“Anthony. And your car is not so discreet.”
Fucking Anthony picks today of all days to do his goddamned job? Sir’s furious gaze sweeps the room and lands on Paolo, who hops up and attempts to hide the needle as if it isn’t obvious what we’re about to do. Sir holds out his hand and Paolo places it carefully in his palm. Sir depresses the plunger so that my fix goes into the trash, then tosses the needle in after.
“May I have a word in private with Giovanni?” Sir growls in a tone that conveys he is not fucking around.
“Yeah, sure,” Paolo says while scrambling to collect his shit.
On his way out the door, Sir says, “If you ever speak or even look at him again, I will drown you and make it look like an accident.”
Paolo nods and doesn’t glance back at us on his way out. I unknot the tube and toss that into the trash as well.
“Giovanni,” Sir says with a mixture of disappointment and remorse.
“Fuck off.” I lean back in the chair with my arms crossed and stare up at him coldly. He’s right there in front of me, and I feel nothing but anger and spite.
“How would your Master feel to know that as soon as he tells you the news, you go running back to your old ways?”
“He didn’t tell me. And I imagine he’d feel as shitty as I do right now.” After all, that’s the point.
“You would hurt yourself just to hurt him?”
“Yes.”
“This is not a virtue of a slave.”
“Well, now who sounds brainwashed,Silvio?” I spit his name like a curse, too angry to use his honorific.
“Giovanni, I was ignorant. I’ve apologized for this already. Do not punish your Master in this way. Talk to him. Let him explain his reasons.”
He almost gets me there, but I’m siding with the demons on this one. “You are just as guilty. Keeping his secrets, playing his games. Were you two going to tell me his blood sugar was low when he could no longer walk or speak? Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“We know you’re not stupid.”
“Well, that’s how I feel. You took advantage of my trust and you betrayed me, and I hate you both for it.”
And Master is leaving me.
Sir squats between my knees and lays his head in my lap. His arms wrap around my waist in his clumsy attempt to hug me, dragging me closer to him. “I’m sorry, Giovanni. It was wrong of us to do, but your Master did have a plan to tell you. And soon.”
“When?”
“When he felt like I could properly take care of you.”
“By tying me up?”
“By giving you what you need.”
I shake my head. Fucking Master, who I’ve let orchestrate my entire life these past few years, thought he could control this too. “When did he tell you?”
“That day you were wearing the gag and I got upset. He said I must be patient and that he had a plan.”
Master’s plan is at once so simple and so insulting. He knew he was sick. He knew that a weak don was a dead don, so he brought me here to his brother to be babysat while he handed off the family business. No wonder he pushed for the two of us to bond. Because he knew his time was running out.
“He wanted you to be cared for,” Silvio says.
“I know,” I say with misery and self-loathing because if I were stronger—more mentally stable—he wouldn’t have felt the need to lie.
“I didn’t know his intentions at the beginning. I didn’t mean to love you, Giovanni, but I do. Please don’t punish us in this way.”
