I move through the dimly lit corridor into my private space. The lighting in my wing is motion-activated, but I keep it soft and sparse. My brothers often describe it as a dungeon, but it serves a purpose.
When I came back to the island at nineteen, my mother thought it might cheer me up if she redecorated. Then she realized how little she had to work with. My eyes had become sensitive to light, and at the time, I had almost daily migraines. Out of necessity, the walls were painted a dark matte gray, and blackout shades were installed on every window.
My father called it the perfect retreat, but he’d really meant a perfect cage.
He’d named each wing for the qualities his descendants possessed, and mine wasIl Lupo, The Wolf.
Loyal, territorial, and lethal.
He told me a wolf’s bonds run deep. They fight to the death for their pack, and when they mate, they mate for life. He said it would always be my nature, but the best thing I could do for myself—and Gabi—was learn to deny it.
For years, I have. But like any primal urge, the hunger pangs never really went away. I’d suppressed them until starvation gnawed at my self-control. Then, like any beast, I started to think, what would one little taste hurt?
I decided I could check up on her once…just to see what her life in Seattle was like.
Once turned into a few dozen times, and it snowballed from there. Every detail fed the need to know more, and soon, it became an obsession.
Watching her from the shadows wasn’t enough. I needed a live feed, and because I wasn’t burdened with moral ambiguity, I indulged myself.
I swore it was as close as I’d ever get to her, but that was a lie.
When I saw her lurking on Discord, she opened the door for me to walk back into her life anonymously.
Talking to her every day had become a bad habit, and I tried to break myself of it more times than I could count. But I never factored in that I’d require the willpower of a saint when she sat on my lap and practically begged me to fuck her.
Now, I know how she tastes, and I can’t erase that from my mind.
As I enter my suite, the sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor behind me.
“Didn’t take you long,” I call over my shoulder.
Angelo follows me into my room, staring me down as I recline in my office chair.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
I reach for the Rubik’s Cube on my desk and scramble it, just to start arranging the pieces again. “I’ve been busy.”
“Clearly,” he clips out. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?”
“It’s called orientation and permutation.” I solve the cube in under fifteen seconds, bored with the toy and this conversation.
“I’m not talking about whatever fuckery you’re doing with that thing.”
“It’s not fuckery. It’s pattern recognition.”
He scrubs a hand over his face like I’m terminally exhausting him. “Romeo, why the fuck are you interfering in Gabi’s life?”
I rock back in my chair, stretching my arms behind my head. “Your men didn’t tell you?”
He hesitates for a second, caught off guard. “You know?”
“Of course I know.” I yank open my desk drawer. “You can call off your dogs. And while you’re at it, you can tell your hacker to go back to daycare.”
Angelo glances at the casualties—trackers, cameras, microphones, drones, and melted SIM cards. “So I take it that was you fucking with them when you were sending them on wild goose chases all over the city?”
“For a while.” I shrug. “Until it got boring.”
He shakes his head and sighs. “I wouldn’t have you followed if you just told me what you were doing.”
