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I likeLeo Bernardi very much. He’s fun to play with, and fun to have these little adventures with, and I even considered going home with him again to have some more fun…
But the moment he mentioned La Contessa, my priorities had to change.
She’s not here often, and she certainly hasn’t told Sandro about her visit. Or at least, he hasn’t toldmeshe’s here, and he usually does, along with very strict instructions to stay away from her.
Leo might be mistaken. But he might also be right.
And if sheishere, and shehasn’ttold Sandro of her visit…it gives me some leverage. And I’ve always wanted to question her about my mother’s murder.
The neon lights of the city flash in my eyes as the cab drives towards the Bellamy Grand. Los Angeles is a city where there is always something interesting going on…and yet my mind wanders incessantly back to Leo.
His hands on me feel different from the hands of others I’ve taken to bed. We have a fiery connection every time we meet up—from the first, it’s always been that way. It worries me. I like new experiences, both good and bad, because at least they’redifferent. Yet there’s something that sets me off-balance about Leo. He’s new. He’s different. And now something in me shies away from that.
I don’t know why.
But my mission tonight isn’t about Leo anymore. No. I’m determined to see what answers I can pry loose from the very tight lips of La Contessa.
I have the cab drop me off a block away from the hotel, where I scan the building for any signs of vulnerability. The penthouse suite sits at the top, an oversized balcony looming over the rest of the hotel like a queen surveying her realm. That’s where she’ll be. It’s where she always stays when she’s in town. I observe for a while, watch the guards come and go.
Eventually, it’s time to make my move.
The service entrance offers the perfect opportunity. It’s easy enough to pickpocket a pass card from a worker who’s stepped outside for a cigarette break, and then I take the service elevator to the floor below the penthouse, then make my way to the stairwell that leads directly to the rooftop. The door to the outside is locked—a deadlock, and a big warning sign on the door—but I make short work of that, and then I’m out in the night air, breathing in the city below.
I jump up on the edge, the breeze ruffling my hair playfully. I like to think the city enjoys my antics. I amuse Los Angeles as much as she amuses me. I hear the voices of two guards stationed on the penthouse balcony below, but they won’t be out there much longer, based on their routine.
When I hear them go back inside, I let myself down to hang off the side of the roof, digging my fingers into the rough cement edge. Adrenaline soars through me; one wrong move could send me plummeting to the ground below.
This is why I love my job. The thrill of danger is intoxicating. Almost sexual.
It’s similar to the feeling I have with Leo...
Focus.
I have only a few moments before the next rotation of guards comes out. I move down the wall until I have no more hand or footholds, and then drop the remaining distance, landing near-silently on the tile. The glass door into the bedroom slides open after only a minor finessing, and then I’m inside.
The room is still and quiet, but there’s a scent in the air that I recognize. La Contessa’s signature perfume—a blend of jasmine, sandalwood and musk—is unmistakable. It’s achingly familiar, in fact, since it has similar notes to Sandro’s cologne. A mother-son scent. I always thought it revealed a rather overbearing personality on his mother’s part, but Sandro never seemed to mind.
And, like her son’s personal scent, there’s something else underlying it, something undeniably sexual.
I stand motionless in the shadow of the curtain. The only light is from a soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm golden hue over everything. The bed is unmade, the sheets strewn haphazardly across it, barely covering the nude figure lying diagonally across it, face down.
The golden yellow lamplight accentuates the naked contours of La Contessa’s lover, stretched out languidly in a deep sleep. I approach with caution, wondering exactly how much La Contessa cares for him. He could be useful or not, depending on the answer.
But just as I come close, he stirs, rolling onto his side, and a sly, welcoming grin spreads across his face as he gazes up at me through half-lidded eyes.
When he speaks, it’s in Italian. “Are you here to play?” he murmurs seductively.
“Oh, yes,” I reply in his language, keeping my voice low. “I love to play.”
He chuckles, the sound low and throaty. “Then come closer, and let’s play together.” He sits up, his body on full display, and in other moments, I might be tempted. He’s beautiful, slender and long-limbed, glossy black hair falling over his shoulders as he moves.
He extends a hand in invitation, gesturing for me to join him on the bed. I accept the offer, crawling onto the bed beside him, my eyes never leaving his.
But all I can think about is Leo Bernardi.
He leans in to kiss me, but I avoid his mouth, turning him around to lean against me instead. “Like this, I think,” I murmur in his ear, and I tuck my hand around his throat, lifting up his chin.
“Ah—is that how you like it?” he asks, wriggling into me. “How delightful.”
