“If what?”
“If you weren’t born into this family?” I asked. “Like where would you be?”
He was quiet for a moment, staring into my eyes as I stared back into his.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get an answer. His brother, Tomaso, barged into the office. I jumped up out of DaddySanto’s lap, immediately going off into a spiel about something business related. I had a lot of practice pretending to do something when I was caught—usually by my mom in the bedroom I hadn’t been allowed a lock on—and her love for barging in.
8. SANTO
Of course Tomaso would come in and ruin the mood. He walked toward us with a big grin on his face. “I see you haven’t been able to resist him, then,” he said, but I was unsure which one of us he was supposed to be talking to.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, glancing into Isaiah’s big wide submissive eyes. He was leaning over the desk slightly, facing the monitor. “We’re working.”
He wiggled his brows. “‘I’m sure you are,” he said. “I heard you were going to Mom’s later.”
“Yeah, she’s made lasagna. The gravy she’s been making has been going for days,” I said. “Or something like that. I’d never refuse it. Plus, I wanna introduce her to Isaiah.”
Isaiah now stood slightly as if he’d been addressed.
“That’s good,” he said. “Tell her I won’t be there.”
“Oh no, I’m not being your fucking messenger,” I said.
“You know the saying,” he said, holding his hands up as he took a step backward. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“No, what’s so important?” I asked. “And why can’t you call her yourself?”
It was typical for Tomaso to do something stupid like miss one of Mom’s meals, especially when she’d called around asking for us all to be there. Part of me wondered if now was the right time to introduce Isaiah. He’d been my assistant for over a week. Now, he knew how most of the sausage was made—plus, I’d given him the stuffing of a lifetime. I was serious about him.
Chasing Tomaso was futile, I’d get the gossip from Camille, assuming he’d told her. She was pretty good at getting intel out of folks. I closed the door after him, and walked back to Isaiah, his eyes fixed on me.
“I know you’re nervous,” I said, reading him like the cartoon book we’d enjoyed in bed together. “You don’t have to be nervous.” Coming around the desk, I grabbed the small cushion from the floor and placed it on my chair. “Sit here, and look through things, but don’t take any notes or pictures.” I wasn’t going to tell him the consequences for that—it would only make him more nervous.
I’d decided on the seconds of walking. I wanted to know why Tomaso was being sketchy, so I went looking for him, but as I reached the elevator, it dinged with the arrival of Camille. She had a big smile on her face, the type that told me she had intel and she was going to spill it.
“He’s got a date,” she said.
“Fuck.” The one thing I’d told him not to do. “He’s sadistic.”
“Well, he hasn’t killed anyone he’s fucked, so that’s a win.”
“When we were kids, he was the kid who caught rabbits and dissected them.”
She shuddered. “And then my dad skinned them, and your mom made the stew.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I said. “Will you be at my mom’s place tonight?”
“No, no, I’ve got dinner plans with some financier from New York,” she said. “He’s the one thinking about investing in the new build—you know, the one for the dockyard.”
“This is what I love. Initiative. Not going out, fucking twinks, and leaving them with years of therapy,” I said, almost biting my tongue. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I was the same as him—except the pain I gave my twinks came through their tight asses. His pleasure came through piercing them, often bruising and spanking them, and a lot of ropes.
“He’ll mature, eventually,” she snorted. “You seem to be... a little calmer.”
I looked her up and down. “Yeah, well, my mom’s worried about my levels since I took over.”
Camille patted me on the shoulder. “Is it true, then?” she asked in a whisper. “Is this assistant the one? He doesn’t look like you’ve made him want to quit, and you two were... close.”
I tutted. “That’s how rumors start.”
