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He shakes his head and throws his hands up. “Who do you take me for?” he asks.
I blow out a breath. “You don’t want me to answer that question.”
When the door to the back opens, a parade of my cousins, Boston’s notorious Rossi family, saunters in.
“Behold the backup plan,” Timeo says with a grin and a flourish.
JesusfuckingChrist.
My cousin Orlando enters first, followed by Tavi, then their eldest brother and Don, Romeo. Each of them carries heavy trays of food.
When the Rossis and Montavios party, there’s always food involved. The Rossis handle the food and the Montavios the booze. Call it a match made in hell.
Most “high interest clubs,” as the paperwork euphemistically calls them, don’t serve full meals, but I’m a Montavio, and we know all good things begin with a good meal and a cold one.
“Don’t eat the meatballs, man,” I whisper to Romeo.
“Flo?” he asks with a grimace.
I give him a silent nod.
Within an hour, our new place is teeming with guests, their plates laden with food.
“Sergio,eat,” my cousin Orlando says. “Everything’s going fine.”
It isn’t every day someone opens up a new establishment, and this one means the world to me. I spent months with our friends the Gerards in Corsica, taking notes about how they run their exclusive kink club, and dreamed of one of my own here in Boston. Up until recently, puritanical laws prohibited an establishment just like this one, and we’re one of the first to take advantage of the new law that allows us to be here.
But a lot had to happen. We’ve vetted every damn member that’s come. We’ve run background checks and profile checks andeveryonewho works for us has been ruthlessly investigated. I keep my staff small and well paid, for good reason.
Romeo, the head of the Rossi family mob and my cousin, sits down with a plate heaped with food.
“You did well, brother,” he says with an approving smile.
“Thank you.”
I won’t lie, it’s good to hear his praise. I miss my brother Niccolo, who’s gone now. My father’s dead, and my brother Ricco’s occupied with his chronically ill wife. In other words, there’s a shortage of guys who will approve of what I do in my life, so Romeo’s praise hits me fucking hard.
“I knew you assholes were genetically kinky.” I look up to see Mario Rossi, the youngest Rossi brother and my best friend, holding a tray of pastries in each hand.
“Fuckin’ clairvoyant,” I mutter with a snort. “Had literally shit to do with the fact that the two of us traveled to Corsica together.” Corsica is home of the Gerard family’s exclusive club,Le Luxe.
Mario was practically my co-designer.
“I meanbeforethat. I knew you were kinky when we were in sixth grade and you trapped Tanya Monteiro in the broom closet.”
I shrug. “Everyone trapped Tanya in the broom closet.”
“Dude.You were the only one who tied herup.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got a cannoli mustache.”
Mario snakes his tongue out to lap up the pastry cream from his lip and grins at me.
He’s right, though. While the rest of them were trying to get to second base with the girls in high school, I was fucking my math teacher up against her chalkboard. I liked knowing when she sashayed past me in class her gorgeous ass was marked with my handprint and her neck with my teeth.
I like to fucking own a woman I touch before I let her go.
I can’t control what life throws at me. God knows I can’t control who lives or dies. I’ve seen the life of someone young and vibrant and full of promise snuffed out long before its time, and I’ve seen men who didn’t deserve another day on earth live longer than they ever deserved.
