“What are you going to do about it?” Angie’s question caught me off guard.
“I’m taking it easy, but exercising a lot,” I turned away from the twins to grab a tissue for my nose. “Maybe in a few months I might put myself out there again.”
“That’s great, Papa, but I think Angie meant about this guy who got away,” Beppino came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. “What are you going to do about him?”
“I did,” Angie confirmed. “So, he got spooked and ran away. Do you still want to see him? Because the Giorgio Greco I know wouldn’t give up so easily.”
“It’s not so easy,” I protested. I didn’t give up on anything I put my mind to, but they didn’t know the whole picture.
“Do you not know his number, or his full name to look the guy up?” Angie challenged.
“Of course, I know how to contact him,” I turned around to face her, trying to think of some palatable reason I couldn’t contact Basil. “He’s half my age.”
Beppino shrugged, “Like I haven’t dated a man your age?”
“I do not want to know that,” I closed my eyes and scrubbed the image from my mind.
“Did this guy say age was an issue?” He asked. “Or name any deal breakers you can’t change?”
“No,” I shook my head. Basil hadn’t given a reason, only that he wanted to go home. “Nothing like that.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Angie smirked and eyed my clothes, “Except maybe a shower.”
“Brat,” Beppino teased his sister, “But I agree. Maybe a haircut too?”
I didn’t know what I’d do without my children, but I was ready to go see my boy.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
BASIL
With a little distancefrom my captivity, and too much time to think, I was fucking miserable. Whether from the knowledge I was as queer and kinky as the Boss, or because I missed George, I couldn’t know.
Probably both.
It reminded me of my time learning in the Orthodox Church as a child. I’d been led to the tree of knowledge and now I was cast out of the garden. In this case, I felt like Adam while George was the serpent, or maybe Eve, and the apple was knowing I liked dick.
They said knowledge was power, but I felt powerless. I liked the feeling, as much as I hated to admit it, when George held the key. Feeling powerless and alone was horrible.
Every time I had a few minutes where everything felt normal, the image of George’s hands on my body would push me back into the sensation of that moment. The feeling of his dick docking with mine, or how it felt when he filled me with his cum, claiming my body as his. I floated in those moments, until reality crept back in and it all came crashing down.
Stefan had tried to visit and bring me pastries from the Russian market, but I wasn’t eating much. Gregor told me I should see a therapist, admitting it had helped him. My upbringing said it was weak to whine about your problems to anyone, especially a shrink. When I realized I’d been staring at the same spreadsheet for over an hour without typing a thing, I wondered if I might actually consider his offer.
“Earth to Basil.” Gregor waved a hand in front of my face. I blinked up at him and looked around.
We were in the family-owned bar, and the others had been discussing marketing while I looked over the financials. They were solid, thanks in part to Gregor’s management, and I was supposed to contribute something… Right, budget.
“The money is there for a more concentrated marketing campaign,” I provided, rubbing at my tired eyes. I also hadn’t been sleeping well. “We could try integrating it.”
When no one replied, I looked around at them. Maksim was leaning against a table by Felix, who sat in a high-backed chair that reminded me of a throne. When had they gotten the seat from the VIP section? They narrowed their eyes at me, looking around at the others. Gregor and Stefan were there, as well as a few second cousins who were bouncers and bartenders at the club. They all blinked at me.
“What?”
“We moved on from marketing half an hour ago,” Stefan explained in Russian, though not unkindly. Almost everyone who worked there spoke Russian, and the ones who didn’t were non-family. “Are you alright, Vasil’yev?”
“Da, why?” I answered without letting myself think too hard about how I really was, or how I hated being called ‘son-of Vasily’ in Russian.
“You are not good,” Maksim stated, though he rarely spoke up.
