A sarcastic smile graced Des's face. "He's busy tonight."
"Not with another lover, I hope."
Des didn't respond to that. He didn't doubt Othello's affection for him, and although he might be a fool in love, he was certain Othello wouldn't cheat on him.
"Okay then, I'll be on my way."
"I'm sorry," Ricci said before Des could make another move.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"For what I just said. It wasn't called for."
"No, it wasn't." Des sighed. "Look, I don't give a fuck what the beef is between you and Othello, but it has nothing to do with me."
"You're right. It doesn't." Ricci chuckled. "I like you. And I can see why Moor is drawn to you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, extending it toward Des. "I'd like it if we become friends. Word on the street is that you're looking for investors for your art studio. I'd like to lend a hand."
Since being with Othello, Des had learned a few things about business. It was better to ask other, more influential people to give him money for projects than to spend his own. So, he saw nothing wrong with taking the business card.
"I also heard you do commission work," Ricci said before Des could tuck the card away.
"You certainly heard a lot."
Ricci grinned. "I like to do my research. Do you have time to talk? I want to hire you to do a painting as a gift to my brother."
"I hope you aren't looking for anything too difficult. I'm still new at this," Des clarified.
"No," Ricci said, licking his lips. "I'm sure you'll be able to handle anything I require. So, are you free so we could grab a meal while we discuss business?"
Seeing that Othello would be busy for a few days and that it was work, Des didn't think it would be a problem to meet with a potential client and investor.
"Sure, where to?"
"Follow me; I know a quaint Italian restaurant that serves the perfect chicken parmesan that makes you want to kiss your own mama."
"Okay." Des watched Ricci return to his car. The driver waited for Des to put his helmet back on and rev his engine before he drove off with Des following behind him. On the ride to the restaurant, something felt off, but with the need to prove something to himself, he ignored the feeling.
Othello sat lazilyin the chair with one leg crossed over the other, smiling as he scanned through his cellphone, looking for a gift for Des. He was utterly unfazed by the sound of a fist meeting flesh or Falcon's painful groans. Falcon was indeed the idiot Othello thought him to be.
Thinking Othello was dead, he'd left his compound unguarded outside, with only a few men inside with him. It made it easy for Othello and his men to enter his home, capture Falcon, and kill the soldiers with him.
They had taken him to The Pen, where he was stripped and strung up by chains, hanging from the ceilings by his arms and with his toes barely touching the ground. Othello didn't need to give the order; his men proceeded to beat him until he decided to talk.
"Aren't you going to say something, Moor!" Falcon shouted between punches.
Without lifting his eyes off the phone screen since a watch caught his eye, he asked, "Are you ready to talk?" Othello clicked on the purchase, not batting an eye at the price. He was formulating the perfect moment to give the gift to Des. It had been a while since he had wined and dined his lover.
Maybe I should take a quick trip?
"Moor, you fucking asshole, call off your fucking dogs and look at me," Falcon shouted.
Othello sighed and waved a hand as he raised his gaze, looking at a bloody Falcon. "You have my attention."
"I didn't want to do it," Falcon said. "I'm serious, but it was too good to pass up."
"Tell me who your contact was," Othello said.
"I don't know," Falcon responded instantly. "Everything was done via text. They kept things short but told me of your every movement."
