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He relaxed and let me use him. I threaded my fingers through his thick hair and speared his mouth with my cock, the pleasure inside me coiling as I rocked. His tongue slid forward, gliding under my cock, and he gave me the tiniest scrape of his teeth.
Madonna, I never wanted it to end.
All too soon my balls were tingling, my muscles clenching, and my cock swelled against his tongue. With a groan, I began coming, thick jets shooting into his mouth, my hips jerking. He kept sucking, draining me, and it prolonged my orgasm. If I weren’t pretending to be someone else, someone Spanish, I would praise him in Italian with all the words I knew. But my Spanish was limited, so I just stroked his hair, petting him, as I tried to catch my breath.
He eased off my cock and looked up at me with an unreadable expression. After a long beat he swallowed, the muscles in his throat working as he drank my load down.
Madre di dio, that was hot.
I sighed, wishing I’d met him in another life. One where I could sink to my knees and pleasure him in return. One where I wasn’t on the run from the life I’d left behind. A former soldier for my father, who was one of the most powerful and dangerous men in Europe.
I stepped back, tucked myself away and zipped up. After a nod at the man still on his knees, I turned and went in the opposite direction, intent on getting outside as quickly as possible.
No one stopped me. No one followed me. I was just another body in a sea of bodies. The faded light of an exit door beckoned, so I headed toward it. A minute later I was standing in an alley, the cool night air washing over me.
Walking toward the street, I pulled out my phone and dialed. He answered on the first ring.
“Why the fuck didn’t you pick up?” Fausto snarled into my ear.
“Perdonami, Papà.”
“Would I call you five times if it wasn’t a fucking emergency?”
Yes he would. My father didn’t like to be ignored. “Is it Frankie or one of the kids?”
He gave a long exhale and I knew the sound well. He was trying to rein in his temper. “It’s you, figlio mio.”
Relief filled me. This was nothing new. I was in constant danger. I started in the direction of my apartment, which was four blocks away. As always, I checked my surroundings. This had been ingrained in me since birth. “Yes?”
“Someone has taken out a hit on you.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but that was disrespectful to my father, even if he couldn’t see me. A hit had been out on me for more than four years. But I was smart enough to not let them find me.
“Oh?” I said to my father.
“You sound unsurprised at this news.”
Nothing got by Fausto. “Just tell me what you know.”
“Have you heard of Alessandro Ricci?”
“I remember the name.” Ricci was a sniper, trained by the Italian military. He was rumored to be the best, used by countries to take out heads of state and other politicians. Very high level wet work, not the kind of person normally used by the ’Ndrangheta, who preferred to handle their own murders quietly. An assassin like Ricci was too high-profile.
“Good, then I won’t have to explain how dangerous this is for you. I want you to come—”
“No.” I shut down that suggestion before he even finished. “I won’t, so don’t ask.”
I was a gay man, the former heir to a mafia empire. No doubt the ’Ndrangheta would prefer to make me disappear. My very existence embarrassed them, and I would never bring that kind of danger near my half-siblings and stepmother. I was better off living far away from them.
I heard a thud and imagined my father pounding a palm on his desk. After a few beats, he said, “Dai, Giulio. This is not like the other.”
“The car bomb, you mean?”
“Yes, the one that killed your ragazzo. This is very serious.”
As if the car bomb hadn’t been. Paolo was blown up in front of my eyes, for fuck’s sake. With my limited resources over the last four years, I’d been hunting those responsible, digging into everyone I could think of who might’ve planted that bomb. Fausto was convinced it had been Mommo, one of his rivals, who was now dead.
I wasn’t sure. And until I was sure, I wasn’t stopping my search.
