> She’s not your girlfriend, fuckface.
I spendthe entirety of the forty-five-minute trip to the city thinking up new ways to fuck with Riccardo.
I’d rather saw off both testicles with a blunt knife than let him near Gabi. On a related note, I shouldn’t be near her either. If anything, today only proved that I can’t trust myself with her. Logically, I shouldn’t even be here after what happened. But I’ve reasoned that my failsafe will be enough to let me indulge this fucked up fantasy for a while longer. Julian has explicit instructions to put me down permanently if I ever lose my shit when I’m alone with her.
I haven’t had an episode since the night I interfered with Imperium’s plans for Gabi, and only by some stroke of luck wasI able to bring myself out of it before I touched her. Today, all it took was Riccardo getting near her to send me over the edge. If Angelo hadn’t stepped in, I probably would have painted the ballroom floor with his blood.
I can’t keep her for myself. But I’m also certain I’ll have to murder every other marriage prospect her stepfather tries to arrange.
It grates on me that Michael allowed this clusterfuck of an engagement to happen in the first place.
So with that thought in mind, I rifle through my stash of dirty little secrets and fuck up his week, too.
A minute later, Gabi’s sperm receptacle of a mother receives a string of anonymous photos, letting her know that her husband has been fucking his sidepiece at the club every night.
It’s not a fatal shot, which is what Michael really deserves, but it’s enough to make his life uncomfortable for a while.
When I’m done with that, I move on to Riccardo. Everything I’ve done to fuck with him so far has been a temporary fix for the homicidal rage I’ve had since he made an offer for Gabi. It isn’t enough, and if Angelo doesn’t secure this fucking deal with the senator soon, I might have to implode his plans. I doubt Emilio would still be amenable to helping us curry favor with the senator if I brutally murder his son. But at this point, I don’t really care.
I scroll through Riccardo’s search history over the past few days, noting it’s even more pathetic than usual.
How to tell if a woman’s faking it.
Why won’t women come when I fuck them?
How to be the alpha male in the room.
Testosterone supplements.
How to tell if a paid escort really likes you.
Alpha male workout routine.
I screenshotthat for more ammunition later, then make another large transfer to Jasmine and Honey with instructions for tomorrow night.
Riccardo is hosting a networking summit, and it will be the perfect opportunity for a public scene in front of his investors. While most of them have their own skeletons, they prefer to keep them in the closet. It isn’t a good look to have two sex workers calling you out at a business event about money owed for services rendered.
I have ample leverage on Riccardo from the last month alone, and I’ve seen enough of his micro-dick to last me a lifetime. It’s time to give him a cold, hard reality check. Even the women he pays can’t pretend to like him.
Next week, I’ll send those pictures to his parents, right about the time I start leaking evidence of his scams to his already shaky investors. And until he backs off from what doesn’t belong to him, I will continue systematically destroying his life.
I hear Gabi arrive at the penthouse, and I give her some time to get settled in. She goes to her studio to finish up some work before classes tomorrow.
When Julian texts me to let me know he’s going to bed, I give him a heads-up that if he hears Gabi screaming tonight, it’s not because I’m murdering her. Then I sit and wait for her in the dark.
Her room smells like her, and it gets me hard just thinking of all the ways I want to defile her. For years, my imagination supplied countless ideas of the ways I’d fuck her if I could. But nothing could compare to the real thing. Now, knowing I’m theonly one who’s ever been inside her is fucking with my mind. The animal in me keeps whispering…more.
Take everything.
Claim her.
Make her yours.
Today, that voice was louder than it’s ever been. Seeing her in that little black skirt and tights, pressing her against me and watching her blush—it took every ounce of restraint I had not to drag her into my dungeon so I could fuck her until my cock gave out.
Gabi isn’t ready for that yet. Not as Romeo. She made that abundantly clear today when I tried to be nice to her. It freaked her out so much, she dragged Eros into the conversation to use as a buffer.
I can’t say that I blame her. I’ve been a world-class dick to her for so many years, her wrath is the least that I deserve. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about being buried deep inside her, unmasked, as she cries outmyname.
