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But there’s one little problem with his Vincenzo plan, which is the fact that Vincenzo wants to keep any man-on-man fun between the two of us. We’ve only slept together a handful of times, and I recorded each of them as insurance. But he got a little clingy, so I stopped responding to his texts.
I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to persuade him to come to dinner, then ghost him again.
I told Sandro I was taking my time investigating my mother’s murder, but that’s not entirely true. There are issues that he’s not aware of, and I want definite proof before I make my accusations.
That Bernardi Capo at the docks, Brunello, might have had something to spill. But he ended up on the wrong side of one of Jack’s bullets. It’s a little exasperating—or would be, if I didn’t already know who killed her. Brunello’s death might slow me down, but it won’t stop me.
I head back to my wing of the house, thinking about how to approach Vincenzo, but my mind strays to more pleasant things. Like the Bernardi Enforcer pulling me snug against him, his hard cock sending a message I could not mistake.
So the Lion managed to claw his way out of that SWAT net?
Good for him.
Thinking about him, about the fun at the docks, makes me needy. I wanted to unwind the other night with my current favorite person, but he wasn’t available.
Perhaps tonight I’ll be lucky.
CHAPTER4
JULIAN
Luckisbeing quitethe lady tonight.
A dark-haired, stiletto-heeled, PVC-clad lady, in fact, as Mistress Raven informs me that yes, Romeo is on call tonight.
The Cellar is my current favorite watering hole: a dingy little private club where people go toenjoythemselves, in every and any way. It’s a place I like to frequent when I feel a touch on edge, as I was the night of the dock fights. It was fun, but the Bernardi Lion left me feeling frustrated. I needed something—someone—to give me relief.
But Romeo was not at The Cellar, despite Fridays being his usual night.
So I’m just about bouncing on my toes this Saturday night instead as I wait in Romeo’s Room, hands demurely behind my back, my favorite piece of jewelry on display.
And when Romeo finally enters the room, that’s where his eyes go first.
“You’re all dressed up tonight,” he observes gruffly, as he walks to the wall of whips.
Romeo is dressed, as usual, in tight black clothing that covers his admirable physique from chin to wrists, neck to ankles. He’s barefoot as usual, with his leather gloves leaving only the last phalange of his fingers bare, and the fitted half-hood that covers his hair and his upper face.
All he needs is an ax, and he’d been the perfect embodiment of an executioner. Asexyexecutioner. I give a little shiver of anticipation.
I’ve never seen his face—not that his face matters to me anyway. And he always keeps his arms and torso covered too, in long-sleeved black outfits that hug his impressive chest. I suspect tattoos. I also suspect that he’s on the down-low. Just something about him…
“It seems a shamenotto wear it,” I say, looking down at my golden cock. A specialist piece of jewelry, my cock cage sheathes my flesh entirely in a case of gold, studded here and there with jewels, engraved withfleurs-de-lis. “Even though it didn’t work.”
“Works on me,” he grunts, taking down a flogger and turning to look at me. “That old man must’ve been out of his mind to turn you down.”
Some time ago, when I had a different favorite person, I had this piece made. I was trying to attract a very specific man: Angelo Messina, one of the New York Morellis. I thought he’d appreciate the gesture.
He didn’t.
I’ve never told Romeo who it was for, but I did describe him. Older than me—almost twice my age, as suave and smooth as Cary Grant in his prime. I’d been a fan since childhood. It’s true what they say, though. Never meet your idols. Angelo Messina was delicious, but far too conservative for someone like me.
Romeo, on the other hand...
He stands in front of me, switching the flogger lightly against his leg. “Do you have any requests?”
I wince a little as my dick hardens in its golden cage. Just that line alone provokes a Pavlovian response from me. “I want you to fuck me.”
Romeo laughs. “Is that all?” he asks, flicking the flogger a little harder. It sounds like rain pattering against the leather of his boots. “Use your imagination.”
