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They were throwing one of their infamous underground parties.
Frankie's mouth fell a little as her eyes darted around the room. Anteros tugged her forearm roughly, dragging her up the steps.
“What is this place?” she asked, awe tinging her voice as she stumbled up the steps. His lips quirked at the way she sighed, the way her eyes widened at the bright, colorful lights. He quickly ground his teeth together and tugged her harder.
The underground party scene was huge in New York, and Anteros made sure he had a hand in every part of it. From the DJs to the drugs, even the products companies paid thousands to have carefully placed, Anteros was the reason. He created the feeling of freedom and he got paid for it. He was the reason they felt they were above the main street clubs, the yuppie clubs, the places where the rest of the world went to lose their souls.
But Anteros also had a hand in those clubs as well.
Frankie pulled her lip between her teeth, watching the aerial acrobats descend from the ceiling. Anteros paused with her a moment, watching her eyes widen, the lights from the club melting across her face. No, there was nothing special about her. She was just his slave, and they would see that. He pulled her
around the corner.
Arlo Moretti and Tino “Tough Tino” Palermo were waiting outside the office, guarding the door. When Anteros rose to his current role, he’d agreed to take on more security. He’d pushed back on the idea at first—it was weakness to have other men fight for you—but eventually he caved.
Aside from usual threats, there were those inside the Pavoni family that did not want to see him so high. So, with his Wolves’ urging, Anteros agreed to take Arlo and Tough Tino on as security—under one condition: Arlo and Tough Tino went only where he told them. Unlike Lucio, who had a man with him at all times, Arlo and Tough Tino would go where he told them. With no acknowledgment, Anteros walked by the two and entered his office. It was darker, the lights dimmed so as not to draw attention to them from the party. It was colder too, as the heat was turned off. During a party, the heat from the bodies was sufficient.
Anteros walked to his desk, passing by his Wolves as he went. The Wolves were the closest men in his employ, and the closest thing he would ever have to friends. If they had been born in another life, they might have been friends. For now, they settled for a closeness similar to soldiers in arms, though it was tainted and corrupted by the darkness their criminal world begot. What is loyalty worth in a world of dishonor, trust in a world of liars?
Unlike the Pavonis, Anteros didn’t give a shit about bloodlines. The Council would recoil at the Wolves—their lineage was trash. Their blood might be septic, but their ruthlessness and cunning were unparalleled.
As Anteros took a seat behind his desk, they were quiet, waiting for him to start the meeting. Anteros looked to Frankie where she still stood in the doorway, her hand fiddling with the hem of her dress.
“Strip.”
“I said strip,” Anteros repeated. Staring into the dark pools of his eyes, Frankie gripped the zipper tightly in response. His eyes flashed, daring her to disobey. Her own narrowed slightly, but she tugged down the zipper on the side of her tight spandex garment. It came undone easily, falling at her feet.
By the way her hip popped out, by the way her eyes dulled, and by the way she exhaled loudly, he could tell that though her body obeyed the order, her mind had not. She wore the new lingerie he’d had the shopper lay out and it matched the pale color of the dress she’d worn. Distantly he wondered if that was why she’d chosen the dress.
“Spin around,” he said. When she didn’t immediately do so, his eyes flashed again. Closing her hands into a fist, she finally spun, giving him the view he demanded. Her ass was basically naked. Swarovski crystals hung down from the hips like a waterfall across a thin string of crystals that disappeared deep inside her ass.
“Now spin back,” he said coolly. Slowly, she turned around. She bit her lip, pulling the bottom between her teeth. Small Swarovski crystals dotted her bust, pushing her small breasts up. Her skin was perfection, from the line of the collarbone to the line of her slit peeking through the sheer material. She was flawless. The only wrinkle on her face was her frown line, which he would fix.
Eventually.
He would have her mind, in time.
“New toy?” a voice asked, breaking the concentration he had on her. It belonged to Little O, one of his Wolves. Ottavio “Little O” Li Fonti was anything but little, dwarfing his twin by two heads. Anteros glanced briefly over to where Little O sat on the edge of the leather couch. Though Little O was leaning forward, his massive frame caused two of the other Wolves, Pretty Boy and Big O, to sit uncomfortably close on the couch.
Once upon a time when they’d been just boys, only soldiers for the Pavoni army, the couch fit them comfortably. As they gained height and muscle, it became a little more snug.
“Something like that,” Anteros murmured, returning his attention back to Frankie. He ground his jaw when Frankie folded her arms, looking angry. Each time her eyes flashed, it was as if she slapped him across the cheek.
“Take it all off,” Anteros said. Frankie's jaw clenched at his words, but she obeyed. In one motion Frankie ripped off the thin corset that contained her small bust and Swarovski crystals flew in all directions, one crystal hitting him in the face. Anteros touched the spot where the crystal hit his cheek and saw Frankie shrug.
She stood before them in white stockings, heels, and nothing else, but she stared Anteros down, refusing to capitulate. It was as if she said he could take her clothes, could take her body, could even take her voice, but he would never take her.
That feeling inside of Anteros stirred again. It was like a sharp yank, as if two sides of himself were being pulled apart. One side—the normal side—said to sit back and ignore her, but the other side, the side that felt as though it was burning down, wanted to reach inside and find the part of her lighting it up. It needed the fuel. He placed both his hands on his polished wood desk, as if about to stand, when Little O spoke again.
“You don’t get much better than that,” Little O murmured. “Look at those lips, that ass,” he continued. Little O stood up and reached out to touch her. She stumbled back, tripping over her heels and falling on her back. Little O advanced toward her and she stumbled backward, sliding and tripping on the floor until her back hit the wall. Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths while Little O towered over her, his scars magnifying in the shadows.
“Is that the Notte girl?” Big O asked from behind Little O. Now that Little O had stood, Big O stretched out on the couch, putting space between him and Pretty Boy. Frankie craned her neck, looking around Little O and catching Anteros's stare. Anteros felt his eyes narrowing at her gaze; what was she looking at him for? Did she see him as some kind of savior?
She hadn’t felt that way earlier in the day, when she’d vomited all over his shirt.
Anteros turned his head from her and looked back to Big O. “Yes,” he replied. Orlando “Big O” Li Fonti was the smaller Li Fonti twin. Rumor had it that Little O had taken up all the room in the womb, leaving Big O with no room to grow or eat.
“The virgin?” Pretty Boy asked. “You have iron willpower keeping her around like this, man. When is she going to The Institute?” Anteros had known this question was coming, it was why he’d brought Frankie in the first place.
