6. Vlad
CHAPTER 6
VLAD
On Friday night, against my better judgement, I step into the Palazzo, my heart racing beneath my tailored suit. The decadent bar sparkles like a trap set with diamonds. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over patrons draped in designer labels. Every face, no matter how docile, is a potential enemy since the place is a known hang-out of the Italian mafia.
What the hell am I doing here?
My new Ferrari sits untouched in the garage, fifteen million dollars of speed and power delivered to my door yesterday. Normally, I would be testing the new ride, yet here I am, chasing a man instead of horsepower. I've lost my damn mind.
I slide onto a barstool, hyper-aware of eyes tracking my movement. "Whiskey. Neat," I tell the bartender, a cute blonde with a practiced smile.
"Of course, sir." She pours the drink into a crystal tumbler filled with ice. "Will you be having dinner? Would you like to reserve a spot on the patio tonight? The weather is quite nice."
I pause, weighing my options. "Inside is fine." Tonight, the walls are my friends. The fewer people recognize me, the better. Even Ivan wasn't fond of my coming here.
As I sip the whiskey to take the edge off, memories from that night in LA flood back. His hands on my skin, his lips trailing fire. The way he moved, confident and hungry. I shift uncomfortably, arousal warring with self-preservation.
This is madness. I'm surrounded by Morelli territory on all sides, by people who'd slit my throat given half a chance. A newcomer in this town where Nicola's family have been reigning since the beginning of this city. However, I can't make myself leave. The curiosity in me is like a potent mix. Curiosity and need to get him out of my system. Because if the race didn't help, then there's only one other way to go about it.
The whiskey burns, but not enough to drown out the echo of Nico's voice in my ear, husky with desire. I close my eyes, savoring the phantom touch of his fingers along my jaw.
"Another?" the bartender asks, eyeing my empty glass.
I nod, unable to push words past the tightness in my throat. As she refills my drink, I scan the room, searching for a familiar silhouette, a flash of those ruthless blue eyes.
What am I even hoping for?
I down half the fresh whiskey in one swallow. Sadly, it doesn't wash away the taste of insanity on my tongue.
I check my phone, minutes crawling by like hours. Fuck, I've only been here twenty minutes. It feels like an eternity. There's a text from Ivan in Russian—asking me if I'm done having a drink. He knows it's not just a drink I'm after though. He heard most of it at the action. Currently, he is outside, waiting for me.
My fingers hover over the bar, ready to signal for a third drink. One more, then I'm out. This was a bad idea from the start.
Just as I'm about to wave the bartender over, a familiar voice floats through the ambient chatter.
"He'll have whiskey. Neat."
My head snaps up, meeting Nicola's gaze. He slides onto the stool next to me, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
"Seems like that kind of night, isn't it, Hot Shot?" he says, voice low and teasing. "Whiskey night is what I mean."
I grunt something non-committal. My cock stirs at the sound of his voice as if it has a mind of his own.
I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing his ear. "You knew who I was when you approached me in LA."
Nico pulls back, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Pure coincidence."
"Bullshit," I growl, but there's no real heat behind it. My body's already betraying me, responding to his proximity, to his scent, his heat, his power.
He shifts his stool to sit closer and I can feel his breath on my neck, hot and prickly. "Maybe I just have a type," he says. "Tall, dark, and dangerous."
I snort. "That's rich, coming from you."
"What can I say? I like to live on the edge." His hand brushes my thigh under the bar. "Speaking of which, how about we have a little... reunion?"
I laugh quietly, the sound strained. "You're insane."
"Is that a yes?" Nico's eyes are dark with desire as he holds my gaze.
My gut churns and my cock demands attention. "You know who I am and I know who you are, Nicola." I stress his name as if I need to persuade myself to leave.
The asshole smiles. "Which makes it even more interesting."
"I bet."
"So what do you say, Mr. Solovey?" he whispers into the tight space between us.
The tension between us is electric, suffocating. I should walk away or put a bullet between his eyes.
Instead, I mutter, "Fuck it," and follow him toward the elevator after he leaves a couple of hundred-dollar bills for the bartender. As we walk, I pull out my phone and text Ivan, telling him I'll be a while. He responds with a thumbs-up emoji and a curt promise to wait.
My brain is all foggy, not processing the situation correctly as we cross the intimately-lit lobby.
When the elevator doors slide shut Nico pounces, pinning me firmly against the cold metal wall. His lips crash into mine, hungry and insistent. I respond with equal fervor, my hands gripping his hips, pulling him against me, trying to feel his cock. When I draw back to take a breath, I'm stunned by how the fluorescent light above casting sharp shadows on his face only makes him look even more beautiful. I never thought I'd think about someone this way, but with him all sorts of ridiculous thoughts fill my head.
Beneath my fingertips, his body is firm and unyielding, yet his eyes communicate a different story. Maybe I'll break him tonight.
Before I manage to come to my senses, the elevator dings, announcing our arrival at whatever place he's prepared for this rendezvous. Did he plan this? Or is he always ready?
We walk briskly down the corridor until we get to the suite at the end. Nico pulls out a key card and presses it to the lock. It clicks and the door gives in.
We stumble into the hotel room, a tangle of limbs and heated breaths. Nico shoves me against the wall again, his body pressed flush against mine. He doesn't kiss me, just stares into my eyes.
"So you did plan this," I whisper.
"I was hoping," he counters, running his index finger up my chest to pop the top button of my dress shirt.
"And if someone saw us?"
He leans in, eliminating all distance between our faces and presses his mouth to my cheek. "Relax, gattino ," he husks out against my skin. "This place belongs to my family. I'll wipe the security footage later." His lips trail along my jaw, then he pulls back to look at me as if needing to know his solution to our predicament is fine with me. "Good?"
I arch an eyebrow, a sliver of suspicion cutting through the fog of lust. "And what if you're tempted to use it as blackmail?"
He smiles. "Please. I have more interesting ways to keep you coming back." He brushes his finger over the curve of my Adam's apple. "Besides, isn't what we're currently doing considered a major taboo in both our families?"
I take a moment to process his explanation. He's right. We'll both burn if either syndicate finds out. Then my hands slide under his shirt, feeling the lean muscle beneath. "Cocky bastard."
"You have no idea," Nico purrs, grinding his hips against mine.
I bite back a moan and bring my hands higher, tangling them in his thick, dark waves. "This is insane. We are not supposed to get mixed up. Solovey and Morelli are enemies."
"Makes it more exciting, doesn't it?" He nips at my lower lip.
We kiss again, deep and searching. When we finally break apart, gasping for air, I find myself drowning in those impossibly blue eyes. The raw hunger I see there matches my own, and I realize with a jolt to my system that knowing who Nico really is has only intensified my attraction.
"Fuck," I breathe, tracing the cleft in his chin. "I should hate you."
Nico's smile is wolfish. "But you don't, do you, Vlad?"
I don't answer. I can't. Instead, I pull him in for another searing kiss, grabbing his silk tie. Our tongues battle for dominance while our hands frantically tug at clothing. Buttons scatter across the plush carpet as I rip open his shirt, revealing that toned chest dusted with dark hair.
"Impatient, aren't we?" Nico chuckles, shrugging off the ruined garment.
"Shut up," I growl, running my palms over his warm skin.
"Make me." He makes quick work of my own shirt, then attacks my belt.
We stumble toward the bed, a chaos of urgent hands and feet and half-removed clothing. I trip, falling backward onto the mattress with him on top of me. For a moment, we're both short-winded, staring at each other.
Then it's a frenzy of movement. We roll across the sheets, each fighting for control. Nico's nimble fingers work my zipper while I yank down his tailored slacks. Our cocks brush through the thin fabric of our underwear and I hiss at the contact.
"Fuck, you're just as good as I remember," Nico moans, biting his lips.
With a surge of strength, I flip us over, pinning Nico beneath me. I'm not bottoming. Not even with him, although it's clear he's got the real alpha energy. His blue eyes flash with heat and challenge as I straddle his hips.
"Got you." I drop my head to claim his roguish mouth once more.
Then I land several kisses along his jaw, savoring the rasp of stubble against my lips. Moving lower, I nip at the spot just below his ear, drawing a gasp from him. My tongue traces the column of his throat, tasting a hint of salt and expensive cologne.
As I work my way down his chest, the fine hairs tickle my mouth. I pause to swirl my tongue around a hardened nipple and Nico arches into the touch, hips bucking upward to rub against my length.
"Christ," he pants, fingers grasping at my hair.
"You're crediting Him for all my hard work?" I murmur against his pec.
"Look who's talking." He reaches up to grab the golden cross I'm wearing around my neck. My mother gave it to me when I was little, right after I was baptized. I hardly remember the event, but I haven't taken the cross off ever since. Sometimes, it feels like a part of me, part of my body. Sometimes I even forget it's there.
"Very nicely crafted," Nico purrs out a compliment, studying the cross. His fingers brush over the metalwork but he doesn't follow up with the question as if sensing I won't reply anyway.
For a moment, memories of my mother threaten to surface. I push them away, focusing instead on the warm solid body beneath me.
"Didn't take you for religious type," Nico comments.
"I'm full of surprises," I reply, grazing his collarbone with my teeth.
My hand snakes between us, palming Nico's cock through his briefs. He's rock hard, the fabric damp with pre-cum. I stroke him, reveling in the way his hips lift up seeking more friction.
"Hot Shot," Nico groans, "stop teasing."
I'm so absorbed in drawing those delicious sounds from him that I don't notice his legs wrapping around my waist until it's too late. With a swift motion, he flips our positions, reversing our roles.
My back is pressed up to the bedding now, my heart thundering in my chest. I hate losing control like this, losing power, when I least expect it.
Nico grins down at me triumphantly. "Looks like you didn't get the memo, caro . I'm always on top."
I narrow my eyes. "That's not how this works. You can only be on top if you're sucking my dick."
His laugh is rich and throaty. "Careful what you wish for, Vladimir."
"Why?" I challenge. "You that good?"
Instead of answering, Nico just winks and begins kissing a trail down my chest and to my stomach. As he slips lower, his lips begin to feel like a blaze scorching path down my abdomen. Each time there's contact, it ignites nerve endings I had no idea existed in me. My breath catches as he reaches the sensitive skin below my navel. His tongue darts out, tracing lazy circles that make my cock twitch in anticipation.
"Fuck," I hiss, fingers clenching the sheets.
I feel Nico's smirk against my skin before he pulls my boxers down and takes me into his mouth without warning. There's no hesitation. He knows what he is doing. He's probably done it before many times. The sudden wet heat that engulfs me short-circuits my brain.
My body convulses from the onslaught of pleasure as Nico's firm grip keeps me pinned to the mattress. Every movement of his mouth around my length sends ripples of electric sensation through my limbs. My hips strain against his hold, my cock is begging for release already, but he only tightens his grasp, torturing me further.
"Fucking hell," I groan, struggling to form coherent thoughts as Nico's tongue swirls around my shaft.
He works me with expert precision, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks. My resolve crumbles; I'm putty in his hands—or rather, his mouth.
His fingers dance across my balls, adding a new dimension of thrill that has me seeing stars. I fight to maintain some semblance of control, but it's a losing battle.
"I'm close," I warn, voice strained.
He only doubles his efforts in response, hollowing his cheeks and taking me deeper. The sight of those piercing blue eyes gazing up at me, framed by dark lashes, is my undoing when I lift my head to look at him.
Release crashes over me drowning out all rational thought. I come with a guttural moan, spilling down Nico's throat. He swallows every drop, milking me until I'm spent and oversensitive.
As I lay there panting, trying to regain my bearings, Nico crawls back up my body. His cock is rigid, leaking pre-cum onto my stomach, his boxers are lowered just enough for me to see him taking himself in hand, stroking furiously.
"Don't close your eyes, Hot Shot," he rasps out between his labored breaths, "I want you to watch me come all over your pretty face."
"Whatever you say, Romeo."
Seconds later, he's shooting his load, painting my chest with ribbons of white. The sight is obscenely erotic, and I feel a renewed stirring of interest despite having just climaxed. His cock is a masterpiece and for a second I pretend he's my personal sex toy. Hard and sweaty and willing.
He falls forward but props himself on both elbows just in time, right before our bodies collide. Then he lands a quick kiss on my lips and rolls over to lie on his back next to me.
We remain still and quiet, both catching our breaths.
"I can get addicted to that," Nico eventually mutters and though I can't see him, I can sense the smile on his face. There's a change in his voice when he's smiling and I'm hearing it now—that satisfaction of accomplishment.
"All dangerous things are addictive," I reply.
For several minutes we say nothing else, just try to get our bearings. Then Nico rises from the bed and disappears into the bathroom. He returns a little later with a wet towel and sits next to me, gently cleaning us both off. The tender gesture feels oddly intimate, more so than what we've just done.
I look at him as he runs the towel over my neck, wiping the rest of his cum. His hair is mussed, cheeks flushed—he looks thoroughly debauched and utterly gorgeous.
"So," I begin, voice rough from the sudden tightness in my throat, "I guess we need to talk about...this."
Nico's expression grows somewhat serious, but the hint of the smirk never truly goes away. "Yeah, I suppose we do."
"You are deleting the footage of me ever being at Palazzo or the hotel."
"Oh, bossy."
I reach up to seize his jaw with my palm. "I'm serious."
He stares down at me with his impossible eyes as if challenging my request. "I promised I'd do it. I always keep my promise, caro ."
Sensing that my grip loosens, he tilts his head and wriggles out of my grasp, and bites my thumb playfully.
My stomach clenches and not from desire, but from something else—affection I hardly ever allow myself.
"Don't be so serious all the time," Nico says with a chuckle, then he reaches into his discarded pants, retrieving his phone. His fingers dance across the screen before he holds it out to me. "Put your number in," he says. "This is my direct line."
I don't move for a heartbeat or two, assessing the offer and what it entails. "What for?" I ask.
"Text me anytime you need to... blow off some steam." His lips quirk in a suggestive smirk. "Or if you just want to talk."
I take the device, my fingers brushing his. A jolt of electricity passes between us. "Are you a therapist?"
"I can be."
"You are so full of it, Romeo." Still, I input my details into his phone, thinking to myself that I won't do it. I will not text him. I will not let this insanity go on any longer. It's dangerous.
Nico's voice drops to a whisper when I return the phone. "By the way, I had fun."
"So did I."
"Speaking of fun," Nico says, rising to his feet. "You still owe me that Ferrari ride."
"Bullshit," I retort, but there's no heat in it. "I won that car fair and square. It's mine. I don't owe you anything."
"Keep telling yourself that, Hot Shot." He smiles at me from the vantage point of his height. His entire pose is a tease. He's a picture of athleticism and his cock looks impressive even when it's soft and spent. And I realize I want to taste it, take him into my mouth and suck him.
Fuck.
These thoughts never occurred to me much. I'm not someone who lets another take charge but with him I don't seem to care. It's unnerving how comfortable I feel with this man, given who he is. The nephew of my enemy. A man I should, by all rights, despise.
We fall into an easy silence for a second as Nico picks up his crumpled clothes from the floor.
"What are we doing here?" I murmur, more to myself than to him.
He turns to face me, blue eyes intense. "Living dangerously, I suppose. Isn't that what we do best?"
"Sure."
"This is a secret, caro ."
"No one can know about us."
"No one," he agrees, pulling on his boxers.
I feel a weight settle in my chest as I watch him dress. This path we're treading is treacherous, lined with pitfalls and snares. One misstep could spell disaster for us both.
Yet as I look at Nico, I can't bring myself to regret what we've done. Not yet.