybe when you find him we will be in a better position, one that will be safer for you both.”

“How bad is it, Coop?”

It was bad enough to limit Blaine to only casual hookups for nearly a decade, but good enough that he wasn’t needed constantly, giving him time to earn a degree in piano performance and establish himself on the local scene as a jazz pianist of worth, sought after by the big names when they came to town and larger hotels that wanted to keep him as their pet piano player.

It was comfortable enough that the sixth time he watched one man, tall, slim, pale if you judged from the skin of his hands as he tugged off his gloves and the creaminess of the column of his neck as he unwound his scarf at the doorway, enter one of the piano bars he frequented and take a seat at the bar, he decided he was going to let loose a little.  He put on a show, throwing himself into the performance, singing the next piece, his tenor a bit harsher than the original alto’s but no less seductive.

He finished his set, alternating between charts with vocals and without (he didn’t normally sing when he had a gig at this location and he did want to be invited back) and forced himself to not run over to the man miraculously still at the bar (it had been a while, sue him).  A quick stop to make sure his impromptu singing hadn’t revoked his invitation, and then the bar.  The bartender, one of theirs although the owner didn’t know, slid his usual drink over to him as he passed.

Cool glass pressed to his bottom lip he winked at the pale man he caught watching him.  Blaine saw blue eyes cloud over with embarrassment before the man turned away, blushing at being noticed.  Leaning against the bar, he took the opportunity to survey the man.  Jeans that were obviously well fitted hugged tight across hips, faded in just the right places, gray and white checked shirt showing where the darker gray vest and lighter gray waistcoat pulled up at his sides and stretched tantalizingly across broad shoulders, black coat draped neatly across crossed legs.

Clearing his throat lightly and reaching out to touch the man’s shoulder, “Is this seat taken?”  He jerked slightly under Blaine’s fingertips, spinning in his seat as his hand flew up to clutch at his chest.  ”Oh.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s..it’s okay.  No harm, and my heart still works.”

“It is always good to have confirmation of that.  May I?”  He gestured to the empty seat.

“Oh.  Of course.”  Kurt swiveled to face the bar, staring at nothing and fiddling with his napkin.

Setting his glass down, Blaine extended his hand as he sat, pulling the man’s attention back to him.  ”I’m Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“I did. Especially your cover of “Teach Me Tonight.”  It might be a little creepy, but I have been to a number of your gigs.”

“No less creepy than my knowing you have.  Six shows, by my count, at four different clubs.”  You always sit at the bar, angled to see the piano and the door, right leg crossed over left, dress better than most everyone I know, and order a clear drink so probably a gin and tonic.  But he didn’t say that out loud, this wasn’t work and he didn’t want to scare the man—Kurt—away so quickly.

“That..that does sound creepy.  I should probably…”  Legs uncrossed gracefully and jacket and scarf were in his hand before Blaine reached out again to stop him from leaving.

“Relax, I’m not going to bite.  I take it as a compliment that your bar hopping habits match up so perfectly with my work.  It means I get to see you.  Now sit back down and let me buy you another…?”  He signaled the bartender as Kurt resettled himself.

“Vodka and tonic, please.”  Blaine nodded at the bartender in confirmation and settled himself into his seat.

“So, Kurt.  Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m not so sure…”

It took Blaine a few drinks and a bit of puppy eyes but he got the basics: Kurt, 26, works at a design house (he refused to say which one), new to the city, dreams of Broadway and his own line, has a tiny apartment he shares with a cat, the size of a small dog, Laurence.  He, in turn, shared only as much as Kurt needed to know: Blaine, 24 but his birthday would be in a month, classically trained jazz pianist and sometimes singer, lives in an apartment owned by his family, no animals though he was thinking about a dog, native to the city.

A couple hours later, when Kurt begged off, “I’m sorry.  I have to work in the morning and my boss will kill me if I am late”, Blaine offered to see him home.  ”Oh, I couldn’t impose.  I’ll just catch a cab.”

“I’ll wait with you.”  Blaine raised his hand, lifting a finger to rest against Kurt’s lips, pink and soft and parted slightly, warm breath hitting Blaine’s outstretched finger.  ”I would like to wait with you, if that is okay with you.”

Kurt nodded slowly, dragging his lips against the cool finger briefly before Blaine pulled his hand back into his own personal space as Kurt gathered his jacket and scarf again.

“Mike, put it on my tab.”

“Blaine, no.  I can…”

He covered the taller man’s hand where it rested on the bar top as he stood with his own, squeezing lightly.  "You can.  I said I would buy you a drink.  And they owe me.  Tell you what.  You can buy next time?”

Kurt visibly relaxed before stiffening again.  "Next time.”  His voice was small and high, squeaking out in contrast to the confident way he slid his jacket back on and deftly twirled his scarf back around his neck.

“Next time. I enjoyed talking to you.  A lot.  And I think you would have politely excused yourself if you had not enjoyed talking to me.”  A nod met his words as he stood himself.  ”Wait for me here.  I’m going to have Puck call you a cab and grab my stuff and then we can wait outside.”

Kurt nodded again, absent-mindedly tugging his phone out of his pocket and obviously processing something.  Blaine wondered what.  He hadn’t noticed a family ring or bracelet, so he probably (hopefully) wasn’t in the business.  They’d hook up a few times, go their own ways, and no one would be hurt.  Just like he was supposed to.

It was all of a minute that Blaine was gone from Kurt’s side, retrieving his things from behind the bar and telling Puck to call a cab, resuming his place before they threaded their way through the club.  The pair wove through the tables, Kurt’s hand, encircled the crook of Blaine’s elbow so they weren’t separated, dropped back to his side as they cleared the throng.

The brushing of their arms as they walked outside sent spikes of awareness through Blaine.  The momentary, accidental touch of their hands as they both reached for the door a shock both felt, if the flush that spread across Kurt’s face was any indication.

“Thank you for the drinks.”  Kurt met Blaine’s eyes, gaze flickering down to Blaine’s lips and back up, right hand holding his left, thumb stroking across the thumb before Blaine caught it between his own.

“Thank you for the conversation.”  The yellow in the corner of his eye told him the taxi was there, the number told him it was one of theirs, but he didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

“Taxi’s here.”

“Yes. You should go, since you said you have work.”

“I do.”  They both moved closer to each other, barely aware of the impatient taxi driver waiting on them.

“Will I see you again?”  Head cocked to the side, puppy-eyes starting to come through as Blaine looked up at the entrancing man before him.

“I owe you a drink.  I’ll be at your gig on Thursday.”

His smile interrupting the puppy-eyes, Blaine shook his head and looked down before answering.  ”I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.  I think the driver…”

“Of course.”  Blaine leaned up, moving in slowly to give Kurt a chance to move away, kissing his cheek sweetly when Kurt stayed still, leaning into the touch as Blaine replaced his lips with his hand, stroking across Kurt’s cheekbone.  Kurt’s eyes darkened as he bit his bottom lip.

Stepping around him, Blaine opened the door to the cab, closing it after Kurt had settled himself, eyes meeting once more before Kurt leaned forward to give the cabbie directions.

The rest of the week passed slowly, Blaine lost adrift in thoughts of Kurt, punctuated only by a gig at a stuffy hotel and helping Cooper go over inventory, finances, and strategy, the former entertaining as they checked over weapons and ammo in the various safe houses and stores to the background of Disney movies (don’t knock gun polishing while singing Aladdin until you try it).   Finances were never the most interesting thing, and Rachel’s whining about needing to diversify their investments (even though they had a hand in just about everything already and were comfortable).

The strategy meeting was Thursday afternoon after a night spent pouring over the intel that had been gathered, searching for trends and possible problems.  The meeting itself consisted of Cooper’s advisors, the top of the business, discussing where they should be going, what needed robbing, and what it was safe to start selling: normal white collar organized crime.

The most pressing matter, of course, was what to do about the so-called Spadarys, the family that had run the Colombo Family out of town a few years prior.  The Spadarys were uppity, thinking their strict hierarchy was best and looking to grow their holdings while the other four of the five families were settling in to what they had.  Not that Blaine or the others born into the life didn’t like a good fight, but Blaine was looking forward to having a life outside of crime (maybe with someone) and the Spadarys would not settle down.  From what meetings with the other families and talks with their own had told him, Sebastian, the leader of the Spadarys had ordered attacks (through his second, one Santana Lopez) on the Gambinos.

“I have news about our favorite up-and-coming pain in the ass.  Our fences say he has people scoping out buyers for a lost Picasso.”  Blaine was pulled out of his examination of a report of their holdings by Jesse’s words, the entire room freezing before erupting into sound, all of the capos seeking to say their opinions at once.  On his right, at the head of the table, silence fell at Cooper’s raised hand.  ”What lost Picasso?”

“Remember the theft from the Musée d’Art Moderne in Paris?”

Brittney spoke from her place in the corner—“2010, thief gets away with five masterpieces, Picasso is trashed and the container is emptied before it can be searched, presumed destroyed.”  She may get some things mixed up, but her intelligence for remembering things was unparalleled.

“That Picasso.  He thinks he has a painting that was declared destroyed and he is trying to move it?”  Cooper was calm, collected, blue eyes nailing Jesse to his seat. 

 ”Which fence told you?”

“Will.  He came to me after he was visited by a few plain clothed suits who were a little too interested.”  Blaine watched Cooper’s face, saw the twinge of a tightened jaw and the twitch of his eyes over to Blaine and back.  Blaine inclined his head at the unspoken information.  Plain clothed suits were always running around, but with the new peace the families and the suits let the other be.  Until there was a Picasso that shouldn’t exist was about to move.

“Jesse, bring Will in.  Take him to the Atherton house and talk to him.  Just talk.  Blaine, you go too, then report back to me.  I want extra ears on Smythe’s activity and eyes looking combing through his and his second’s pasts.”

“Are you going to alert the others?”  Quinn, normally quiet, spoke up from her seat at the end of the table.

“Not yet.  Let’s see what Will has to say.  Quinn, you can put together the groups of eyes and ears, give me a list by the end of the day.”  The room was thrumming, the prospects of a fight, the first real one since the Spadarys came in, was exciting. 

  ”Anything else?”

Unsurprisingly, Rachel’s hand shot into the air before Cooper had finished.  ”Yes, Ms. Berry?”

“I was wondering, in light of this new situation, if you were going to consider changing your stance on moving…”

“Ms. Berry, that isn’t a question for the group right now.  I will revisit it tomorrow after going over Blaine’s and Jesse’s reports.  Now, if everyone will excuse Blaine and I, we have a meeting of our own to attend.”  They didn’t have another meeting.  The Five weren’t meeting until Saturday, but Cooper obviously wanted to talk to Blaine on his own, without the others, before deciding a course of action and presenting a united front to their capos and their father.

The pair was silent as they ducked into the supply room and used the staircase concealed behind a false panel, moving silently except for the soft shh of breath and footsteps on the concrete, not speaking again until reaching the privacy of Cooper’s office.

“Talk to me, Blaine.”  Cooper continued to the bar, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of scotch, facing away from his brother.

Blaine gathered his thoughts, watching his brother fix their drinks, shrugging out of his jacket before taking as seat as Cooper handed him his glass.  He swirled the amber liquid, watching it cling to the border of the glass, having already come to his evaluation and not knowing how he felt about it.  "Unless Smythe and Lopez are smarter than we give them credit for, we are about to lose the Spadarys.”

“That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”  Cooper winced slightly as a too-large sip burned the back of his throat.  ”I do not understand how anyone as idiotic as Smythe managed to topple Colombo.”

“We both know that at the end Colombo was easy pickings.  And the Five thought new blood might clear out the old rivalries and we could settle down and make our money.”

“The Five were wrong.”

“We knew that.  Even before he started asking for buyers and attracting attention.”

“What do you think we should do?  If they are going to fall, there’s going to be an imbalance again, probably another war.  Can we survive that?”

“Probably.  We’re a little rusty, but we can kick up training and security.  Our other options are to prop them up or pray no one else wants another bloodbath.”

“B, always the one to think about helping people.”

“It wouldn’t be about helping them.  It would be about helping us avoid unnecessary loss of lives and even more attention from the suits.  I presume you will be talking to Father about this before the meeting?”

“Of course.  He's coming for dinner tomorrow night and we can talk after I read the reports about Will.  You might need to assign recon as needed.”

Blaine nodded before sipping his drink, then changed his mind and killed the glass in one burning gulp.

“I have to go.  Gig tonight.”  Miraculously, despite the alcohol on an empty stomach and the stress, Blaine didn’t sway on his feet, head oddly clear.

“I don’t know why you bother with those gigs.  They don’t do anything.  You don’t need the money and your time would be better served here.”  Blaine kept his clenched fist behind his back, the tension of the white-knuckled fist hidden from his brother’s view.

“You are starting to sound like Father, Cooper.  He said he didn’t mind as long as I came to all the meetings and stayed on our turf.  I have.  I use Mom’s maiden name when I perform, I stay on our turf.  When I get invited into another family’s I ask permission first, you know that.  I bother with them because I like music, unlike watching the light fade from someone’s eyes after a hit.”

“And what about this boy? Kurt?”

“He’s no one.”

“He has been to six of your shows and will be there tonight.  He is not no one.”

Fist clenched hard, nails biting into the tender skin of his palm as he recited, annoyance bleeding into his voice.  "Kurt, 26, new to the city, works in a design house, has his own apartment and is a cat person.  Judging from the light circle of blue around his irises, he wears contacts.  He sits at the bar, angled to see the door, so he is still wary, although he hides it well.  Better dressed than you could dream of being, probably stands a chance at his own line and used to be involved in musical theater in high school.  All of which and possibly more you already know because you won’t trust me to not fuck something up.”  His voice cut through the silence, crescendoing through the last few words, voice tight with the hurt that his brother watched him still.  It was fine when he was underage and unproven.  Now it was just insulting.

“You know that I trust you.  You wouldn’t be my second if I thought I couldn’t trust you.  But I worry about you.  Especially right now, with Smythe being a dickwad.”

“There have been no threats, implicit or otherwise. All of my gigs in the near future are on our turf.  Let me have one unsupervised fling.  He’ll be gone in a month, just like the rest.  No attachments.  I know the rules and my duties to the family.”

“Go, then.  I’ll call off the tail.  Don’t do anything stupid.  We can’t have you dead or compromised.”  His eyes closed, breathing deeply to re-center himself, before looking up.  Blaine met his brother’s eyes, icy blue like their father’s, and nodded, shutting the door to the concealed staircase behind him, staying hidden until he left the building, and trotting down the stairs to the subway to make it back to his apartment to change before his gig that night.