7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Daniella

Back in my apartment, I settle on the couch with my laptop, pulling up every article and piece of information I can find on the Duretti family.

Every link I find to any news article mentioning the Durettis involved in anything even remotely illegal shows me that the article has been taken down. But still, I’m able to find some articles by small-name nobodies who have somehow been allowed to keep their content live.

It's clear that the Duretti’s have their hands in everything from drug trafficking to money laundering, but the specifics are elusive, hidden behind layers of secrecy and fear.

Every piece of information I uncover only raises more questions. It feels like an onion with endless layers. I peel one layer and then there’s another waiting for me. I peel that back and there’s yet another layer waiting for me. It is both frustrating and riveting.

The authorities have tried for years to get something to stick, but nothing ever does. Probably because they have some high officials on the family payroll. Their businesses have to be worth billions of dollars.

They are clearly using the legal businesses to hide whatever nefarious work is going on behind the scenes. They produce rum and whiskey, they have a clothing brand and they also have a private security company.

I note as well that they own a variety of smaller companies, probably for laundering their money.

One of the only news articles that has been allowed to stay up is one about their numerous charities. These are legal businesses run by women within the family. Most of them seem to be aunts, cousins, and other close family members.

Late into the night, my eyes burning from staring at the screen, I find a lead. It’s a journalist named Mark Evans who has been investigating the Duretti family for years. His articles are detailed and unflinching.

It's clear he knows more than he's been able to publish. It occurs to me how brave he has to be to publicly go after them like this.

I jot down his contact information, deciding to reach out in the morning. Exhausted, I close my laptop and try to get some sleep, though my mind continues to race with thoughts of Lorenzo and Jeremy.

The next morning, I send Mark an email, explaining my situation and asking if we can meet.

Lorenzo and I are scheduled to meet tomorrow. I would be a lying piece of shit if I said that I’m not nervous. I’m actually scared out of my mind. This man is the Godfather brought to life. He is everybody’s worst nightmare. And I slept with him. I think about the things that he did to me and shiver, but not from fear.

It’s funny that knowing how vile he is and about the things he has done doesn’t dull my attraction to him. I have found myself thinking about that night so many times, I probably have the entire experience ingrained in my head, well, maybe also another part of my anatomy.

The way his calloused fingers felt trailing against my skin, his kisses, the way he slid inside of me painfully slowly, causing me delicious pleasure. I realize I’m trembling and I bite my lower lip.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

“Not unless you agree to sit on my face,”

“I think you could ask me anything…and I would say yes.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

My thighs clench before I can stop them and when I look down at my hands, they are trailing toward my center almost unconsciously.

And his accent, his delectable accent and the way he muttered words into my ears. Words I’m pretty sure weren’t English, except maybe in my sexed-up haze, I had forgotten what English sounded like.

My fingers disappear under the waistband of my yoga pants and I feel the dampness of my underwear. I touch myself and imagine that it isn’t my small fingers doing the exploring but rather his larger, longer, more skillful ones.

I close my eyes and arched my back, and I imagined how he would part my flesh down there. How he would lean into me and kiss me just below my jaw as he whispers.

“Open your eyes Tesoro . I need to see you.”

His fingers would curve inside me, hitting the right spot. The one that takes me to cloud nine and leaves me there.

He will drag my orgasm out of me and allow me to ride his fingers like a pony. Maybe he’d use two of them…or three, if I’m lucky. The orgasm would explode out of me like a rocket, leaving me panting and struggling to catch my breath.

When I open my eyes, my apartment is empty. There’s no Lorenzo with his expert fingers and wandering tongue. All I feel is emptiness. Stomach curling and paralyzing loneliness.

What have I just done?

It is one thing to convince myself that I have to use my body to get close to Lorenzo. I can justify my actions to that end. It is another thing to convince myself that when he touches me, I only endure it.

But here, in the quiet loneliness of my house, my lies unmask themselves, baring their faces to me in a way that is so undeniable it makes me nauseous.

Jeremy hasn’t even been dead for a month and here I am, touching myself with thoughts of another man. Tears sting my eyes and I wrap my arms tightly around myself.

Jeremy wouldn’t want me to be sad about his death for the rest of my life, I knew that much. But would he really be all right with me lusting after the man who might have killed him?

***

“Back again so soon?”

I look at the bartender I met the first time I came to the Garden of Eden with a sideways glance. My head has been on a swivel, trying to catch sight of Lorenzo, ever since I stepped into the club.

“I like it here,” I say to her with a shrug. “So sue me.”

She laughs and I turn my head to look at her again. I find myself smiling in spite of my distraction.

“I should hold myself accountable for continuing to work here, I guess,” she admits. “Same as before?”

“I want whatever that magical thing was that Lorenzo…” saying his name aloud feels so dangerous that I feel a shiver run over my skin, “…ordered for me last time.”

“Coming right up,” she says agreeably, turning away to make me my drink.

I watch her working, my brain distracted by thoughts about Jeremy, and what Lorenzo might have to do with his “accident”. I’m starting to lose the thread of the reason that I came here the first time for. Everything is being overwhelmed by my desire for Lorenzo.

“ Tesoro .”

I whip around at the sound of the velvety voice just over my shoulder. It’s Lorenzo, looking too handsome to be real in a black suit. The red pocket square tucked into the pocket of his suit isn’t noticeable enough to overwhelm the brilliant grey of his eyes.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Here’s your drink,” the bartender says to me. I reach for it over my shoulder blindly, my eyes trained on Lorenzo.

“Bring your drink with you,” he says to me, curling his fingers through mine. I love this slightly sweet, childish way he has of holding hands. It makes him feel like a real person to me, not a dangerous predatory threat that goes by the moniker of the Ghost.

I follow after him, being cautious not to spill my drink as we navigate across the busy dance floor. He tugs me after him into a dark hallway. As the door falls shut behind us, the thumping bass of the music quiets dramatically. I can hear the tapping of my heels on the floor and the clicking of his dress shoes as he walks ahead of me.

He’s so large that he fills up the hallway. I reflect that two of me could fit behind him. He isn’t a thickly muscled man, but despite being lean and elegant, he is quite strong and broad-shouldered. I love the contrast of his elegant silhouette combined with his clear strength. He’s full of competing characteristics, a man full of complexities and surprises.

He draws me into a room to our right and then tugs the door shut behind us. He locks it, and then turns to me. I realize I’m breathing rapidly as he lifts the drink out of my hand and places it on a nearby desk. The only light in the room is coming from the exit sign above our heads.

“ Tesoro ,” he says to me, his voice very soft. I have to strain to hear him. His fingers come up to lift my chin and when I meet his light grey eyes, they are communicating so much heat that I feel warmed as if by the sun. “You came to see me,” he says, as if this surprises him.

“I missed you,” I said, and it isn’t a lie. I reach down and cup his hardness, causing him to suck a breath in through his teeth. “And I missed this.”

He grins at me, before dipping his head to kiss me. I can’t explain why his kisses affect me so much. It feels like I’ve never been kissed before every time he brings his lips down on mine. Just the press of his lips on mine is so electric that I feel weak in the knees.

The kiss deepens, turning into a frenzied clash of lips and teeth as we struggle out of our clothes. I hear the sound of a seam ripping as he shoves my dress down my body, but I don’t care. I can buy a new dress.

Lorenzo presses me backward until I’m fetch up against a slick, cool wall. I glance behind me to see that my bare ass is pressed against a wall of windows that look down over the dancefloor.

We’re high enough up that it’s not likely that anyone will see us, but the thought of being exposed to everyone in the club is somehow intoxicating.

“Can they…” I start to ask, panting a little.

“See us?” he asks before dropping little nipping kisses down the column of my throat. “Yes, but no one ever looks up here. Does it bother you?” he inquires, stroking his long fingers through my wetness. “Thinking that they will see you with me?”

It should. It should make me feel dirty, exposed, and ashamed. I feel entirely, completely and thoroughly the opposite.

“No,” I say honestly, arching into his touch. I’m so wet that I feel a drop of moisture sliding down my thigh.

“Dirty girl,” he says, the words sounding like high praise falling from his lips. I giggle, spreading my legs farther apart, enjoying the way my high heels give him a better angle as he slips his fingers inside of me.

“You do something to me, Lorenzo,” I murmur to him as he finger-fucks me. I keen a little, feeling the pleasure already welling up within me, rushing out from my core.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” he says to me.

Suddenly, he flips me around and grabs my wrists. He presses my palms flat against the glass and leans against me. My breasts are pressed tightly against the wall and I have to turn my cheek to rest against the glass as he covers me with his body. The cold against my tight nipples feels amazing and a frisson of intense pleasure zings through me.

“Take a couple of steps back for me, Tesoro ,” he orders me.

I do so, wiggling my ass sexily, leaning forward slightly so that my heels stretch my long legs into a more pleasing shape. I hear him hum with pleasure just before he leans over me again, his warm skin and the tickling of his chest hair a pleasing contrast to the coldness of the glass against the front of my body.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks me, his voice dark, commanding, dangerous.

“Oh, God, yes,” I practically weep. I arch my lower back slightly, feeling desperate to be filled. I think of the size of him and I feel a swoop of dizziness at the thought of being impaled like this, when I can barely move. Even the act of fucking him feels dangerous, if only because he’s so big that it seems likely that he could tear me apart.

“Beg,” he orders me.

“Please,” I whimper quietly.

“Beg harder,” he demands harshly, pressing my hands more tightly against the glass. My wrists hurt under his tight grip, but the pain only adds to the pleasure that is curling through me.

“Please fuck me, Lorenzo,” I beg, not ashamed of how desperate I sound.

“You want me to fill you with this huge cock?” he asks me, practically growling through his teeth. He leans forward and bites the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Hard. I feel tears prickle in my eyes, but a sharp jolt of pleasure races from the bite to my pussy.

“Yes!” I cry out, feeling myself growing wetter and wetter.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, his voice rich with his pleasure.

There is a pause where the only thing I can hear is the distant thumping of the bass on the dance floor and the thunder of my heart in my ears.

Then suddenly, he impales me with his cock. The pain is abrupt, sudden and sharp, as my body tries to adjust to his girth. I gasp, and he holds still for a moment, giving me a chance to get used to him entering me from this angle.

“Lean back, beautiful girl,” he whispers to me and I do as he says, moaning as the change in position helps to ease the discomfort of his intrusion. He mutters in Italian, the sound beautiful and foreign to my ears. I feel him jolt forward, then force himself to go still in deference to my clear discomfort.

A few more beats pass and the pain recedes. Pleasure replaces the sting of invasion, and I start shimmying back and forth a little, ready for him to use me like he did last time.

“Oh, Tesoro ,” he groans as I move ever so slightly back and forth. “You have to stop moving unless you’re ready for me to have my fun.”

“Please fuck me, Lorenzo,” I moan, pressing my hot cheek to the cool window in front of me. “Do what you want with me. Use me.”

I feel the change in him, the unraveling that happens in response to my words. He’s still speaking in Italian, but the sound is rougher, more desperate as he starts to move within me. His hands move from my wrists to grip my hips with painful intensity.

He’s driving into me harder and harder, his thrusting jolting me forward and crushing my breasts against the glass in time with the onslaught. The pain is gone now and all I can feel is the delicious invasion as he fills me, stretches me and uses me hard.

I’m supposed to be tricking him into trusting me. I’m supposed to be using my body to make him give up his secrets to me, but I realize as he drives into me, tearing panting moans from my throat, that I’ve lost the thread of my goal.

All that matters is this pleasure that is tearing me apart from the inside out. All that matters is this man, who scares me, intrigues me, and gives me this earth-shattering pleasure every time I see him.