Tomaso gave me a look. It was like the one Santo had been giving me—hungry. It stirred in my stomach, mixed with all the breakfast I’d crammed down. I brushed it off, I had to make notes, and that was all I was going to do until told otherwise. I needed this job. Even if it didn’t give me everything I wanted, at least it was giving me something to add to my resume.
They talked about relationships, who each other was screwing, and I was made to write it all down, discovering that all three of the brothers had or were having relations with other men. At first I assumed they were fucking with me, and I almost wished one of them would. I gulped at the dryness in my throat. Tomaso seemed like the most dangerous of the three, but Rocco looked like someone who could squeeze the life right out of you, and then there was Santo, my boss,theboss. I felt like Goldilocks, eye-fucking each of them until I came upon Santo again. He looked like he would welcome my little side—my stuffies, my onesies, my playtimes.
“Get a new supplier for the alcohol in here,” Santo said, taking a clear liquid from the counter. “The vodka is... cheap.”
The woman behind the bar scoffed. “That was mine,” she let out. “Don’t worry, sir. I never drink or give the good stuff out to just anyone.”
Tomaso gripped Santo by the shoulders, laughing. “Yeah, that was Lorna’s. Brother, we have the good stuff here,” he said. “Now, what else have you got on for the day?” He glanced at me. “Or should I ask your little scribe?”
I had his schedule, but it was in my briefcase. I gulped hard again. Santo took over, telling his brother it didn’t matter where I was going because he wasn’t going to be there. He then turned to me and nodded, signaling to the door. I knew signals well, and that was our nod to leave.
Scrambling to grab my briefcase, I rushed to open the door for him on the way out. And then, as the driver opened his car door, he climbed in and shook his head.
“Deal with whatever is happening on your phone,” he said. “Then come to my apartment. Bring a change of clothes. Something you’recomfortablein, or if not, I’ll have clothes for you.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He half smiled at me. “I think Iknowjust what you are, Isaiah,” he said. “And I’d be happy to be proven wrong, but I don’t like to be wrong.” His lips turned stern, and he looked away as the driver closed the door for him.
On the sidewalk, I waited for the car to leave, my chest swelling with deep breaths. I sucked back tears and nodded slowly to myself in thought, the sound of gulls in the air and perching on the roof of the building. I could’ve walked straight in either direction—three blocks over, each side was sandwiched by parks. I didn’t know how long Santo was giving me, but I needed to walk, to clear my mind, and to tell my mom I couldn’t keep helping her. I could barely help myself. It hurt. I never wanted to say no to her. I’d always imagined one day becominga millionaire, and buying a house with another house for her beside it—at least, that’s what we daydreamed about together, though I’d known for a while, even then, she was just sinking her teeth into me so I’d give her money. What made it worse was the debt she’d already gotten me into with fraudulent credit cards in my name.
Fuck. I was crying. I had to keep walking to stop myself, to stop the thoughts.
It didn’t help.
4. SANTO
He was in pain; it was obvious to anyone looking. He had very little control over the way his face appeared. He’d be awful at poker. And I was becoming attached to him, but it was strange to feel this type of attachment. He was great at taking notes, staying quiet, nodding at my points and not at my brothers’. He had my back—although not the position I’d put him in.
I’d been around, I’d seen everything there had to be seen. The downright dirty and depraved things the world had to offer, I’d been witness to them all. And Isaiah wasn’t that, he was somehow untouched and pure. My fingers burned with the need to touch him, the way I had in the car, on the knee, squeezing just right in the way that begged the question about whether he wanted me.
My apartment was a penthouse overlooking the Boston Common, it’s where I spent most of my time. The family construction company had built most of the apartment building, with the help of some outside contractors. I think we owned fifty-one percent of the building itself. It was one of our legitimate businesses, renting the apartments out for premium prices. They all had floor-to-ceiling windows, and were expensively decorated by some interior designer. The entire building was gilded it seemed, in creams, marbles, and everything smelled like a roasting vanilla pod—it was divine.
At 7:05 p.m., a call came from the reception desk, the woman’s shaky voice at the desk telling me there was a man wanting permission to visit. They were under direct instruction never to call me unless it was an emergency, and I suppose Isaiah was passing a test by forcing them to. He could’ve—even should’ve—called me directly to tell me he was here.
I answered the door in my tight gray sweats, no T-shirt, forcing his eyes to my bulge. He stood there, his eyes on mine, holding a brown-leather duffle and was still dressed in his work clothes—a touch more wrinkled and messy than they were earlier.
“You came,” I said.
“Of course.”
“You could’ve said no,” I told him. “Your contract probably doesn’t state anything about coming to my apartment and entertaining me.”
He smacked his lips. “I didn’t want to sayno.”
I gestured for him to enter. I didn’t want him to leave him standing out in the tiny strip of a hallway between my door and the elevator.
“And what do you mean by entertain?” he asked, walking by me. “Because I—”
“You need money,” I said. I’d seen the texts, and I’d seen his finances now. I knew all about him. Isaiah King. He was wrapped up in student debt, credit cards, and... there were a bunch of transactions to his mother. “And I do this thing with my employees.”
He immediately paused, watching as I closed the door. “I’ve got all that sorted out,” he said. “I—I—obviously, I could do with extra money, but I’m not gonna dothatfor it.” Now his eyes were on my cock.
Tutting, I walked by him, introducing him to the living room. I sat on the plush white loveseat in front of the coffee table. “It’s one option,” I grumbled. “I’ve seen the type of guy you are, and let me know if I’m wrong about any of it.”
He sat right where I’d patted the seat for him, still clutching his duffle. “I’m not sure I’m really reading the situation properly,” he mumbled. “I want to keep my job, this job, working for you. I don’t care in what capacity, I just need thejob.”Isaiah’s brow was pinched in the center, creating a vertical line of wrinkles.
“Then I’ll be plain about it,” I said. “I’m someone who likes...pleasure.” My tongue licked at the edge of my teeth. “And since my father’s death, I can’t live the same life I used to. I can’t go out to the clubs, or entangle myself in a bed of handsome twinks.” My hand snaked to his lap, resting on his knee. “I think you’re a sweet guy, though probably not cut out for the shit I go through.”
