6. SAMUEL

I allowed Leo to collect his things. I didn't give him his phone back. I knew what I needed to know about him. He was the one. He was the cute onesie wearing boy who'd occupied my mind on that app. But he didn't look like that now, he dressed in a tracksuit, it was a far cry from the boy in those pictures.

I wanted all his things here. And the two men who'd grabbed him at the park accompanied him. He wouldn't try anything, especially since he wore the bruising from their actions on his face.

My flat was on the penthouse floor overlooking Hyde Park. It had four bedrooms, although I'd converted one into a gym and the other into a home office, alongside three bathrooms. Two en-suites, and one for guests. It wasn't as grand as my parents' home, but it was mine.

The décor and colour palette of the place came from me. I made sure it all looked sleek with the white, silver, cream, and chrome over everything. I enjoyed the futuristic look and feel to things.

Nobody knew my plan with Leo, in fact, the only people who knew about him were the two men who'd picked him up and brought him to the basement of my parents' house. But I had big plans for him. My family weren't at war, but it was only a matter of time. Tensions were growing heavy and pulling us apart, but the last thing the family needed was to be split.

I swirled the amber scotch in my glass as I called my cousin, Elias to figure out what he wanted. I knew Preston would've been talking in his ear like the devil he is.

"Hey cousin," I said. "I hope I haven't called you at a bad time."

"No, no, it's good," he said. "I called earlier at the office. I know you met with Preston, and I had some ideas."

Although my father was the head of the firm, I was acting head while he was sick. "What do you need?"

"I want to do more than smuggle drugs through art," he said. "I want to have more responsibility."

"Listen, Elias. Drugs account for most of the money coming in," I lied. "You already have a huge responsibility. I don't want you to be spread thinner than you already are."

"I don't feel like it is though," he said. "Preston seems to think you're keeping us out of all the important business stuff. Our father's have little say now. This is for us to control. We shouldn't be sitting on our hands doing what they've been doing for the last—however many years. We need to grow."

"Elias, you're like a brother. We're family. And since we're family, I'm going to trust that you've got my back with the decisions that I'm making," I said, taking a sip of the scotch. It warmed my throat like a pleasant spice. "In fact, I wanted to let you know about an idea I had, but we'll have to figure out a meeting for that because like you said, this is ours now."

"Of course, I trust you," he answered with a sigh. "But Preston is telling me one thing and I don't even know who to believe."

"Believe me," I said. "So, I'll have Kelly call you and we can set something up." My phone buzzed in my hand with a text. "Right, I'm going. And stop listening to Preston, you know he's just trying to goad you into getting stressed so you'll explode at me rather than him."

"Talk soon."

Elias had a loose wire in his head, it's probably why he enjoyed being around art so much. One of our business fronts was a gallery. Elias was also a painter; it's how he channelled his anger. I had one of them hanging in the flat.

I turned to the painting as I looked at the text to tell me Leo was on his way back. The painting was splatter art. Shades of red in all its deep, dark hues, like actual blood. There were bold strokes, brush splatter, and other techniques I wasn't versed in. It calmed me as I looked at it, the aggression in the art quelled the heat in my mind, almost absorbing it.

Elias was talented, but I couldn't have him teaming up with Preston.

A knock came at the door.

The two men stood behind Leo as they carried two stuffed black bin bags.

"Are these your trophies from stealing?" I asked, gesturing to the bags.

"No, it's—just my things," he said, locking eyes with me before looking away.

"Come in then." I welcomed him. The men dropped the bags off in the hallway before leaving me alone with Leo.

Wandering off inside, his mouth agape with awe. It was a usual response.

"Don't even think about trying to steal anything," I said, snapping my fingers at him. "I'll know."

"It's—it's nice."

Stating the obvious. I knew it was nice. It was my place. I made sure it was nice. "I'll show you to your room." Down a hallway with many doors, there was one open. "This is yours. Mine is opposite." I nodded to the closed door. "Don't go in there. Understand?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Good. And I'll need my wallet back. There was a key in it. But whenever you've unpacked will be fine," I said. Clapping my hands for him to move faster. "Grab your things, unpack, I've ordered food from a restaurant downstairs. I want to get to know you better," I told him. "I want to know why Leo Conroy steals."

"Ok. Can I ask?" he asked. Again, a paradox of asking a question to ask a question. I stayed silent. "How long will I be staying?"

Much like asking how much he owed me, I didn't have answer for it. "Until I feel properly compensated for what you did." It was a non-answer, as he should've expected, it wasn't going to be as easy as just giving him a date.

I left him to it; he had two bags. I hoped they weren't filled with clothes because the last thing I wanted him to wear were clothes like the stuff he'd been in when I found him. They were far too pedestrian, and I didn't like to see the clumsy comfort of that type on someone as attractive as Leo.

Food arrived from the Italian restaurant. I'd ordered a choice of items. Spaghetti with Bolognese, a carbonara, breadsticks with cheese, a salad with balsamic vinegar, and their choice dessert platter. The restaurant never delivered to anyone, except for me, since the firm owned half of it. They catered to a wealthy clientele, people who ate at tables under a single candlelight, creating the most delicious ambient feeling of luxury.

I approached the bedroom, pushing the door ajar to peer inside. He had clothes piled on top of the bedding, and between the two pillows, there was a panda teddy. I stood for a moment, inspecting what he'd brought. A selection of colourful onesies were among the pile.

"Food is here," I said, startling him.

"Oh—oh ok." He stared at me, his face contorting in all directions. "I'll—I—"

"Come."

I lead him to the dining table. I hadn't created the same ambience as I would if this was at the restaurant. A single dimmer light above us was almost as effective in setting the scene.

"Carbonara or Bolognese," I said, nodding to the set table with the plates. Between the plate, the salad, and breadsticks.

"The Bolognese," he answered, quietly. "If that's ok."

I was fine with either option. The pasta was handmade, and everything was delicious. "I have a red wine too," I said, forgoing the type of red wine, I knew that knowledge would've been wasted on him. It was a pinot noir, taken straight from my wine collection. I had decanted it when the food arrived and had it breathing while I plated.

"I'm not—I don't really drink wine."

"Then you don't have to drink wine," I said. "Perhaps I could get you a little baby's bottle with some fruit squash instead." I almost bit my tongue, trying to hold back, but sometimes I couldn't help it. I'd been holding back already.

He sat and looked up at me, excitement in his eyes. "You have fruit squash?"

I didn't. I was a functioning adult, and a member of one of the most powerful current-day crime families. I drank wine, spirits, and coffee. "No. I'll get you a water."

Filling him a glass with water, I sat across from him at the table. He was waiting for my cue to eat. At least this was a sign he was learning to obey.

I extended the wait, sipping at my wine, and letting the dry fruity taste of it wash over my tongue. "Parents," I said. "Where are they?" I grabbed my knife and fork, signalling for him to do the same.

"I don't see them," he said. "I saw my dad a couple times growing up. He didn't want anything to do with me. My mum lives about thirty minutes away, but we've got a pretty strained relationship. She only wants to see me when she wants something." He twirled the spaghetti on a fork, using the spoon to collect it on. "Do I get to ask you a question now?"

Again, with his asking to ask a question. It was borderline driving me crazy. "You just did," I said.

"Another one then."

"Fine."

He didn't seem as prepared to ask his question as he had been prepared to ask whether he could ask me something. I enjoyed the silence, watching him mull in thought as he spun the spaghetti around his fork. Droplets of the sauce were already on the white shirt.

"What's your question?" I asked, gritting my teeth, annoyed seeing him stain a shirt.

"How much are you worth?"

My mouth twitched into a smile. "A lot, I suppose." As a family, we were worth hundreds of millions. "I don't trust you, but I know you won't tell anyone. Worth fluctuates, I have tangible assets, those are things you can touch and see and own. This flat, for one. But most of my worth is tied to the family business."

"And what do you do?"

"You asked your question," I told him, sipping at my wine once more. "My turn. Why haven't you put up a fight? I mean, someone with the balls to rob people in broad daylight, you seem quite weak now, easily taken."

"I'm not weak," he whispered.

"If you're not weak, why didn't you put up a fight?"

He glared at me, shocked that I'd heard him whisper under his breath. "I—"

"C'mon," I chuckled. "You could've struggled, at least. I like a struggle; it shows that you've got something to take. Right now, I don't feel like I'm taking anything at all."

"You've taken me from my friend, you've—you've taken me away from saving up, and now I don't know what's going to happen," he said. "The reason I'm not fighting you is because I want to live. You said you'd kill me."

A harder laugh rolled out of me. "That's right. I said that." But I couldn't, not to him, not to that face. "What are you saving for?"

"I want to travel the world."

The was admirable. "If you sold my watch for what is was worth, you might've been able to do that already." I flashed the watch at him on my wrist. "You know, you need better contacts. That—that man, he sold you out so fast."

"He's a dick," he grumbled.

"He's dead now," I said under my breath before taking another drink. "What would you do to him, if you could do anything?" I was probing to see if we fit well. I'd been burned by boys like him before. Early twenties, a little fire to them, but then they grew distant when they couldn't handle all the sides of me.

Leo spooned another forkful of the Bolognese into his mouth, getting sauce everywhere, staining his skin the tomato orange. "I don't know."

"Would you kill him?" I asked, closing my eyes to imagine a less messy eater in front of me.

"No. Do you want me to kill him?"

If I'd wanted him dead, I wouldn't be asking him to do it. Besides, he was dead, hanging in the back of a butcher's freezer. I had done that after collecting my watch. I didn't like snitches. "No," I said, opening my eyes to see more of the sauce on his shirt. "Listen to me. You're going to have to stop eating like a pig at a trough. It's disgusting." I grabbed his foot beneath the table with my feet.

He stopped chewing.

"I'm no longer hungry," I said, taking my wine and leaving the table. "Once you've finished eating. Go to your room and get some sleep. I'll have new clothes for you. Mess them and your debt increases."

I had a low tolerance for people, and yet, I'd brought him into my space, where my tolerance was even lower. Perhaps it was pure desperation to have someone like him around me, or maybe I hadn't been touched in so long, I wanted him to stick around to see where it went. He was clearly gay; I didn't have to look far into his social media to see the pictures of him with ex-boyfriends.

Now, he was mine. He'd have to delete those.