Scene II
SCENE II
DES
" A re you sure my parents can't get their hands on my money?" Des asked Erin.
The money his grandfather had given him was now close to one hundred million dollars, thanks to some keen financial advice from Othello.
"Yes, for the fifth time," she groaned. "Why are you worried about this? We covered all of our bases."
"I'm being annoying, I know, but my parents are not to be trifled with. Look how easily my father evaded the allegations; from the looks of it, he's even gone up in the polls."
"I thought you weren't paying attention to the election," Erin said.
"I wasn't until they asked to see me again. This time without my boyfriend," he sneered, remembering hearing the slight distaste in his father's tone when referring to Othello.
"Speaking of which," Erin said, smiling. "When will you let me meet the guy you can't stop talking about?"
"Soon." Des stood and grabbed his helmet. "Othello's pretty busy lately with the auction coming up."
"By the way, I got my invitation for it." She picked up the black-and-silver envelope off her desk, holding it in her fingers. "Thanks for getting me in."
"No problem, you're my friend and lawyer. I'd do anything for you, just like how you helped me." Looking at his watch, he headed toward the door. "I need to head to the store and get something for dinner."
"Alright, I'll see you next week for the other stuff." She met him at the door. "You're doing the right thing, Des."
“I’ve wavered on getting started long enough. Being in the operating room made me realize that although I loved and hated being a surgeon, I prefer being an artist. It’s time I opened my studio. It’s just fucking scary as hell.”
"You're not doing this alone. You have me, your lawyer, and broker, not to mention your friends and lover boy. I'm sure once you tell them, they’ll be there to support you."
"I know." He hugged her quickly and then left. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to ride his motorcycle. The weather was getting colder, but Des loved feeling the cold wind gliding over him.
He pulled up to the grocery store, took off his helmet, and was about to put it away when he felt his cellphone vibrate in his jacket pocket. He smiled, seeing Othello's name.
"Did you miss me, Mister Moor?"
Othello chuckled, then sighed. "You have no idea."
Des relaxed on his bike after hearing that tone in Othello's voice. "I'm not seeing you tonight, am I?"
"Sorry, Tesoro, some work stuff came up. I may not see you for a few days."
He was a bit disappointed, but Des could do nothing about it. Since the birth of the twins, Othello had been working more since he was doing his and Iago’s jobs, even though Des had no idea what that was.
"I'll send someone to watch over you while I'm gone."
"You don't need to do that," Des told him. "I'm a big boy, and I can take care of myself. Besides, I will probably be too busy on my end. Erin got all the paperwork I need to get the studio started."
"Okay. Call me if you need me, Des."
I always need you , Des wanted to say but said, "Alright," instead.
They ended their call, and Des was about to put his helmet on, head home, and order takeout since he wouldn't see Othello, when a sleek black car drove up and stopped beside him. The car was expensive, like the ones you only see in movies, with black-tinted windows. The back window slowly rolled down, revealing a handsome man with wavy jet-black hair and gray eyes.
"We meet again," came a sultry voice that Des did not recognize.
"Do we know each other?" Des asked, staring at the other man who smirked, but he could see a slight irritation flash in his eyes.
"It would seem I didn't leave a memorable impression on you, Doctor Ellington."
"I think you have me mistaken with my father," Des responded.
The car door opened, and the man got out, showing his impressive height. He was still not as outstanding as Othello but good nonetheless.
"Cassio Ricci," he said, introducing himself, and a recollection returned to him.
"I remember now. We met at the Romanos' anniversary party."
"You could say that." He smiled.
"Well, it was nice seeing you again." Des went to put his helmet on but was stopped by Ricci.
"Wait, I don't see Moor. Did you two end your relationship, perhaps?"
A sarcastic smile graced Des's face. "He's busy tonight."
"Not with another lover, I hope."
Des didn't respond to that. He didn't doubt Othello's affection for him, and although he might be a fool in love, he was certain Othello wouldn't cheat on him.
"Okay then, I'll be on my way."
"I'm sorry," Ricci said before Des could make another move.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"For what I just said. It wasn't called for."
"No, it wasn't." Des sighed. "Look, I don't give a fuck what the beef is between you and Othello, but it has nothing to do with me."
"You're right. It doesn't." Ricci chuckled. "I like you. And I can see why Moor is drawn to you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, extending it toward Des. "I'd like it if we become friends. Word on the street is that you're looking for investors for your art studio. I'd like to lend a hand."
Since being with Othello, Des had learned a few things about business. It was better to ask other, more influential people to give him money for projects than to spend his own. So, he saw nothing wrong with taking the business card.
"I also heard you do commission work," Ricci said before Des could tuck the card away.
"You certainly heard a lot."
Ricci grinned. "I like to do my research. Do you have time to talk? I want to hire you to do a painting as a gift to my brother."
"I hope you aren't looking for anything too difficult. I'm still new at this," Des clarified.
"No," Ricci said, licking his lips. "I'm sure you'll be able to handle anything I require. So, are you free so we could grab a meal while we discuss business?"
Seeing that Othello would be busy for a few days and that it was work, Des didn't think it would be a problem to meet with a potential client and investor.
"Sure, where to?"
"Follow me; I know a quaint Italian restaurant that serves the perfect chicken parmesan that makes you want to kiss your own mama."
"Okay." Des watched Ricci return to his car. The driver waited for Des to put his helmet back on and rev his engine before he drove off with Des following behind him. On the ride to the restaurant, something felt off, but with the need to prove something to himself, he ignored the feeling.
Othello sat lazily in the chair with one leg crossed over the other, smiling as he scanned through his cellphone, looking for a gift for Des. He was utterly unfazed by the sound of a fist meeting flesh or Falcon's painful groans. Falcon was indeed the idiot Othello thought him to be.
Thinking Othello was dead, he'd left his compound unguarded outside, with only a few men inside with him. It made it easy for Othello and his men to enter his home, capture Falcon, and kill the soldiers with him.
They had taken him to The Pen, where he was stripped and strung up by chains, hanging from the ceilings by his arms and with his toes barely touching the ground. Othello didn't need to give the order; his men proceeded to beat him until he decided to talk.
"Aren't you going to say something, Moor!" Falcon shouted between punches.
Without lifting his eyes off the phone screen since a watch caught his eye, he asked, "Are you ready to talk?" Othello clicked on the purchase, not batting an eye at the price. He was formulating the perfect moment to give the gift to Des. It had been a while since he had wined and dined his lover.
Maybe I should take a quick trip?
"Moor, you fucking asshole, call off your fucking dogs and look at me," Falcon shouted.
Othello sighed and waved a hand as he raised his gaze, looking at a bloody Falcon. "You have my attention."
"I didn't want to do it," Falcon said. "I'm serious, but it was too good to pass up."
"Tell me who your contact was," Othello said.
"I don't know," Falcon responded instantly. "Everything was done via text. They kept things short but told me of your every movement."
"When did it start?"
"Before we struck our deal. It was all a setup to get you to that location and have you killed."
"How did you find out that we would be at the docks today?"
"The same way I get any information on you and your activities, through text." He gave Othello a bloody smile. "You have a rat running around in your midst, and they aren't working alone."
"Do you know who they are working with?"
Falcon huffed. "If I did, I wouldn't be working with your rat. I'd simply go to them."
"The night we met, you were stalling, which was why you argued about the negotiation." It wasn't a question, so he wasn't expecting Falcon to say anything.
"Of course I was, but my guys were supposed to show up as soon as we sat down. There shouldn't have been any negotiation." He tsked. "You were supposed to die, Moor. I don't know what kind of star you were born under to survive every attempt on your life, but it's a lucky fucking one. You were supposed to die on the operating table. My cousin made sure the second bullet was left inside of you. Who knew that the surgeon would find it? Maybe I should have killed him."
Sharp gasps filled the room, but Othello ignored them. He was certain Falcon had no clue who Des was or what they meant to each other.
"You sound jealous," he said.
"I am," Falcon whispered. "You were adopted into an influential family, and your father respects you to the utmost, and you're not even his flesh and blood. Even my father gave everything we owned to you before he died. I had to forge my father's will to keep our family properties together. So when a message came to me to set up a meeting for us to set you up, I jumped at the chance. Getting my hands on Rizzo's property wasn’t as important as taking you out. I respect you, Moor, but I don't like you. I suppose many others feel the same way I do."
Othello stared at Falcon for a few minutes before he spoke. "I told my father you would be dead by the end of the year, and although I was willing to give you a chance to build up your clan and then take you on, after this, I can honestly say you're not worth it. Fuck, Julian, I almost forgot you existed." Othello shook his head. "All you had to do was stay quiet and live your life. But when you threaten me and mine, you suffer the consequences."
"What of yours did I threaten?" Falcon growled.
"First, my father, then my brother, and last, the doctor who saved me is now my beloved."
"I don't care!" Falcon shouted. "How the fuck could I live a good life when I knew sooner or later you would come after me and my family?"
"But no one told you to put yourself in front of me. You're weak, Julian. I’d expected it would take you days to crack, and I ended up breaking a date with my beloved; who knew you couldn't take a few fucking licks, and you'd start squealing like a little piggy." Othello huffed.
"I'm not weak!" Falcon shouted. "Let's change positions and tell me how it feels."
"I've had worse," Othello snapped, not going into details, but the surrounding men knew the truth. Alessandro loved him and Iago to death, but he was tough on them, especially regarding training. Growing a thick skin wasn’t just for insults.
"You're pathetic." Othello stood, brushing off his clothes just as Tallen came over and handed him a stack of paper. "As for your father's will, we found it, which makes you insignificant."
"How did you get that?" he asked, looking at the folder, wide-eyed.
"I told you that you weren't smart. When you want to hide important documents, you put them in a safe far away where no one can get to them. Not in the bottom of your fucking desk drawer. Enough talking."
Falcon trembled and shook the chains holding him. "Please, Moor, don't do this," he begged. "I—I can be useful. You still need me. You know the commission won't stand for this. Sure, they turned a blind eye when we took out Rizzo, but they will come for you, Moor. Listen to me! I—I can find out who the traitor is."
"Really?" Othello said, ignoring all the other parts of his ramblings. "How?"
"T-tonight, they are waiting for me to text them at ten with confirmation of your death. They'll know I failed if they don't hear from me."
Othello tapped his thumb on his leg, growing more annoyed at this man's stupidity. "They already know I'm alive. It's now eleven thirty." The fear in Falcon's eyes excited Othello, reminding him of the first time a man knew he would die. He looked at Tallen. "You want to move up in the ranks, right?"
"Yes, boss," Tallen said, moving forward and standing beside him.
Othello pulled his gun from its holster and handed it to Tallen, who took it. "Then you know what you must do." He stepped back and waited for Tallen to act. The man had been by his side for quite some time. He'd been hesitant to move Tallen up in the ranks, but maybe it was time.
"P—" was all Falcon got out before the gun went off.
Othello smiled and moved next to Tallen, clasping his shoulders. "Well done. Today, you are no longer a made man but our youngest capo. Don't disappoint me, Tallen. We'll have your official party in a few days. After getting rid of the body, you are all free to celebrate."
"Thank you, boss," Tallen smiled.
There were smiles all around. Othello turned and whispered in Vito's ear. "Make sure Falcon's cousin never sees daylight again." He glanced over at Falcon's body. "Bury them in the same pit. They can suffer in hell together."
"Yes, boss."
With that last instruction, Othello left The Pen. He needed to report everything to Alessandro before taking him and Maria to the airport in the morning. It was even more important that Alessandro and Maria get out of town after the shooting at the docks.
Othello knew that his actions tonight would defiantly reach the ears of the commission and would cause problems for the family, but he didn't fucking care. It was time for him to take the Ricci and Greco families down.
But before going to his parents' home, he stopped by the hospital to check on Nico, even though visiting hours were over. He wasn't surprised to see Marco at his bedside.
The story they told the hospital and the cops was that he was shot in the back by some unknown person while they were taking a romantic walk on the pier. The bullet didn't hit any major organs, so his recovery would be quick and smooth.
Weeks after the ambush, Othello groaned, rolling over and reaching for Des, but he opened his eyes when he came up empty. Sighing, he sat up and looked around the moonlit bedroom, not seeing Des anywhere, but he had a feeling where he was. He'd been painting a lot more, even picking up a few commissioned works, which made Othello proud.
He had noticed that Des had been a little restless since the ambush. He was certain that Des didn't know about the shooting, so he was at a loss. Maybe it has something to do with his parents. Othello knew his mother had been calling Des quite a bit over the past few days.
Or the fact that we haven’t been spending much time together. After the ambush at the docks, he'd made sure Alessandro and Maria got on a plane and drove himself into work, making less time for his lover. Iago was still busy trying to get back into Emilia’s good graces, plus the twins. Othello hadn’t updated him on what had been happening.
Sighing, Othello threw the covers back, got out of bed, and was about to find his lover when his cellphone vibrated. Grabbing it, he recognized the number and knew it had to be important if they were calling so late.
"What is it?"
"The department got an anonymous tip for the weapons sale for the auction. They are trying to get a judge to sign off on a search warrant. I can't stop or stall them, but you must move quickly."
Othello pinched the bridge of his nose. The anonymous person had to be their rat.
"Thanks, I'll take care of it. How are you doing with the other thing?" By Gratiano’s silence, Othello knew he'd found something. "Tell me."
"Boss, I'm not sure about the information I gathered. I need more time to confirm a few things."
"How long do you need?"
"A few days or less, to be sure. I checked out all the leads you gave me from Falcon, but I don't have any more information to give you right now."
Othello nodded. "Okay. Do what you have to do." He was about to hang up, but Gratiano stopped him.
"Boss, keep only those you really trust near you. I'm not kidding when I tell you a huge target is on your back. The two ambushes and this tip are just the beginning."
"I thought getting shot would be it."
"No," Gratiano responded. "That was just a warning." He sighed, and Othello could tell he wanted to say more.
"Say it."
"If the information I have is correct, then I think you need to let Des get as far away from this for a while to protect him."
"Is this your way of telling me to break up with him?" Othello snapped.
"No," Gratiano answered quickly. "Boss, I know how you can be, and blood is going to be spilled; I just don't want it to be his."
"What exactly do you think you have? Just say it."
"Please, let me confirm the information before I tell you everything," Gratiano said pleadingly. "I'm asking you to trust me, Othello. Let me do the job you hired me to do, and that is to look out for your best interest."
Othello's brows furrowed. The only time Gratiano referred to him by his first name was when he wanted Othello to pay attention.
"Okay," he conceded. "Hurry and do what you need to do. I'm sick of not knowing who is working against me."
"Will do. And think about what I said about Des."
"Alright."
They hung up, and Othello made a few phone calls to get the ball rolling on getting the weapons out of the auction house. He needed to leave, but before that, he needed to talk with Des. Grabbing his robe, he shrugged it on, and putting his cellphone in his pocket, Othello went to see his lover. The closer he got to Des's studio, the more the scent of fresh paint hit him, along with smooth jazz playing in the background.
The door was open, and Othello saw Des naked, sitting on the stool, gently brushing the paintbrush on the canvas. Not far from him was a glass of whiskey on the small desk that fit neatly under the windowsill. It wasn't a big room, and most things were within easy reach. Othello mentally sighed.
Although he didn't drink much, he had nothing against people partaking in their vices, but he couldn't deny his worry about his lover. He'd noticed Des had been drinking excessively lately, which was a sign that something was bothering him.
When Othello questioned him, Des told him he was fine. Nothing was okay; something was eating Des up inside, and Othello knew he couldn't ignore it any longer. Quietly, he moved further into the room and stood next to Des, who was so engrossed in his work that he hadn't noticed he was there.
Othello looked at Des and was a bit taken aback by the serene expression on his face. His eyes glazed as if he had taken a drug, and a slight smile on his lips as if he was lost in a dream or a fantasy that he couldn't keep to himself. Othello moved his gaze from Des to the canvas that was starting to take the shape of a figure.
Des continued to paint, and instead of interrupting him, Othello walked toward the door, figuring he'd send him a text or call him later. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped when he noticed a familiar card sitting on the only table in the room. Moving over, he picked up the card, scowling when he saw Cassio Ricci's name and personal number.
He looked back at Des, who still hadn't known he was in the room. Glancing back to the card, he wondered when Des had talked with Cassio Ricci long enough to get his business card.
"Hey," Des said, getting his attention.
Othello turned to Des, who had stopped working and was looking at him.
"Hey, yourself," he said, putting the card in his robe pocket and walking to Des.
"What are you doing up?"
Kneeling between Des's open legs, he kissed Des's chest. "I woke up and found my lover missing." Grabbing him by his waist, Des wrapped his arms around his neck. "What are you working on?"
"Let's not talk about it." Des sighed. "Instead, I want us to do something more pleasurable with our mouths." He leaned down, brushing his lips against Othello's, who moaned, tasting Des and the expensive whiskey on his tongue. He cupped the back of Des's head and kissed him deeply.
He trailed soft kisses down his body, pressing a tender kiss on the head of Des's cock before sucking the shaft down into his mouth, feeling it swell and pulsate on his tongue. Des groaned, dragging his nails along Othello's back.
Des grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head up and off his cock, then claimed his mouth in a rough kiss, taking what he wanted and needed from Othello. Des had grown more confident in his desires since their first time together. Othello tightened his arms around Des and pulled him down on top of him.
Their kiss grew more intense. A moan escaped his mouth when their cocks rubbed together. Reaching down, he circled a finger around Des's hole that was still wet and loose from their earlier lovemaking. Othello grabbed Des's waist and flipped them over. Breaking their kiss, he leaned back, staring at his gorgeous lover.
"Turn over," he said.
Smiling, Des got on his hands and knees. Othello grabbed and then smacked one of Des's ass cheeks, rubbing it and soothing the sting before doing the same to the other. Des whimpered as he did it once more. Othello wished he'd brought his leather belt.
"Othello," Des moaned. "Please, don't tease me."
Othello chuckled and kissed the base of his back, then the crack of his ass, moving down, swirling the tip of his tongue around the hole.
"Oh fuck," Des whimpered when he stuck his tongue inside, moving, bobbing his head, moving it in and out.
Des moaned and groaned his name, moving his hips, fucking himself on Othello's tongue. He grabbed Des's hips, steadying him, adding more of his tongue and saliva, wetting his hole. He grabbed and separated Des's buttcheeks, going as deep as he could. Des's body shook, and Othello knew his lover was close to cumming. Slowly, he removed his tongue and gazed at Des's moist hole. His handprints marking Des's ass cheeks made him grow even harder.
"Let's go to the bedroom," Othello said in a raspy voice.
"No," Des said, looking over his shoulder at him. "Take me here and now."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, I have lube in the drawer next to you." Des leaned up and kissed him.
Othello quirked a brow. "Were you hoping I'd fuck you in here?"
"Of course, one of my top fantasies." He smiled.
Othello chuckled and kissed him once more, pushing Des back down and rubbing his back as he reached into the desk, grabbing a lube packet and tearing it open, squeezing it on his cock and Des's hole. Othello jerked his erection a couple of times, positioning it to Des's entrance, and pushed the head inside his hot, tight heat, making them both moan. Pressing his hand on the small of Des's back, he pushed all the way in and waited for a spell for Des to adjust.
“Shit, Tesoro, you feel so good squeezing my cock,” Othello whispered, grabbing Des’s hips and slowly moving in and out of him. Othello’s eyes grew hazy as he panted heavily. His hips moved a bit faster with each thrust.”So tight. Shit.”
“Oh, fuck…oh fuck,” Des whimpered, grinding his waist and meeting Othello’s movements.
The sound and sweet aroma of sex filled the room, their desire for each other building as well as their orgasms. Othello grabbed Des’s shoulder while keeping the other on his hip, changing the angle of his thrusting, brushing his cock over Des’s prostate. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears it was a wonder he could hear Des’s pleading and begging.
“Othello…I need…I need.”
Usually, Othello wanted to tease Des a little longer, bring him to the edge, then pull back, torturing them both with pleasure, but not tonight. He could feel his own urgency to cum.
“Touch yourself, Tesoro,” he groaned, quickening his thrusts, causing his hips to slap against Des’s palm-printed ass. His movements were rough yet not enough to hurt his lover, who liked when Othello fucked him this way.
“Gonna cum,” Des chanted, then cried out Othello’s name. His walls tightened around his cock.
“Des,” Othello growled, cumming, unable to hold back his orgasm, painting Des’s channel with his hot seed and leaving his mark on every part of his lover's body.
Othello leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Des’s sweaty neck, licking and sucking up a mark. He peppered gentle kisses to his cheeks, meeting Des’s lips for a slow kiss. They both groaned when his softened cock slipped out of Des. Their lips separated as they fell to the side, gasping but with bright smiles on their faces.
He leaned over and kissed Des softly, their tongues teasing each other's lips, neither in a rush to deepen the kiss. Des rolled on top of him, laying his head on his chest, and Othello wrapped him in his arms.
"Des, I..." He didn't get a chance to say what had been on his tongue for weeks because his cellphone rang, and he couldn't ignore it at a time like this. Without disrupting Des, he pulled it out of his robe pocket and saw Tallen's name on the screen. "Yeah."
"Boss, we're almost done loading everything on the trucks."
"Okay, head to Silver Port. I'll meet you there. Take the back roads and make sure no one is following you."
Silver Port was a two-hour drive from Verona Heights. Othello had a warehouse there where he could hide the weapons for now.
"You got it."
They hung up, and Othello set his phone to the side, hugging Des tightly.
"You're leaving again, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry, Tesoro," he whispered, kissing his forehead.
"I feel like lately we don't see each other, and when we do, it's for sex." He raised his head. "Maybe I should ask you when we can meet next, or should I make an appointment for a date."
"I'm sorry, Tesoro, things have been a little crazy right now."
"So crazy that you have to leave me at two in the morning." He got off Othello, standing, and walked over to the window, not caring about his state of undress. Othello licked his lips at seeing his cum sliding down Des's legs. "When will I see you again?" Des asked, pulling Othello from his naughty thoughts.
Othello sighed and got off the floor. "It should only be a couple of days."
"Why are you going to Silver Port?"
"I can't tell you that," Othello told him. "We've never discussed my family business, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"So I'm not supposed to worry that something major is going down for you to go to another state?"
"You don't need to worry about me or my family," Othello said.
"Why shouldn't I? I've heard things," he replied.
Othello furrowed his brows. "What things? Who are you talking to?"
"I don't know. I heard about some shooting at the docks a few nights ago, and it made me wonder if you were involved."
"How would you hear about a shooting that not even the news or the cops are aware of?" Othello asked, not liking the way he sounded suspicious.
"So you were there," Des said in surprise.
"Answer me, Des."
"I heard it from Tallen, okay," he said, gazing away.
Othello gritted his teeth and planned on punching the shit out of his new capo when he saw him.
"Tesoro, look at me." He waited for Des to look his way. "I'm fine, and nothing will happen to me."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He leaned down and kissed Des on the forehead. "After I settle everything, how about we go somewhere."
Des sighed. "I know this is your way of changing the subject, and I'll go along with it for now." He hugged Othello, wrapping his arms around him. "Just don't get hurt. I can't live without you, especially now that you've wrapped your way around my heart."
Othello pressed his face on the top of Des's head, closing his eyes. "You too, Tesoro."
They stayed like that for a few minutes before Des stepped back. "How soon do you have to leave?"
"I can spare a few more minutes. Why?"
"I need a shower. Want to join me?"
Othello smiled. "You never have to ask."
They made love again in the shower before Othello left for his drive to Silver Port. There, he met his team and had the weapons taken care of, but he had other things to take care of. He had to get them out of the country before the cops figured out what he was doing. So, in the following hours, he and his men worked tirelessly to get the weapons shipped out by land and sea before he could return to Verona Heights, just as the cops and feds pulled up at the auction house.
"What's going on here?" Othello asked, getting out of his car.
"Othello Moor," a familiar voice said as they approached him with a neatly folded paper in his hand that Othello didn't reach out to take. "We have a warrant to search your property."
"Why?" he asked calmly, staring at Detective Oz. "Has someone reported us for a forged painting or something? I can assure you that our collections are all genuine. So you can take your men home."
"Are you hindering us from enacting a court-ordered warrant?" Oz growled.
"You haven't told me why you want to search my property," Othello said, putting his hands in his pockets. He leaned against his car as if he had no care in the world.
Detective Oz narrowed his eyes at Othello. "We got an anonymous tip that you are harboring illegal guns and other weapons in this vicinity."
"I'm an upstanding businessman, Detective Oz. I wouldn't do anything to bring shame to my family's name," Othello told him.
"Businessman, my ass," Oz snarled. "I know what you and your family are into.”
"I would never look at your ass, detective. I can honestly say you're not my type," Othello said, ignoring his men coughing to mask their laughter.
"I feel you're trying to stall for time, Moor. Whatever the case, my men and I will search every nook and cranny of this place."
"Far be it from me to stop you from doing your job, Detective. However, please be gentle with the priceless art. I promise not even two years of your salary would cover the cost." He waved a dismissive hand and watched as Oz huffed, then walked away.
The men searching his property were not as gentle as he had asked and broke at least one piece of the priceless collection worth over fifty thousand dollars and up. Othello remained silent, keeping his posture calm, especially when Oz moved the bookcase, revealing a safe where he had kept the weapons hidden.
If Othello had doubted that someone on the inside was working against him, he would have been more convinced now than ever. Only he, Alessandro, Iago, and a handful of his trusted men knew where they were. Three hours later, Othello was sporting a bright smile as he watched an unhappy Detective Oz leave the auction house.
His face became serious the second the cops drove off. "Fuck!" he cursed, kicking the broken piece of statue the cops broke during their search. "Get this place cleaned up." Looking around the showroom, Othello realized there was no way he could have the auction now. He had stock, but not as priceless as the ones the cops broke.
"Fucking cops," he growled, wanting to punch something or more like someone hard.
Des opened the door at the insistent knock, hoping that it was Othello returning quicker than he said he would, but he was stunned when he saw his mother standing at his doorstep.
"Mother," he said, not hiding the shock in his voice.
"Why do you look so shocked?" she asked.
"Um...because this is the first time you've ever visited me."
"Are you going to let me in, or should I stand out here for us to have our conversation?"
"Oh, come in," he said, stepping to the side and watching her walk in with a suitcase he'd just noticed.
"Are you planning on leaving for a trip? Does Father know?" he asked, noticing her gaze roaming around his apartment.
"How many bedrooms do you have?" she asked.
"Three, but I use the smallest one for my studio."
"Bathrooms?" Ava left her luggage and then went to the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards.
"Mother, what the hell? Why are you asking me questions about my place? It's not like you're moving in here."
Ava stopped what she was doing and looked at Des. "That is exactly what I'm doing here. You're an adult now, so I will tell you the truth. Desmond, I've filed for divorce."
"Say that again," he said, thinking he heard wrong.
"I'm leaving your father."
"What the fuck?" Des cursed when he got over the one-minute shock.
"Stop cursing, dear. It's unbecoming," she admonished primly.
"Fuck that, Mother, you can't be serious."
"I most definitely am," she said, walking away. Des followed behind her, feeling as if he had entered a different universe.
Before she could get to the bedroom, Des stopped her. "Mom, talk to me."
Ava gasped and looked at him. Her eyes were a little wet, as if she was about to cry but held herself together.
"You haven't called me Mom since you were five."
"I didn't know it was important to you," he said. "But tell me what happened between you and Father."
"He cheated on me, Des." Her lips quivered as she spoke. "I sacrificed everything for him, especially my relationship with you, and for the last twenty-five years, he has been carrying on a relationship with some b—" she paused as he could see her anger building up, but she quickly collected herself, "—woman who gave him a son, who right under my nose he took as his protégé."
"What?" Des gasped.
"Des, dear, I'm feeling a bit tired; I'd like to get some rest."
He nodded without thinking and guided her to the guest bedroom. He realized that she had called him Des and not Desmond. Before he could close the bedroom door, she stopped him.
"I know I cannot apologize for all the years of turmoil I might have caused you, but I would like to try to make amends for my actions."
Des wasn't sure what to say, so he nodded and closed the door. His mind was swirling with what his mother had just told him, and as much as he hated to do it, he needed to talk with his father.