After a few hoursof reflection and a couple of stiff drinks, I decide to make Giovanni write sentences,I will not lie to my Sir or endanger myself knowingly while in a scene,500 times. I also restrict him from using his phone for a week. He loses the privilege of sucking my cock and isn’t allowed an orgasm for the same length of time. Suspension is off the table until I know for certain he can be trusted. All of this he accepts with a dignified solemnity. The next day, when he presents me with his written sentences, I want to give back all of his privileges right away, but I know that I cannot.
“I hate having to be so firm with you, princess,” I tell him as I stroke along his cheek. We’re in my office during one of my breaks from work, and I’ve pulled him into my lap for a cuddle and a kiss.
“I was bad, and I need to be punished. You’re doing what any good Dom would do by holding me accountable to my actions.”
“Did you talk to Rebekah about it?” The one exception to the no-phone rule is for his therapy appointment, which was this morning.
“I did. She told me what I did was wrong, in her own clinical, nonjudgmental way.”
“And do you understand why?”
“I was undermining your ability to take care of me. And I lied.”
I nod. “And you scared me, sweetheart. It’s not that you were visiting your Master, it’s that you were risking your health and safety to do it, while making me an accomplice. I don’t want you to ever put me in that position again.”
“I won’t, Sir, I promise. I’m really,reallysorry.”
“I forgive you.”
He clasps one of my hands in his, rubbing his fingertips along my hairy knuckles. “We also talked about you.”
“What about me?” I ask, sitting up straighter.
“Rebekah asked me if you might have some unresolved anger toward Master.” Giovanni peers up at me. “So, do you?”
“I might,” I say guardedly.
“She says that I should be patient with you and give you time to grieve, but I think you should work it out with Master.”
Giovanni is a smart man, far more intelligent than me in many ways. I take his advice seriously. “What do you say to him, when you see him?”
His gaze flickers to mine, cautious. “That I love him. That I miss him. He tells me that he misses me too, that he’s proud of me, that he hopes I’m doing well. He tells me that he’s sorry for leaving me.”
Are these my brother’s true sentiments or simply the things Giovanni tells himself to feel better? “Do you ever talk about me?” I ask.
“He asks about you. He says he cannot reach you, that you have shut him out.”
Giovanni’s expression is neutral, purposefully so. Is he manipulating me, or is this his truth?
“But everyone processes grief differently,” he goes on to say. “You may believe I’m in denial when I say that I talk to Master, but I believe I am closer to acceptance. Anyway, I think you should visit him. He misses you.”
Giovanni climbs off my lap and kisses my cheek before leaving my office, giving me something to ponder long after he’s gone.
I havea standing dinner appointment with Leandro during the weeks when I am in Napoli for work, at a café that is midway between our residences and within walking distance. The wine list is good, and the bread is fresh.
I’m strolling through the bustling streets, lost in my own thoughts, when I notice a voicemail from my administrative assistant at the plant. Her message is peculiar. An Efisio Esposito is trying to reach me, she says. He wishes to discuss an important matter about Giovanni. She includes his number in case I’d like to call him back. I add Efisio to my contacts and call him directly.
“This is Silvio Fortuna,” I say briskly to the young man who answers.
“Ah, yes. Thank you for calling me back,SignorFortuna. I’m not sure how to go about saying this, so I’ll just get to my point directly.”
“I’m listening,” I say.
“I think it’s selfish and small-minded that you won’t allow Giovanni to enroll in school. He’s a brilliant young man who would be a welcome addition to our department and preventing him from achieving academic success goes against every tenet of the Socratic Society. It’s a terribly archaic way of thinking.”
It takes me a moment to process his accusation. Once I’ve caught onto what I believe is going on, I venture to say, “May I ask, what did Giovanni tell you?”
“He said that you prefer he not leave the island or even the villa. We’ve begged him to come back to all manner of Socratic events, and he’s had to decline every single one. And now he won’t even return my texts. Why, you have him trapped there like a princess in a tower, friendless and all alone. There is a name for what you are doing to him,Signore. It’s called abuse.”
