2. Chapter Two

Present day…

"Well? What do you think so far?" Rafael hides his smirk behind his glass of bourbon.

I scan the crowd as I mull over what he asked me. What do I think? I think the money I paid to be here better be worth it. So far, not a single woman stands out as being worth half a million. Though, looks can be deceiving does hold some truth to it, so I suppose I shouldn't judge too harshly just yet.

"Better be worth the money."

Rafael huffs out a laugh. "As if you don't have enough of it."

"Because I don't spend it on foolish things."

"It'll be worth it. You need a break, anyway."

"What I need is for Dario Canvani to have an unfortunate run-in with a high-speed train."

"We're not talking business tonight, Vincenzo," he chastises.

I glare at him. Who is he taking that tone with?

He leans close to me, keeping his voice low. "Punish me for it later."

He looks up at me as he brings his glass to his lips and takes a small sip, winks, and walks away.

I take a slow breath and watch as he goes. He will be punished for it later. Along with whatever girl we end up with tonight.

My first time attending a key party, all thanks to Rafael pushing me to do so, and I'm less than impressed. But we haven't got to the fun parts yet, so I'll finalize my assessment tomorrow. I suppose I can say everything up to this point hasn't been horrible.

Being a few hours from home gives me a sense of ease. There's no one to recognize me out here. The club's extensive background checks, health assessments, and contracts make me feel somewhat comfortable. Helps with my concern over a woman trying to get pregnant by me, for money alone. Leaving here blackmailed isn't a worry I have just yet. These women may be average in the looks department, but they aren't gold-diggers, and that's the key selling point for me. The fewer women I have to kill over them thinking they have bigger balls than me, the better.

Though I am a brutal man, I am a fair one. I won't bring a girl into my bed for a night of fun knowing it's a death sentence for her because she thinks she can outsmart me. I'm not that cruel. So I avoid women altogether. And though I do enjoy Rafael and the way he pleases me, submits to me, does every little thing I want him to, I miss the feel of a warm pussy wrapped around my cock.

Rafael understands, and he's okay with it. It's part of why I appreciate our… relationship. If you can call it that—neither of us do.

It's a contractual agreement. I rather like contracts. Keeps things simple. Black and white.

We don't do the cuddling thing, don't do the kissing thing, we just do the fucking thing. We especially do the power play thing, and it works for both of us. But due to Rafael's fear of commitment and my fear of—well, a gold-digging broad stealing my semen to knock herself up doesn't pertain to Rafael, but he wants the contract for his own peace of mind, so we keep it.

He likes being around and I like having him around. We make it work.

I let off steam by doing whatever the hell I please, and he lets off steam by giving up complete control of his body to me. There's a ton of trust between us in the bedroom. Enough trust for me to have his life in my hands—yet not enough to get rid of the contract. Rafael is a funny man.

I rarely give trust so easily and would usually be the one to require the contract, but Rafael has been around for a while, and I'm fond of him. I trust him as much as I trust my brothers. Though we aren't technically family, he's the next best thing, and that's important to the Bramantes.

"Hi."

I glance to the side at the sound of a small, sweet voice.

"Evening," I say, turning to face her. She's a pretty girl. Short, blond, big tits, bright blue eyes. Not my type, but pretty. I enjoy pretty things. Get them when I want them too.

This girl is pretty, but she isn't add to my collection pretty. Definitely not worth the trouble of a contract.

"I'm Lillian," she says, extending her hand for me to shake.

A woman who likes to shake hands. How polite. I take it so as to not give her the wrong idea about me. I'm not an imbecile.

"Vincenzo."

"Not having a good time?" she asks.

"That will start once I'm in a room."

Her eyes dart across the room and flicker when they land on something—or someone. But before I can follow her gaze to see who she's looking at, she's back to staring at me.

I don't pretend I'm good at small talk. It's pointless. I'd have preferred to not do all this socializing and wait in the room while the girl is sent in, but of course, that's not how this works.

"You're very handsome," she says, taking a sip of wine.

I force a small smile. "Thank you."

I reach out to pull on the strand of her hair. "This natural?" I ask.

She runs her hand through it and shrugs. "It is."

"Everywhere?" I question with a raised brow.

Her cheeks flush. "Yes."

I nod and sip my scotch.

I don't like blonds. Don't like blond pussy hair. I don't mind the hair, I'm not a fan of the color. I like dark-haired girls, with matching dark pussy hair that I can see and not feel like I'm staring at a prepubescent child.

I glance up, catching sight of Rafael. He, of course, is the exception. Though Rafael's hair is blond on his head, everywhere else it's dark—perhaps that's the difference.

"Lovely visual," I say as I turn to walk away.