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Luca
It’s easy to lose track of time here.
The party has steadily escalated as it’s gotten darker. More girls are showing up and the guys getting looser and looser. Max and Berto are both snorting lines of cocaine off of models, Max off of a brunette’s tits, and Berto off of a redhead’s ass. Franco comes stumbling in a moment later, three girls in tow. He lurches towards the couch where I’m sitting, trying to ignore the gorgeous black-haired girl in lacy white lingerie who is trying her best to get me to fuck her.
“You’re all alone, Luca,” he slurs, obviously drunk. “I know who you’re thinking about. And you gotta—stoppp.” He trips over the last words. “Sofia—right? Well, fuck her. Fuck your wife. You gotta—get fuckin’ laid, man.”
He shoves all three of the girls in my direction, and they tumble towards me, giggling as they collapse onto the couch, one of them right on top of me. They’re all barely clothed, tits and long hair everywhere, and I groan as I feel my balls throb painfully. I’ve been hard off and on most of the afternoon, and this coupled with the two naked girls on the recliner across from me tangled in a sixty-nine for our benefit isn’t helping.
The problem is, I don’t want to fuck any of them. I want to do exactly what Franco just slurred at me—fuck my wife. But she’s in Manhattan, and I’m here, in a hotel with five guys who won’t understand why I’m not joining in on the debauchery and will probably call me all kinds of half-joking names in the morning for it.
Not that I care. I’m not a thirteen-year-old boy to get my feelings hurt because someone teases me about being gay because I didn’t get laid. But I’m at my limit of patience right now, so horny that I could explode, worried about what’s happening back at home, angry that I want my wife—a woman forced on me that I shouldn’t give a shit about—and above all else, horribly sober.
I’ve had a couple drinks, but I didn’t want to get drunk. The thought of getting high isn’t any more appealing. And despite the unfortunate fact that I’ve been hard as a rock for most of the day, I have no intention of fucking any of these women.
What I want to do is get back to Manhattan.
The blonde in the green bikini is kneeling between my legs, her hand massaging the ridge of my cock through my swim trunks as I try to find the will to push her away. And then, just as I’m reaching out to guide her hand off of my aching length, one of the guards comes through the door.
“Luca.” His voice rings out through the room, but no one really pays attention to it other than me. The man is a real pro. He barely even looks over at the girls moaning on the recliner, even though a third has now joined, fingering herself while she watches the other two.
“Yeah?” I push the blonde away, standing up and trying to discreetly adjust myself. I can hear groans from down the hall—probably Franco—and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. I’m tempted to go out to the pool, but I can see the silhouette of someone else out there, Adrian, I think, getting a blowjob.
No thanks.
“You’re going to want to hear about this.” He jerks his head towards the door. “Let’s talk.”
* * *
Less than an hour later,I’m on the jet back to Manhattan.
My entire body is shaking with rage. I left without saying anything to anyone—all of the guys are too high or too busy fucking to grasp what’s going on, anyway. I told my security team to explain as best they could if anyone noticed I was gone, fill them in on what had happened in the morning, and let them know that I’d send the jet back for them.
But all I can think about is getting home.
Home to Sofia.
I’d been assured she was safe, but I’m not sure that I’ll be able to believe it until I see her.I’m going to kill whoever did this with my bare hands,I think, my teeth gritted with anger as I look out the window of the jet, wishing that I could somehow get there faster. Everything feels thrown into sharp relief, including the fact that I very easily could have never seen her again.
It makes all of my arguments for why I shouldn’t get closer to her, why I shouldn’t sleep with her, why I should try to push her as far away as possible, seem flimsier by the minute. I can’t even begin to untangle my feelings right now, but by far, the one that appears the strongest is the relief that she’s still alive.
For now.
The entire flight back, all I can think about is murder, plain and simple.I’m going to kill whoever let that man get past them.
I’m going to kill Viktor.
I’m going to kill them all.
But once I’m in the car headed back to the penthouse, my thoughts switch to Sofia. I feel desperate to see her, touch her, and make sure with my own two hands that she’s alive.
“Where is she?” are my first words when I step into the apartment. Raoul is cleaning up the living room, and he looks up as I walk in.
“She’s in your room,” he says calmly. “The other two girls are asleep in the guest rooms. It took a little while to calm everyone down, but Caterina and Ana are asleep, I think. I don’t know about Sofia, but she was awake the last time I checked on her.”
“And Gio?”
“He’s in critical condition, but he should live.”
