6. Five
Five
Fabrizio
W ith Oliver, my right-hand man, shadowing my every move with the silent assurance of a seasoned bodyguard, I stride down the dimly lit back hallway of Kings Court. It’s one of many establishments I own scattered throughout the city.
It’s early in the day, so there aren’t any employees around. The hallway stretches out before me, empty, with our footsteps echoing off the walls as the only sound. But the air still carries the lingering scent of cigar smoke and cheap perfume—remnants of last night’s festivities.
Normally, I prefer conducting business from the familiar comfort of my own home, rarely using the office spaces nestled in the back of my most successful, prestigious gentleman’s club.
While I’m perpetually busy, drowning in a sea of meetings and work that stretches from early morning until late at night, at least it allows me to spend a little more time at home with the twins.
But they aren’t at home right now. They’re with their grandfather.
Instead, their teacher, Sienna, is roaming my house, her presence a subtle disruption to my routine. After completely losing control of myself this morning, I figured it might be best to put some distance between us. Her wide eyes, parted lips, and the blush that bloomed across her cheeks—it’s all still too vivid, too tempting, too distracting.
And I can’t afford to be distracted right now. But that’s exactly what I am. The memory of her lingers—the taste of her mouth, hot and sweet on my tongue. The softness of her skin, like silk beneath my fingertips. The sound of her soft moans and whimpers, a symphony of forbidden desire. The scent of her obvious arousal, a primal call to the predator inside me. I can feel myself getting hard all over again, my blood pounding a heavy beat in my ears. I need to get a grip on myself, and fast. Not only do I have business matters demanding my attention, but I also have a score to settle with the bastard who dared to point a gun at my children. And their teacher. My blood still boils at the memory, a cold fury burning in my veins like ice water.
When I find him, I will end him slowly and painfully, make him beg for mercy he will never receive. The thought brings a cruel smile to my lips, a promise of vengeance to come. But first, I need to find him. And there is no doubt I will find him, no matter the time and cost.
As soon as we step into my office, Oliver clears his throat, the dry, rasping sound echoing through the otherwise silent room. I turn to look at him, arching an eyebrow. He chews on his lip, avoiding eye contact—a clear sign that he’s nervous, which can only mean he’s about to say something he knows I won’t like to hear.
“The teacher,” he begins carefully. “Is it a good idea to let her stay near the children?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken implications and even a hint of accusation. My eyes narrow, and I glare at him, my mind immediately going on the defensive. Even though I know his questioning is motivated by his adoration for Maddy and Flynn, whom he’s watched grow up since the day we brought them home from the hospital, I don’t appreciate him second-guessing my judgment and challenging my authority. “I mean, no disrespect, but are you considering the option that she could be involved in the attack?” he presses on, pushing his luck.
“Do I look like a goddamn idiot to you?” I snap, sharper than I intended.
”Of course not, sir. But then… why are you keeping her close?” His tone now carries confusion rather than accusation.
“Since when are you questioning my decisions?” The words taste bitter on my tongue; their harshness feels unjustified. Because ever since I brought the woman home, I’ve been questioning the decision myself. But for an entirely different reason than Oliver does.
Perhaps because I can’t deny the way my pulse quickens when she’s near, the way her presence feels like a steadying anchor rather than a potential threat.
He gives me a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment that he overstepped a boundary and that his personal opinion should stay exactly that—personal.
“I want you to dig into her and find out everything there is to know,” I order, my mind already racing with possibilities. “Her friends, her enemies, her connections—I want to know fucking everything she does when she’s not standing in front of a classroom.” I lean forward, my elbows on the cold wood of my desk, my eyes boring into his. “ Everything. ”
“Yes, sir,” he responds curtly.
I am far from naive and no stranger to the concept of my family having targets on their backs. Being in the position I am in, doing the business I’m doing, there is hardly a person I can trust, and I certainly don’t trust Sienna. Still, something inside me defies the thought that she would deliberately harm my children, her students. The way the kids talk about her, their faces filled with a mix of awe and affection, sometimes makes me think she is the only reason they function like normal children.
My cock twitches in my pants as I think of her, a reaction I haven’t experienced in years. Damn it. I haven’t felt anything like this… hell, I haven’t felt anything since my wife’s death.
While I left the house to be able to think straight, I find my thoughts constantly circling back to the woman. Ms. Walsh is an exquisite creature, unassuming in her beauty, yet there’s a fire burning in her that attracts me. The little taste of her I allowed myself this morning only fueled my carnal hunger. The force of my need for her surprises the hell out of me, and I am tossed into a moment of filthy visions, longing for all the dirty things I wanted to do to her. That I am going to do to her. Her full lips, her smooth skin, the way her eyes flash with determination… it all combines to create a package I can’t resist. And I am no longer sure that I intend to.
“Daddy!”
The screeching sound that erupts from my daughter’s mouth is music to my ears.
A high-pitched squeal piercing the air—it’s both ear-shattering and heart-warming at the same time. Everyone who resides on my father’s premises will have heard her proclamation of my arrival. I can’t help but smile as she flies across the foyer and flings herself into my outstretched arms, wrapping her little arms around my neck in a tight hug as I scoop her up, twirling her around in a circle as she giggles and squeals even louder.
Her warm body pressed against mine, the sweet scent of her shampoo, supposed to smell like fairy glitter and unicorn, fills my nostrils—it’s the best feeling in the world. Behind her, my son saunters into the room, not sharing his sister’s excitement to see me again. His legs carry him across the room with a laid-back ease that makes him seem older than his years. His face is a mask of cool indifference, but I can see the faintest glimmer of a smile in his blue eyes. He’s always been the tough one, the one who acts like he doesn’t care, but I know he’s just as happy to see me as his sister is. He’s just like his father, stoic and reserved, only showing his emotions when he’s angry.
It’s a trait that worries me, seeing my own shortcomings reflected back at me in my son’s face. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I lean back to look at my beautiful babies. They’re growing up so fast, changing every day. It won’t be long before these childhood displays of affection from my daughter are a thing of the past, before my son’s stoic reserve turns into the same kind of emotional blockade he and I share.
Appearance-wise, they are a perfect mixture between my deceased wife and me. Lexi’s golden locks and my dark hair have combined into a beautiful brown color in our children, a shade that shimmers with golden undertones in the sunlight. Both kids have inherited my blue eyes, but the subtle gray undertone of their mother’s irises makes their gaze appear warmer, softer than my own. It’s as if they’re looking at me with a piece of her—a tiny fragment of the woman I lost, the woman who should be here to see the incredible children we created grow up.
But it’s not just their physical appearance that reflects their parents. In every other way, my daughter is the spitting image of Lexi, while my son is his father reincarnate. Maddy possesses her mother’s spark, her innate zest for life that draws people in like a magnet. She lights up a room with her presence, her laughter and smile infectious… just like her mother’s.
My son, on the other hand, has my reserved nature, a tendency to observe from the sidelines before getting involved, and when he does, he does it with all of his force. He’s brooding, intense, with a quiet strength that commands respect. He’s a thinker, a planner, and harbors just as much anger inside as I do. Which occasionally leads to behavior that becomes more and more unacceptable as he struggles to find healthy outlets for his emotions.
“How was your day? Did you have a good time with your granddad?” I ask.
“Yah! It was super fun.” Maddy’s enthusiasm is radiant, and I can’t help but smile at her excitement.
Flynn wrinkles his little nose. “Old people are boring.”
A part of me wants to chuckle at his blunt assessment, but another part of me wants to scold him for his disrespect.
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I gently reprimand him. “You know your grandfather loves you and is always beyond excited when you stay with him.” The words are not even meant to make my son feel bad; they’re the truth. Ever since my father stepped down, handing the reins of his business to his oldest son, his greatest joy has been his grandchildren. Maybe he’s making up for lost time with his own kids now, maybe he’s finally figuring out this whole parenting thing, even if it is with the next generation.
“Sorry,” my son mumbles.
“Now, come on. Grab your stuff and let’s get home. I have a surprise for you.” Their faces light up at my words, and they scramble to gather their things. I watch them, my heart swelling with pride and love, with a touch of melancholy.