Giovanni looks to me for guidance.
“Parlami,” I tell him.Talk to me.
“I shouldn’t have said anything at all,” he says to me in Italian, beginning to spiral. “Now they want something from me.”
I take his hand and smooth my fingers over his knuckles. “They don’t want anything from you, sweetheart. They’re just interested to know more about you and your career goals. Take a few deep breaths and relax. What is it thatyouwant?”
“I want to live in your penthouse and be your boy.”
I would argue those goals might change or at least broaden over time, but that is a conversation for later.
“Then tell them that.”
Giovanni turns back to the group, who have been watching our exchange with interest. “This boy wishes only to please his Sir, sexually or otherwise.”
“But what about your studies?” Simeon asks, still suspicious of Giovanni’s intent.
“All of my scholarly pursuits are to make me a better companion for my Sir and to offer him stimulating conversation when he arrives home from work.”
That’s not theonlyreason for his studies, not by a long shot. Even still, their silence is profound. My friends see potential in everything. Like me, they are business owners and entrepreneurs, men who build empires, and when they spot talent, they feel an intense desire to cultivate, mentor, and raise it up.
“So, you speak Italian,” Rupert says, to fill the awkward silence. “Any other languages?”
“French,” Giovanni says. He speaks Russian too, which he learned from his mother, but he seldom mentions it because of his bad associations.
“And he’s teaching himself Latin and Greek,” I add with pride. I wrap my arm around his waist and draw him nearer. “Giovanni is an accomplished musician, a scholar of the classics, and my own very special boy. These commitments take up all of his time right now and for the foreseeable future.”
This is my not-so-subtle hint to ease up. Giovanni offers me a grateful smile and like the wind, conversation shifts again. But in the back of my mind, I wonder if I’m doing right by hiding him away. Am I helping him to heal or am I providing him an easy escape?
We don’t goonto the beach, partly because my security protocol won’t allow it. Instead, we elect to swim offshore. My stamina is pretty good since I’ve begun swimming laps alongside Giovanni on my days off, but even still, my athleticism is nothing compared to his. We have another round of drinks on the lower deck while he remains in the water, swimming back-and-forth between the boat and the buoy that marks the anchor.
“He’s like a merman,” Rupert comments.
“He has a lot of energy to burn,” I say.
Simeon raises one eyebrow at me. “How do you manage such a young buck?”
“Creativity and a shit-ton of Viagra.”
Rupert, who’s also quite a bit younger than Johann, cackles at this. “I think he’s delightful, Valentin. I just want to take him to brunch and introduce him to all my friends.”
I know for certain Giovanni would hate that.
“Maybe someday down the road, Rupert.”
“Is he after your money?” Simeon asks, a bold assumption. He’s still looking for Giovanni’s angle.
“I doubt it. He’s independently wealthy due to a generous inheritance.” This at least gives him something to mull over.
“And how does he feel about your work?” Simeon persists.
My friends know what I do, but I keep the more criminal elements of the Aponte family business separate from my social circles. “He was raised in the life. His father and grandfather were made men before they passed.” Giovanni’s father was murdered by a rival family when Giovanni was seven. I took care of avenging his death too.
“That’s quite a coincidence. And he’s gay?” Simeon asks. His questions all point in one way or another to the potential cracks in our foundation.
“I truthfully don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” he asks, astonished.
