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I type in Antonio’s father’s name. Massimo Rossi. A name I have typed in many times before.
I browse through the articles about his death. Old age. Nothing suspicious about it. This man didn't deserve to live in old age, not in the comfort that he was living.
16
Antonio
We are flying toNew York in a couple of days.
I could have waited until then to see Seraphina, but I don’t want to. I can’t get her out of my thoughts, even when I should have all of my attention focused on what is going to happen in New York. I invited her for dinner at my place. I need to spend time with her. If I don’t, I'm going to drive myself crazy thinking about her.
I stand in front of the long bathroom mirror and splash cologne on my skin.
I pull the collar of my black shirt straight. Leaving the top few buttons undone. I can see the curve of ink running up my neck, the start of a tattoo that travels from my hip, over my shoulder,all the way down my back. A dragon design similar to the one I saw on my father in a photograph many years ago.
I pull the cuff of my sleeve out and roll each sleeve up over my forearms.
With one last glance in the mirror, I turn to leave the bathroom.
Seraphina will arrive at any moment now.
I wait in the atrium until security informs me that my guest has arrived. I tell them to welcome her in and walk through to the entrance hall to greet her.
Seraphina is stepping inside the doorway when I walk into the room. The breath is knocked from my lungs.
Her choice of a short black dress, body-hugging and leaving very little to the imagination, openly invites me to take her passionately. All the boys she has experienced in the past will be nothing in comparison. I'll leave her wanting nothing but me for the rest of her life.
“Seraphina, welcome back to my home. You appear attractive tonight.”
She smiles and leans forward to kiss me. “Thank you for the invite.”
“My chef, Yuze, has prepared one of my favorite dishes. I hope you like blue cheese. I have a specific brand important, as I can't seem to get enough of it.” My eyes drift over her ass, how the dress sits just low enough to taunt me.
She places her hand over her stomach, a subconscious gesture that doesn't suit the dress she has chosen.
I grin.
Slipping my arm around her waist, I lead her to the dining room, wondering if I can make it all the way through dinner or if I'll spread her out on the table and tasting her pussy within the next hour.
She sits down, and I slide into the seat next to her. I sit close so that she can feel me against her. She wants this as much as I do, obviously.
She reaches out and brushes her hand across my forearm. Her fingers trailing the muscles below the fold of my sleeve. “You look gorgeous, Antonio.” She doesn't look up. I can't read her eyes.
My chef arrives.
“Good evening, Ms. Seraphina. May I get you something to drink?”
“She will have the champagne,” I answer for her.
“Yes, sir.”
“If you keep brushing your fingers over my skin like that, I may have to skip dinner altogether and find other forms of entertainment for the night,” I growl.
Her eyes widen, and she pulls her hand back, grinning.
“Perhaps I should behave myself then.” She giggles.
“I doubt you intended on behaving yourself when you chose that dress for our dinner.”
