Chapter 12
TWELVE
DARIO
The maintenance key slides into Valmont Tower's rooftop lock with satisfying precision. Thirty stories up, the city stretches beneath a sky heavy with approaching storms. Perfect backdrop for what comes next. I check my watch: two hours until Rafael arrives. Time to prepare my stage.
"Security sweep complete," Marco reports, materializing from the stairwell. "Building personnel have been... encouraged to take early dinner breaks. Cameras are looped."
I dismiss him with a nod, surveying the space with a tactician's eye. The helipad offers clear sight lines to Old Harbor and Riverside Heights. Strategic placement of outdoor heaters will combat the autumn chill while creating intimate pockets of warmth and light. A bottle of thirty-year Highland whiskey—Rafael's secret weakness—chills in a silver bucket.
My security detail positions themselves at key points throughout the building. No interruptions. No witnesses. Just thirty stories of empty space between the ground and this private theatre where I'll strip away the last of his pretenses.
Wind whips around the tower's crown as I trace the perimeter. The low wall at the edge bears scuff marks from previous encounters—not all of them ending well. Far below, traffic weaves patterns of light through streets that belong to families like ours. The height triggers something primal in the blood. Up here, the city's rules mean nothing.
I check my phone: a single message confirming Rafael received the coordinates. No response needed. We're past the point of threats or manipulation. He'll come because he can't resist the pull anymore, can't maintain that careful distance now that I've shown him what lives beneath his designer suits and legal briefs .
The first drops of rain spatter against imported marble as I arrange vintage crystal tumblers on a teak side table. Each element serves a purpose: the whiskey to lower inhibitions, the storm for dramatic effect, the dizzying height to heighten every sensation. I've orchestrated this scene down to the smallest detail.
Lightning flickers on the horizon, nature providing perfect ambiance. The approaching storm front mirrors the inevitable collision building between us. I straighten my jacket, feeling the familiar weight of steel against my ribs. Not that I'll need it. The only weapons that matter tonight are the ones bred into our bones.
"Sir." Marco again, this time by the stairwell door. "The professor made the call and confirmed Rafael's civil procedure exam has been rescheduled."
Another piece sliding into place. Money and threats flow like water in our world, greasing wheels and removing obstacles. Even Valmont's academic integrity bends under enough pressure. I dismiss Marco with a gesture, and he melts back into the shadows, taking his team with him .
The rooftop stretches empty now, waiting. Rain beads on crystal and marble while wind reshapes clouds into towers. I pour two fingers of whiskey, letting the amber liquid catch the dim light. The first sip burns familiar fire down my throat, a preview of the heat building between Rafael and me.
Two hours. In two hours, I'll watch him step into this carefully crafted scene. I'll see that perfect mask crack further as he realizes every exit is blocked, every escape route closed. Up here, suspended between earth and sky, he'll finally stop running from what burns in his blood.
The storm edges closer, carrying electric promise. I taste ozone and anticipation on my tongue as I wait for Rafael to arrive, for the real performance to begin.
Two hours later, the rooftop door opens precisely on schedule. Rafael steps through, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face and his dark eyes blazing. His suit remains immaculate despite the late hour, but exhaustion mars the perfect image. Dark circles ring his eyes, and his tie sits crooked—microscopic tells that feed my hunger.
"Quite a view." I keep my position by the edge, letting him take in the carefully arranged scene. "Tell me, does your uncle know you're meeting a Greco thirty stories up?"
His footsteps halt, measured and precise. "How did you get access to this building?"
I turn, savoring how the distance between us charges with possibility. "Same way you got your office, your apartment, and your precious law school admission. Money opens doors in this city." My hand gestures toward the sprawling vista. "Look at it. Really look. Your family's territory is bleeding into mine. The empire you pretend doesn't own every step you take."
Lightning splits the sky, illuminating how his fingers curl against his thighs. The storm front pushes closer, wind whipping his perfectly pressed shirt. He maintains that careful distance, but his eyes track my every movement as I circle the heaters.
"The civil procedure exam?—"
"Has been rescheduled." I pour whiskey into crystal tumblers, letting him see the label. His favorite, though he'd never admit to such mundane weaknesses. "Amazing how flexible academic schedules become with proper motivation."
Fury flashes across his features before that careful mask reasserts itself. "You're interfering with my life."
"No." I close the distance between us, offering one of the tumblers. "I'm showing you exactly what your life is. What it's always been, beneath all that pretense of legitimacy."
He takes the glass but doesn't drink, those amber eyes burning as I step closer. The height affects him; I can see it in the slight tension in his spine, the way he keeps precise count of steps between his position and the edge. Thirty stories of empty air singing in his blood, just like it sings in mine.
"Why here? Why now?"
I move behind him, close enough to feel heat radiating through Italian wool. "Because up here, there's nowhere to hide. No comfortable office to retreat to. No legal texts to hide behind." My fingers brush his nape, feeling how he shivers despite the heaters' warmth. "Just you and me and thirty stories of truth between us and the ground. "
His breath catches as I guide him closer to the edge. The city spreads beneath us like a tapestry of light and corruption. I point toward the harbor, where cargo ships slip through dark waters. "See that warehouse? The place where your uncle's latest shipment disappeared?" My hand shifts, indicating downtown's gleaming towers. "The banks that launder our families' money? The judges who look the other way?"
Rafael's pulse jumps beneath my fingers as I press closer, using my body to keep him facing the view. "Your professors talk about RICO statutes and federal jurisdiction, but this is where real power lives. In whispered deals and midnight meetings, in blood and silence."
A police siren wails far below, the sound barely reaching our height. Rafael's fingers tighten on the crystal tumbler, knuckles white with tension. "I never asked for this. I chose a new life."
"Did you?" I trace the line of his jaw, feeling how he fights not to lean into the touch. "Or did you just choose a different angle of attack? Trading bullets for paperwork, violence for litigation?" My lips brush his ear. "But the intent is the same, isn't it? The need to dominate, to control, to win at any cost."
He tries to step back, but I hold firm. The wind picks up, carrying the scent of approaching rain and inevitability. Far below, cars weave through streets that belong to families like ours, their drivers oblivious to the power plays happening above their heads.
"Drink." I lift his hand holding the whiskey, watching his throat work as he swallows. The amber liquid catches dim light, like the fire burning in his eyes. "Now tell me what you see. Not what your professors taught you to see. Not what your carefully constructed worldview allows. Tell me what your blood recognizes in this view."
His resistance wavers, just for a moment. Just enough. "I see...opportunity. Weaknesses in security. Angles of approach. Entry and exit routes." The words spill out like the confession they are. "Everything they taught us to analyze before we could walk."
"Exactly." Satisfaction curls through my chest as I turn him to face me, keeping him pinned between my body and thirty stories of empty air. "You can't escape what they bred into us. What they carved into our bones before we could speak." My hand finds his throat, feeling how his pulse races beneath expensive cotton. "Up here, you can finally stop pretending to be something you're not."
Thunder rolls overhead, nature's percussion building toward crescendo. Rafael's carefully maintained space crumbles as I press closer, using the height and isolation to strip away his defenses. Every breath carries the weight of inevitability, of truth too long denied.
"Each light down there marks a lesson." I guide his attention to a particular block in Old Harbor, where streetlamps cast sickly yellow circles on cracked pavement. "That alley by St. Michael's, that's where I learned how power really works in this city."
I release my grip on his throat, letting him step back from the edge. The whiskey burns sweet as I take another sip. "I was thirteen. Some rival family's enforcer thought targeting Antonio Greco's son would send a message."
Rafael stills, his deep brown eyes caught between curiosity and revulsion. He watches me, riveted, as I unbutton my jacket and shirt, revealing the knife scar that curves along my ribs.
"He caught me walking home from school and dragged me into an alley near St. Michael's." My fingers trace the old wound. "Amateur mistake. Should have checked if I was carrying."
Lightning illuminates the tension in Rafael's jaw. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you need to understand." I move closer, forcing him to look at me. "Your uncle waited until you were sixteen for your first kill. My father believed in earlier education."
His breath catches. The crystal tumbler trembles slightly in his grip. "I never?—"
"Don't lie." Wind whips between us as I cut him off. "Not about this. Not up here. Not to me." My hand finds his chest, feeling how his heart races. "The DiMarco heir. Senior year of high school. Your uncle made it look like an overdose."
Color drains from his face. "How do you..."
"I make it my business to know everything about you. Including the parts you try to bury under your legal texts and perfect grades." I finish my whiskey, letting the crystal catch moonlight. "The difference is, I don't deny what I am. What our families made us."
The storm edges closer, pressure dropping as clouds swallow stars. Rafael's tie whips in the wind, his carefully constructed image fraying at the edges. "You're sick."
"I'm honest." I set down my empty glass. "Unlike you, hiding behind civil procedure and constitutional law while dreaming about the weight of a gun in your hands. The satisfaction of domination. The pure fucking clarity of violence."
His fist flies without warning. I let it connect, tasting copper as my lip splits. The blow carries years of training—precise, controlled, devastating. Perfect.
I wipe blood from my mouth, satisfaction burning in my chest. "There's the killer they built you to be."
"Shut up." But his accent bleeds stronger with each word, Sicily claiming him syllable by syllable.
"You were good at it too." I press closer, backing him toward the utility wall. "Your uncle's reports were very detailed. Perfect aim. Clean kills. The kind of efficiency that only comes from natural talent."
His hands curl into fists at his sides. "Those files were destroyed."
"Nothing's ever really destroyed in our world. Just buried until someone needs leverage." I trap him against rough brick, one hand braced beside his head. "Want to hear about my second kill? Or my tenth? I lost count somewhere after twenty."
Thunder cracks overhead, swallowing his sharp inhale. Rain starts to fall, fat drops that darken his suit and plaster his shirt to skin. I catch his wrist before he can throw another punch, using his momentum to pin him more firmly against the wall.
"You see it now?" My grip tightens as he struggles. "Why I chose you? Why I had to strip away all that pretense?" Lightning turns his face stark with revelation. "Because we're the same. Built for this life. Bred for violence and power and everything you try so hard to deny."
"I'm nothing like you." But the words lack conviction, undermined by how his body responds to my proximity.
"No?" I lean closer, letting him feel the weapon concealed beneath my jacket. "Then why does your pulse race when I mention killing? Why do your pupils dilate at the memory of that perfect first kill shot?"
The rain falls harder, soaking us both as nature mirrors the storm building between us. Rafael's resistance wavers visibly, his careful walls cracking beneath the weight of shared truth. Every drop of rain strips away another layer of denial, leaving him raw and exposed.
"Tell me about the DiMarco hit." My voice drops lower, intimate despite the thundering sky. "Tell me how it felt to watch him fall. To know your action changed the world in that moment. To feel pure, perfect power for the first time."
His eyes close briefly, throat working as he swallows. When they open again, something wild burns in their depths. Something that recognizes its match in my own darkness.
Rafael's fist connects with my jaw, the impact singing through bone. Not a wild strike. Precise, calculated, carrying years of training in its execution. I taste metal and victory as he follows through, using momentum to break my hold.
"Don't talk about DiMarco." He presses his advantage. His next blow targets my ribs, but I catch his wrist, using his forward motion to spin us both.
The edge of the building looms three feet away. Rain slicks the marble beneath our shoes as we grapple for dominance. Lightning turns the world stark white, casting harsh shadows across Rafael's face, all sharp angles and stripped false identity.
"Look at you." I drive my knee toward his solar plexus, forcing him to block. "Finally letting the monster out to play."
He responds with a combination that would shatter bone if I wasn't expecting it. Each strike flows into the next with fluid grace, pure instinct taking over. I counter, redirecting his force until his back hits the utility wall. The impact rattles brick dust loose as thunder cracks overhead.
"This what you wanted?" His chest heaves against mine as I pin him there. "To prove I remember the training? The techniques?" A bitter laugh tears from his throat. "Congratulations. Now let me go."
I lean closer, letting him feel the weapon at my hip. "But we're not finished. Not even close." My free hand finds his tie, using Italian silk to hold him still. "Tell me you don't feel more alive right now than you have in years. Tell me your blood doesn't sing with it."
His response comes in the form of a headbutt that nearly breaks my nose. The move creates enough space for him to reverse our positions, forearm pressed against my throat. Rain traces patterns down his face as he applies pressure—not enough to choke, just enough to prove he could.
The storm rages around us, wind and rain turning the rooftop into a private battleground. Each flash of lightning illuminates another crack in his facade, another piece of truth breaking free. His hands fist in my jacket, caught between pushing me away and pulling me closer.
"I spent years—" He cuts off as I apply more pressure, just shy of cutting off his air.
"Building walls?" My other hand finds his hip, fingers digging into bone. "Creating distance? Playing at normalcy?" I lean in until our breaths mingle, tasting whiskey and fury. "Look where that got you."
The kiss burns like violence, all teeth and hunger and shared blood. He responds instantly, one hand tangling in my hair tight enough to hurt. Each point of contact carries electricity, amplified by rain and height and the pure honesty of this moment.
I break away just enough to speak against his mouth. "This is what you are. What we are. Pure fucking power wrapped in designer suits and family names."
His eyes meet mine, pupils blown wide with something beyond simple want. Thunder rolls overhead as he drags me back in, the kiss turning brutal. My hands map territory already claimed in a dozen different ways, stripping away expensive fabric to find skin marked with old scars and fresh bruises.
Rain soaks us both as we come together against rough brick, the storm drowning out sounds that would carry too far in clear weather. I push him to his knees again, just where I like him, and he doesn’t resist. He likes submitting to me. I can sense it and I like it.
He paws at my belt, undoing it with ease and then at the zipper of my pants. My eager dick springs free and I feel it pulsing with desire for him.
His eyelashes flicker as his mouth moves instinctively opening for the head of my dick.
He lavishes it with his tongue, lapping up my precum, kissing the very tip of my dick before taking it once again in his warm welcoming mouth and massaging with his tongue.
I don’t interfere for now, I just let him worship my dick and it feels fucking delicious. All is how it should be. His pretty little face going to work pleasing me.
Then I feel his mouth release me and drop lower taking my balls one by one, sucking them into him, massaging them with his tongue. I feel like I might explode there and then, but I hold off. Not yet. I want more from him first.
I close my eyes and enjoy it.
I open them when I feel him release my left ball and it plops out of his mouth and I feel his hands on my thighs.
“Please,” his voice is no more than a whisper. His dark eyes are full of want. “Turn around.”
I smile down at him, “OK, pretty Little Valenti. Are you going to tongue fuck my ass?”
He nods eagerly. “What a filthy little slut you are,” I say as I do as he requested and turn around so my ass is facing him. I’m a big fan of an enthusiastic tongue fuck .
I feel his hands parting my ass cheeks and his breath hot and heavy against my hole.
Oh, god. This is going to be good. I can feel it.
The first press of his tongue feels fucking exquisite, hot and hard on my asshole. Then lighter, just the tip of it, running around my rim, teasing at my entrance.
Then his whole mouth, his pretty little mouth making out with my hole eagerly as though its my mouth. He’s kissing, he’s licking as though my ass is the tastiest thing he’s ever had in his mouth- he’s driving me fucking crazy.
“You are a filthy little one aren’t you?” I ask as I feel his tongue pushing against my entrance. The thought of it sliding inside me excites me and I take my eager dick in my hand and start to play.
His tongue presses harder and I feel my hole open to take it. I can feel his tongue inside me now.
“That’s right,” I growl. “Now, fuck me with it.”
And he does so, eagerly. Pushing in and back out, his tongue as hard as he can make it. He presses as deep as he can .
Fuck, I know I’m going to come so hard from this.
I can feel my orgasm beginning to build deep inside me.
I feel my cheeks parted wider and I hear his moans as he goes to work with his mouth and tongue on my hole faster and harder and with more intent.
I know I’m seconds away and I don’t want my beautiful spunk to end up waster so I spin around quickly and target his face as my orgasm tears through me relentlessly throwing out thick creamy ribbons of my spunk all across his pretty face and into his waiting mouth.
He looks shocked, momentarily- probably never had such a big load across his face, but he adjusts quickly and begins licking what he can reach and then using his fingers to reach the rest.
Of course his fingers then go to his mouth and he licks my pleasure from his fingers.
“Now isn’t that a fucking beautiful sight,” I say. And it is. He looks so fucking beautiful covered in my come.
He nods. “Your ass feels so good on my tongue,” he says as he looks up at me obediently. If only he was as obedient in every way as he is sexually. “You taste so good.”
I bet I do.
He stands up. There is still a good amount of my come on his face. I can see the eager bulge of his cock in his pants and I’m feeling generous.
I take him in my hand through his pants and begin to rub. I lean forward so my lips are at his ear.
“You hate me, but you can’t fucking resist me, can you, Valenti?” I growl into his ear. I hear his moans at my hand on his cock and I like it. “I’m the one who really fucking sees you for who you are. I’m the one who is destroying you sexually and you fucking love it. You love burying your tongue in my ass, don’t you? I haven’t showered all day, by the way. I noticed how that drives you fucking wild, doesn’t it?”
He moans louder and I feel his body tense up. “Doesn’t it?” I whisper again and I feel his dick explode in my hand. I smile to myself in satisfaction as I pull away and adjust my clothes.
The aftermath leaves us breathing hard in the rain, clothes destroyed and masks shattered. I brush wet hair from his face with something close to tenderness. "No more pretending."
His eyes hold fire despite exhaustion, despite the weight of what's passed between us. The perfect law student lies buried beneath pure Sicilian fury, submission, and acceptance. I step back, letting him put himself together, but we both know nothing will ever be the same.
Thunder fades into the distance as I retrieve my jacket. The storm moves on, leaving destruction and clarity in its wake. Rafael remains by the wall, rain washing away the last of his resistance as he watches me walk away.
The real war has only begun.