Enzo gasped, his eyes rolling as the smooth yet firm pressure of our cocks rubbed against each other. I wrapped my fist around both our dicks, and he slammed his hand against the mirror behind my head, then glanced down between us, watching with fascination as I glided my hand up and down, pleasuring us both, rubbing and teasing. Each stroke sent him further out of his mind, his breath quickening and his hips rolling to gain more friction. I grabbed his other hand and guided it to our dicks so we could both feel how fucking good we were together. I locked my hand over his, adding more perfect pressure and tightness.
“Dio mio,”he moaned as I rubbed my thumb over the heads of our cocks, sending him to the edge.
I watched his perfection shatter before my eyes like a mirror cracking. How his face tensed, his body trembled and bucked as white ropes of cum landed on my abs. It was messy, it was beautiful, and the sight of him losing control was my undoing. I grunted his name as I came, mixing my cum with his between us, and grabbed the nape of his neck, pulling his forehead to mine. He watched me with awe and hunger until the orgasm subsided, and we were left panting, coming down from the intensity that burned between us, leaving only the truth.
“Cazzo,” he whispered.
Yeah. Fuck. We were both screwed.
Chapter seven
Present Day
Istared unblinking at the deep dent in my pine desk, my finger tracing the rough edges of a dark memory. This used to be mypapi’sdesk. When I became boss twelve years ago, I redecorated and got rid of nearly everything he owned, except this bloody desk. Why? I wasn’t sure I could explain it, let alone understand it. Deep down, had I harboured some sort of unconditional love for the man? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think so. The man made damn sure he was unlovable. Was I sentimental? No. It wasn’t that either. It was… a reminder. The presence of Francesco Aiani’s shadow was in every decision I made. He’d raised me with an iron fist and cruelty. I’d been an awkward, shy kid. I wasn’t the heir he wanted or expected. I didn’t have the same ambition or bloodthirst he had.
Francesco wasn’t a complicated man, nor was he easy to please. Far from it, he saw the world through violent eyes and a blackened heart. It didn’t matter that at four I wanted to play outside and catch butterflies in jars. That made me weak. It didn’t matter that at eight I preferred building with LEGO rather than learning to shoot. That made me pathetic. If I cried when he hit Mamma or climbed into my sister’s bed because I was scared, I was a disappointment. If he’d found out I liked boys too… I’d be dead. Plain and simple. So I had to become someone he wanted me to be, at least on the outside.
Cami did too. She had the surgery he demanded, wore the short dresses he chose, kept her mouth shut, and fluttered her eyelashes at the men he paraded her in front of, dying inside each time, but that was her way of surviving. My survival was to hide who I was and become someone I didn’t want to be. To live in the skin of another until I no longer knew who I really was. Was I the man mypapihad created, or the little boy who still longed to chase butterflies? Or both? Had I ever truly known?
This desk. This mark was from when he’d slammed my hand down and driven a blade through it, crucifying me to the wood because he’d checked my internet history and seen I’d asked whether people can like both boys and girls. I was twelve, confused, curious, and trying to figure myself out. That quickly ended. No, was his answer. Liking the same sex was a disease, an illness—unnatural and for weak-minded people. People like that… they didn’t last in our world. They get snuffed out. Did I want to be snuffed out? I remembered the tears racing down my face as I shook my head furiously. He made sure to leave a long, ugly scar on my right hand, telling me that if I ever touched my cock while thinking of a man, he’d know. That scar would tell him. And he’d kill me. It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact. One that became a constant in my head for the rest of my life.
And then he died. But the scar was still there. The deep, angry dent remained in this desk, reminding me: you can never truly be who you are.
Fuck. That.
I looked up at the four faces in front of me, all uncertain as to why the hell I’d called them into my office. Giovanni Buccini, my mentor and the closest thing I had to a friend; my sister, Cami, and her saviour and husband, Maximus Buccini; and my underboss and second cousin, Teron.
The back of my white shirt stuck to my back with sweat, the nervous energy unable to stay contained. The roaring pulse in my ears was so deafening that I barely heard Teron’s voice asking what was going on.
My mouth was dry. Bile rose in my throat faster than the words stuck behind it. The room seemed to close in, the walls warping and shifting. But I pushed everything aside. That was fear. Fear was a choice. I had worked tirelessly to control it so it wouldn’t dominate my life anymore. That was always the goal. To reach this point. This moment. This day.
My sister’s blue eyes glistened with concern as she frowned. “Enzo?”
“I’m…” My gaze flicked along their faces. “I’m attracted to men. Always have been. I don’t want to hide it anymore. I can’t.”
There was a beat of silence. Then another. My world tilted, spinning around me as I desperately searched for one item in the room that wasn’t swaying.
“Okay.”
Someone had spoken. I wasn’t sure who it was. I closed my eyes, trying to swallow the sandpaper in my throat.
“I’m attracted to women, too. But I… I prefer men.”
I wanted to mention one man in particular, but I didn’t. My voice wasn’t my own, but the words were. Words that had been suppressed for nearly thirty years. They were finally outthere. The world would finally know. And guess what? It was still turning. It hadn’t imploded with my confession. Not yet, anyway.
“Okay.”
There was that word again. I forced my eyes open to see my sister crying silently, her fingers pressed to her lips as she stared at me with… relief? Admiration? Love? Maximus was smiling—just sitting there, smiling. Teron caught my eye and gave me a firm nod; a small twist of his lips showed his acceptance. But it was Giovanni who had been speaking.Okay.He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked deep into my eyes. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t.
“Thank you for telling us,” Gio said, steady and calm. “I imagine that took serious guts, Aiani. I know it changes everything.” He paused, letting the words hang. Yeah, it changed my whole life. “But… it also changes nothing. Not for the people in this room.”
My shoulders sagged, and I exhaled a long, shaky breath. Suddenly, arms wrapped around my neck, and my head was pressed against my sister’s chest. She kissed the top of my head, just as she used to when I was her baby brother, curled up on her lap during one of ourpapi’soutbursts. For a second, I was five again, not thirty-one.
“I am so proud of you, Enzo,” she whispered, and I held onto her, allowing her love to slip through the hard shell. “You’re free.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, and I pressed the heels of my hands to them, forcing them back. I was free. She knew. I was free of the shame. Free of guilt. Free of Francesco. Free to be me.
Next came Maximus’s bear hug, then Giovanni’s shoulder squeeze. Teron slapped me on the back before shaking my hand. We had never been close, but I trusted him more than anyone else left in my family.
