2. Damian

Money. Power. Success.

They say that everything has a price in the city.

The VIP table at Damian's Den was a prized spot that sometimes even money couldn't buy. In fact, it was so admired and coveted that it was more or less a given that on any given night it was almost pointless attempting to book it.

It didn't matter if you were a millionaire, NBA star, or even a high ranked politician – the VIP corner was very much by invitation only. With its red crushed velvet armchairs and magnificently sculpted Italian marble table, it was the spectacular center piece at the upper rear of the restaurant floor.

But there was one man who was guaranteed a seat at the table no matter what day of the week it was or what time of day or night. And that man was Damian Sorrento.

After all, Damian was the owner of Damian's Den.

The fact that he also happened to be a high-ranked and feared mafia hitman may also have had something to do with it to. Even if he wasn't the restaurant's owner, it was highly unlikely that anyone was going to deny Damian any table he wanted.

In criminal circles, Damian's reputation for ruthless, cold, and totally emotionless assassination was legendary. At forty-eight years of age, Damian had racked up a much rumored one hundred plus kills. These weren't crimes of passion or drunken brawls. Each and every one of Damian's victims came as a result of an order from the mafia bosses above him.

Damian liked to work clean. That meant no blood and guts, no drama, and absolutely no traces that cops could latch onto.

Damian was a surest with a pistol, sniper rifle, and knew how to strangle a man better than the most skilled MMA fighter.

Damian was feared across the city.

It was said that if you were ever surprised to see Damian, then that was almost certainly the last time you would ever see him. Or anyoneelse for that matter.

But as much as Damian was known for his ruthless executions, to many he was simply the mysterious and reserved owner of Damian's Den. Damian didn't make a habit of interacting with patrons, simply preferring to come in for his dinner alone, sometimes meeting with fellow mafia men to shoot the shit and catch up.

Damian was a distinctive man to look at. With his dark brown hair and finely sculpted face, he looked superb for his fort-eight years. Perhaps it was his olive skin, or it may have been his commitment to drinking gallons of water every day, but Damian was in the kind of shape where he could easily have been mistaken for a male model. Sure, it would be a terrible mistake to make. But Damian was one handsome sonofabitch, there was no doubting that.

Perhaps the only giveaway was that underneath his fine Italian shirts, his torso was covered in a series of tattoos. Each piece of ink told its own story, and many of them were related to important landmarks in his career as a killer.

Of course, only Damian knew the real meaning of each one – and this was a part of his life that he kept from even his closest mafia buddies. Damian kept a close circle of trusted allies, and this was something that he had stuck to on the advice of his old mentor, Gianluca Rizzi.

Gianluca had looked after Damian in his early days in the mafia and it was coming up to the twentieth anniversary of his untimely death. This time of year was always a tough time for Damian. For someone who was able to keep calm and retain his emotions under control, even Damian found it difficult to not feel a terrible sadness at the loss of his great mentor.

So as he sat at the VIP table and waited for his associates to arrive for their meeting, Damian took a moment to open his wallet and take out a small photo of Gianluca…

Fuck. I miss you, Gianluca.

Every single damn day.

And I still ask myself… was I to blame?

But Damian couldn't spend too long looking at the photo. After all, this was his restaurant and from time to time he did have to deal with restaurant things. And in this case, it was the ever-attentive Jonas…

‘Sir, perhaps if I could speak to you at some point when you're not too busy?' Jonas said, a respectful tone in his voice.

‘Sure, but not now,' Damian said. ‘In fact, please can you fetch me a bottle of red. You choose. You have good taste.'

‘As you wish, sir,' Jonas replied, turning and making his way from Damian's table toward the wine store.

Damian looked at his sleek, all-black Patek Phillipe watch.

Jesus. Where the hell are they?

It's not like I don't have things to do, people to…

Damian grinned. As he looked out across the spread of tables beneath him, he could see all kinds of diners from various walks of life. The one thing that united them all was that they appeared to be very much enjoying their food.

Whether it was a table of businessmen and women toasting a fresh deal, or a group of college friends catching up, Damian was filled with a sense of pride at seeing people relish the vibe and good food at Damian's Den.

Food had always been a passion for Damian, and one of the major perks of his career had been the fact that he had been able to save enough money to comfortably afford to set up his own restaurant and take a backseat when it came to the general day to day running of affairs there.

But the longer Damian stared out at the tables of jubilant diners, the more he felt a recognizable pang of pain inside him. As Damian saw the various couples enjoying their meals together, Damian became once again painfully aware that he was single…

I want a boy.

Someone to teach. To own. To make mine.

But these city boys just don't have… that special something I need.

Damian noticed a couple sitting near the front, right by the window that looked out onto the bustling city street outside. The pair were almost certainly together romantically. They looked good together. The older guy had a rough stubble, slicked back hair, and the scar running down his neck was indicative of someone in a similar business to Damian. The younger dude meanwhile must have been twenty-one or twenty-two and was fresh faced with cute little slicked-over side-parted hair and bright yellow t-shirt.

‘Damn. They look happy,' Damian muttered, growing increasingly frustrated. ‘That boy is waiting on the other man's every word. I'd kill for something like that.'

Damian had always had Dom instincts, stretching far back to his early twenties. It was just how he was put together. But as he grew older, it became more and more obvious that this was fully who he was. The only problem was that his line of work left very little room for a serious relationship.

If Damian was going to find someone to make his own, he wanted to know that he was able to give them the time he deserved. After all, having a hot, slender boy with a killer ass was about more than just red-hot fucking under the sheets.

Discipline was required – and lots of it.

Damian's idea of being a Dom was very much heavy on the strict, stern side of discipline. Just as Damian lived by a strict code in his mafia life, he expected that any partner in his life would have to live by a strict code too.

The only problem was that typically the kinds of boys that Damian had hooked up with previously had all been way too flakey for anything like that. It almost felt like they wanted to play at being with a big, dangerous mafia man – but when push came to shove none of them could actually handle it.

What Damian craved was someone who could give him everything he wanted – and then beg for more afterward too.

Fuck. Stop torturing yourself.

Maybe this city just doesn't have that special someone.

And where the hell is my vintage red?

Damian took a sip on his water and looked around to see if Jonas was anywhere near returning with a vintage wine as promised. There was no sign of him – and rather than dwell on the fact that he didn't have his own boy to share mealtimes with, Damian took out his phone and decided to message his friend, and fellow mafia man, Nico…

My man, where are you? You know I don't do *late*. Whatever or whoever is holding you up, finish up and get your ass over here. Don't make me serve you cold pasta. Damian.

Brother, I'm helping Antonio out with some *business*. I'll be with you as soon as I can. And don't you DARE serve me up cold pasta… you know how I react to disrespect!Rocco.

Fair enough. This *business* isn't anything to do with Connor Reed is it? I'm hearing some seriously bad things. He could be making a move. And if he is, we all need to be ready for war. Damian.

Connor Reed can eat my ass. Whatever that snake wants to do, he won't be ready for what we can throw back in his direction. Be with you soon, brother. Rocco.

Damian smiled. Nico, and Antonio for that matter, were his two closest allies in the whole city. True loyalty in the mafia world was hard to come by. But Damian knew that he could trust both of these men with his life, and the same was true in reverse too.

The three of them had been in several scrapes over the years and on more than one occasion had nearly lost their lives. But all three of them loved their life full of danger, excitement, and no little risk.

Damian had been hearing a lot of rumors about Connor Reed for some time. A longtime gangster who had somehow managed to evade jail for the entirety of his career, Connor was a known liar and cheat. He was ruthless too – even the mafia code of honor meant nothing to him.

Still, Damian was confident that Connor would never make a move on him – but that didn't mean it wasn't worth flagging him up with Nico and Antonio.

As Damian sat and contemplated exactly what Connor Reed might be up to, he couldn't help but take in the sweet aromas of the various dishes being enjoyed in the restaurant. This only served to remind him of precisely how hungry he was. Just like Damian, both Nico and Antonio loved their food too.

The only question was when the hell they were going to finish whatever ‘business' it was they were undertaking and get their asses over to Damian's Den?

* * *

Nico finally arrived – but Antonio hadn't been able to join them, something had cropped up that required his urgent attention across on the other side of town.

As Damian and Nico sat down and began to sip on their 1986 red wine vintage, it was clear that both of them were very much in need of some rest and relaxation…

‘I swear this is a young man's game,' Nico said, his silver hair looking as striking as ever. ‘Don't forget, I'm three months older than you!'

‘Jesus. We're both forty-eight. We're in our prime!' Damian said, rolling his eyes as the two gruff mafia men toasted. ‘Hell, half of the street soldiers we came up with are either dead or serving life. We've got nothing to be worried about.'

Nico nodded.

Like Damian, Nico had seen more than his share of action over the years – the scar across his left cheek being a testament to that. And just like Damian, Nico was also a fully-fledged Dom without a slip of a lad to call his own.

And just like usual, boys were very much on the menu for conversation…

‘There might be one…' Nico said, his blue eyes sparkling. ‘He's twenty-one, ass like a perfect peach. It's early days, but who knows where it might go.'

‘Tell me… how many spankings have you given this young pup?' Damian said, arching his eyebrow and taking a gratifying sip of the fine wine. ‘And it only counts as a proper spanking if he cried out for mercy!'

The two men laughed heartily.

Talking about sex, boys, and life as a single Dom was all well and good. But there was one thing missing from the equation. Food.

‘This is no fucking good,' Damian said, a stern tone in his voice. ‘I swear that if Jack fuckin' Bouquet wasn't such a good chef I'd have fired his ass a long time ago.'

‘I hear you,' Nico said. ‘I'll be honest, I don't like the guy. Never have done. But God damn he can cook.'

‘One moment,' Damian said, standing up from the table and heading toward the kitchen. ‘Give me two minutes.'

But as Damian walked through the staff entrance and toward the kitchen, he couldn't help but notice the storeroom door slightly ajar. This was unusual. Maybe it was instinct, but Damian just knew that he should look inside and check that nothing untoward was going on. After all, it wasn't unheard of for rival mobsters to sabotage mafia businesses.

Damian quietly stepped inside the room.

Just as he suspected, there was someone in the storeroom and they were acting mightily suspicious. The boy was cute and immediately Damian found his blood pumping at an increased rate. But it wasn't just the cute boy's looks that was doing something to Damian…

Who… the… hell is that?

He's fucking cute.

But… is he… stealing?

Damian felt the rage bubbling up inside him. Damian knew a thief when he saw one, and it was time to put his hands on this little criminal and fire his ass right there and then…

‘You!' Damian bellowed, placing his hand on the thief's shoulder. ‘Don't move a fucking muscle. Not if you value your life.'

The boy's body suddenly froze, but as he slowly turned his head to face Damian, something happened. Damian was faced by possibly the prettiest, most boyishly cute face he had seen in as long as he could remember – and the fact that he was a thief too just seemed to make Damian come more and more alive.

This was trouble with a capital T, and Damian knew it.

He's even cuter than I thought.

The thief is a fucking sweet little boy.

Jesus. This is the last thing I need…