What would Valentin do?
He’d say something sharp to Gio, take him into his dungeon, and strap him to that examining table with his feet in the stirrups, then milk him until he was a sniveling, bawling mess. He might make him eat his dinner on the floor like a dog, too. And after they’d sorted out their differences and were on good terms again, Valentin would whip the snot out of him until Gio begged for mercy.
None of that appeals to me.
I stand there for a few minutes with Anthony, waiting to see if Giovanni will join us, but he doesn’t. Of course not. He wants to be pursued, to be compelled. Once I’ve gotten control of my temper, I stride over to the table. Gio is spoiling for a fight, but I have learned it is better to be strategic. Everyone quiets at my approach. My large, looming presence casts a shadow over their good times.
“Giovanni,” I say evenly because I want to give him the opportunity to be good. “I’m back.”
“So you are,” he says like a prince to a pauper and takes a sip of whatever he’s drinking. “Meet any interesting people while you were away?”
“Not many. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. I’m here to take you home.”
He pivots to his friends and motions to me with an elegant turn of his wrist. “You all know my Uncle Silvio.”
“I’m not your uncle,” I remind him curtly.
“Close enough.”
“So many uncles,” Paolo chimes in with a smug little smirk. The liquor must have made him bold. I shoot him a look that I hope shrivels his balls, and he is suddenly fascinated by the contents of his glass.
“You want to make this hard?” I ask Giovanni.
“You know I don’t like to make things easy.”
I am tempted, so very tempted, to scoop him up into my arms and extract the bitterness from his bones like squeezing the pit from an olive, but instead of doing that, I say to him, “You were very patient to wait for me in my absence, so I will do the same. Whenever you’re ready.” I stand there unmoving, extinguishing their fun, lively vibe. I make it awkward.
“Don’t you want me to introduce you to myfriends?” he asks then goes around the table, rattling off names that don’t register because I have tunnel vision for him alone. “And you know Paolo already,” he says, goading me to react.
“I have not forgotten Paolo,” I say darkly. Paolo’s eyes flick up very briefly to meet mine.
Gio sighs, swallows back the last of his drink, and stands, pulls out his wallet and drops a couple hundred euro on the table. “I gotta go. Next round’s on me.” He blows kisses to the group, and I expect him to join me where I stand, but he strides right past me and saunters out of the bar.
“Paolo,” I say gruffly, and the man’s head snaps up. “A word, please?”
I step away from the table and Paolo follows, hanging his head. “Paolo, do you know the extent of my feelings for Giovanni?”
“Uh, no, I guess not.”
I nod. “I didn’t think so. I could fill a book with my feelings for that young man, but to be brief, I would die for Giovanni. More important, Paolo, I wouldkillfor him. Do you understand?”
“Ye-yes, sir.”
“I seem to recall us being in a similar situation before, where I told you what would happen to you if you so much as look at him, and here you are buying him drinks, making conversation, entertaining illicit thoughts about him in your head.”
“I’m not… I’m not that way.”
“You must not have understood me the first time, Paolo, or you forgot. So, tell me, what are your feelings for Giovanni?”
“He’s fine, I guess.”
“Do you find him attractive?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’m not in love with him or anything.”
“Do you want to fuck him?”
“No, sir. Definitely not.”
