23. CAL

Frankie had packed the trunk of the car with cocaine. I was worried we'd be stopped and then both of our asses be thrown into prison. I'd thought about what that might've looked like, and it didn't look fun, not unless they allowed me to be put in the same cell as him.

I'd been trying to occupy myself, thinking about little things like that so I didn't have to think about what I'd done today, or what Frankie was committing to. I was to blame for him falling out with his family. I was the one to blame for this path of vengeance we'd come down.

I was just scared and worried about what was going to happen when we got back to Philly. Frankie had been quiet for a while now. It was almost like he was worried too. Maybe even second-guessing what he'd committed to when he told his father he was out.

"Pass me my cellphone," he said as we pulled up on the side of the road.

"Who are you calling?"

"I'm settling things," he said, climbing out of the car with his cell in hand.

With him out of the car, I was stuck with my thoughts. I should've been relieved and looking at the world in a more positive light. I'd killed someone. I'd managed to get rid of someone who could've done what had happened to me to other guys. I wasn't a hero, but I didn't like it when my brain corrected me into thinking of myself as a murderer.

"La la la la," I let out, repeating it to myself to drown out the noise in my mind.

Frankie came back fifteen minutes later, some intense and heated calls from what I'd seen of him pacing up and down the dirt path we'd parked beside. To onlookers, we appeared to have broken down, and still nobody stopped.

"It's done," he said. "I'm meeting my dad and the head of the Irish Mob, Seamus at the restaurant on my family's territory. I understand if you don't want to be there, since that's where you—you realized that man had—"

"It's ok," I said, interrupting him from going around trying to describe what had happened to me in my freak out. "It should be fine. Anyway, I'm already thinking about what I'm going to wear on the beach." I lied. That was the furthest thing from my mind right now.

My anxieties were pushed up several notches as we approached the restaurant. It was swarming with men from both sides, and even a motorcycle club that the Borgesi family had ties with. At every corner, there was someone stronger than me, who I didn't know if I could defend myself against unless it was under the element of surprise.

"You're not waiting in the car," Frankie said. "Nobody will touch you. Nobody will say anything to you. Everyone knows I have no issues with fighting them."

It comforted me, but since Frankie had walked away from his family, I didn't see how going back to see them now was going to do any good. My mind played out scenarios where his family and the Irish had teamed together to take him out. "Can I take a gun?"

"Yeah," he said. "You should always have a gun." He reached into the bag and handed me the one I'd pulled on his brother earlier.

We parked up right where we had the other day.

There was no sign of the scene from what had happened then.

Frankie emptied the bag with weapons into the backseat before filling it with all the drugs from the trunk.

Menacing glares pierced through me as men by the restaurant doors watched.

"Let's go do business, baby," he said, swinging the bag over his shoulder. He took my hand, and we headed inside.

There was a table with two men seated. At either side of the room, people watched. The loudest of them were the motorcycle group who were pounding back shots near the restaurant bar area.

They fell silent once they saw us walk in and head toward the table.

My palms were sweaty and eager to twitch and grab the gun just in case anyone tried to pull theirs on me first. To some of them, I'd killed their friend.

He slammed the bag on the table. "I'm out," he said. "Both sides have been played. Now, Mr. Moran, I'm sure you heard about what happened the other night. And I'm aware you wanted someone to come after me. I'm sure you hired Grant and his men."

Seamus Moran nodded. "How'd you know that?"

"Grant Richardson is dead. He played you."

Frankie hadn't told me this. I looked as confused as everyone else in the room.

"Grant orchestrated an event. These drugs. He had them intercepted. He had people from all sides believing they'd been stolen by the other. It made for a goose chase that tried setting me up. He then told you, I assume, and then mentioned his little army of men who he could use to get me."

Seamus nodded. "Somewhat like that," he said. "And I paid him before it even happened."

"Half of this should cover the payment you made him, and as an apology for what I did at a warehouse on your territory," Frankie said as he began pulling the bricks from the bag. "And dad. You forced me to make a choice. You can't take that back. Both of us now know the answer to it. The other half is for you. Use it to find someone else you can hire to do what I did."

Paolo slammed a fist down onto the table. "No."

"We'll always be family, but I'm choosing to spend my days with—with him." He turned to me and took my hand. "He did what he had to, just like you did what you had to. This has been a long time coming. You have my number. And you'll always be my father, but you can never be my boss again."

"Son. I made you. And I can just as easily unmake you."

I held my breath at the interaction, my body didn't know if it was going to pass out so that I could escape whatever was happening or hope I'd blackout and have this memory wiped.

"I'm sorry to tell ya, Paolo, but your son has probably done more to put fear for your family out there than you have in years," Seamus said. "We get it. You're the boss, you're the don, but if ya kid wants to go, you're gonna have to let him."

His father looked across the cocaine mountain on the table to Seamus. "My family business is none of your concern."

"Listen, I'm not causing anything," Seamus continued. "But the way I see it, you've got a talented lad here, and he's gonna do whatever he wants. Now, you can either support him, or you can break that bond every father and son share. I know, my brother he has a gay son, and it was rough, I'm tellin' ya, he was talking all this stuff about trying to get the gay out of him, but it's just not good is it. Everyone is the way they are."

I couldn't help but think that Seamus was getting off-track. That wasn't the issue, I didn't think. But it also might've played part in their issues.

"Thank you," Frankie said. "Now, this here." He let go of my hand to gesture at the table. "This is the peace offering. You can take it and accept this. Or you can act hurt, and I'll take this and leave. The choice is yours, but either way, I'm going."

His father sat down at the table once more and shook his head. "There's nothing I can say or do to keep you here. I already have one son who has disappointed me. If I try and force you to stay, you'll probably do the same. So, go on. Leave."

Relief washed over me. I gulped hard.

The doors of the restaurant slammed open.

Sandro stood with the cocaine we'd handed off to him. He gasped and panted, marching over to us. "No," he screamed. "No."

"Speaking of disappointments," Paolo said. "I'm hoping you take him with you." He let out a snicker.

"I was supposed to bring this to you," Sandro let out. "I was the one who—" he finally took noticed of the others in the restaurant. His wide eyes glanced around, almost in shock. "I'm—I'm—"

"Seamus," Paolo said. "Meet my other son. Alessandro. He was teaming up behind my back to undercut the family business." He slammed his fist on the table once more, shaking his head. "Of all the things, Sandro has hurt us the worst."

"I'm sorry," he said, dropping to his knees. The plastic around the cocaine had spilled out everywhere, covering the floor of the restaurant.

"Fucking idiot," he screamed down at him. He marched over. "Get up. I was going to ask your brother to take over your share of the family business, but I see now that you're the reason he's leaving."

I made the connection as he said it. If it hadn't been for Sandro and Grant teaming up in secret, I might never had been kidnapped and forced to be someone's toy in a basement. I didn't know who put it all in motion, but I understood they used that place to keep their operation secret. Tugging on Frankie's hand for his attention. "What happened to the other men?"

He nodded. "What happened to Grant's two cousins?" he asked. "The ones he claimed were still within your ranks."

"Killed them," Sandro said. "I killed them. Me." He pounded a fist on his chest. "I did it. On your order, dad. Me."

It saved me the job. "Ok," I mumbled to myself. It was sort of freeing not to feel like I had to do it again. "Can we go now?" I asked Frankie.

He looked down at me and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "We're done. We're leaving."

Sandro started shouting and pounding his hands into the cocaine mound on the tile floor. It was going everywhere. But it wasn't our problem anymore.

"Son," Paolo said. "You have to visit. And get your nose seen to by a professional." He held his hand out to shake it with Frankie. "When I had my nose broken, I snored for months, your mother almost put a pillow over my face. So, get it seen to." He gave me a nod, almost like he was passing the baton and duty of care to me. It was strange because that baton was already in my possession.

Together, we headed out of the restaurant. It was bittersweet, mostly because I'd expected a round of applause, or maybe even confetti canons to shoot into the sky and rain down on us. But nothing happened, we walked out, got into his car, and drove back to our apartment.

"I love you," he said, lifting me up into his arms, he carried me inside and through the door that was swinging from its hinges. "Is this just for when we're married, or do I have to do this every time?"

"Every single time," I told him, looking at the mess we'd made of the apartment before leaving. There was blood on the walls and soaked into the rug on the hallway floor. "I think it's for good luck."

"You know what I think is good luck," he said, kissing me. "One last time in bed."

I kissed him back, harder.

"Watch the nose, remember." He threw me onto the bundled-up duvet and sheet on the bed. "Now, let's see what I want to do with you." He grabbed rope from the floor, it was what he'd used for those men. It was a reddish brown from all the blood. "I guess we can't use this anymore."

Stripping out of the cropped T-shirt and nearly ripping myself out of the rest, I wasn't wasting another second. We were free of his obligations, and I was free of revenge. It had been done and dusted, now we got to enjoy each other and my sugary cereal. The only thing I was in training for now was being the best little bottom Frankie could ever ask for.

"Come on, Daddy," I called over to him, turning over on the bed to reveal my ass to him. "I don't have all day to be ravaged." I glanced back at him, and how nice my ass looked, like two pert little hills.

"Ravaged, you make it sound like you can't go a day without my dick," he said, pulling his belt out of the trouser loops.

Thrusting myself against the balled-up duvet I felt my ass jiggle. "I can't," I said. "Look at how much it wobbles without that big bone inside me." I snorted. "Wait, no, I have a funnier one. I'm wasting away. I'm only ninety-percent full, I need you to fill me up with that extra ten percent. Get it," I laughed. "I'm saying—"

"I know," he said, grabbing my leg by the ankle and pulling me down the bed. "My dick is what you need to feel complete. And I'm not arguing with that." Once I was dangling over the side of the bed, he gave my ass a spank. "Now, I want to you to make some noise."

"But people will hear," I grumbled. It was one of the things that still held trauma within me. The idea that I had to stay quiet.

"How about you make sure people hear," he said, giving my ass a louder spank.

"Oo," I moaned. "Do it again."

He got down on his knees and this time he gave it a bite, right on top of where he'd spanked me, hopefully enough to have left a nice red hand-shaped mark.

The moans started out in my belly and wormed their way up my body until they came out of my mouth. I placed my head down against the duvet I'd been clinging to.

"Nuh-uh," he said, his hand squeezing at my inner thigh. "I want to hear it."

He went to bite the inside of my thigh, the hairs on his chin giving my skin a tickle. It was sensory overload for one of my erogenous zones. This time I let the moan come out of me, from the depths of my body.

"Good boy," he said, going into my other thigh, he buried his face against the pain of bruise. Then he spotted the marks Grant left there. He stopped and looked at me. "I should've broken every single one of his fingers first." He kissed at the bruising as I moaned, trying my hardest to squeeze my thighs together. He went toward my cock, going down from the tip with his tongue.

"Fuck. Oh." My knees buckled up and my toes curled. "Fuck me." I begged, moaning loudly.

"Oh. You asked for it baby." He parted my cheeks and spat. "Take a deep breath and brace yourself."

No matter how many times he'd been inside me, it always felt like the first time. He sucked back a deep breath and embraced for impact. There was very little warning once the tip was at the door, parting my cheeks for entry.

He went in deep, his hands on my hips, tugging me off the edge of the bed as I folded myself in two like a ragdoll. He controlled my entire body with just his cock. Lifting me up and slamming me down hard.

I was moaning freely, like an instrument he was playing. And he played me like a professional. Each moan derived from a different move and position he put my body in. He tugged me up off his cock and threw me back across the bed.

I laid, splayed out, not moving as I'd surrendered my entire body to him for his wishes.

A knock came from outside. "Frankie!"

The sizzle of almost being caught turned electric in me.

I shot ribbons of cum up my torso. I tried to hold it back, but I just kept cumming.

"Don't come in!" he shouted, shaking his head and smiling at me as I writhed in both pleasure and shame of being caught.