Chapter 36 Damiano
DAMIANO
If I ever have to see Jesse-fucking-Foster’s obnoxious little face again after tonight, it’ll be too soon. The red-faced Russian he’s got with him seems just as annoying as Daniel King’s lapdog, too. But I paste what will pass for a smile on my face and take the hand the Russian is extending.
“Grisha Andropov,” he says. “And you are the infamous Damiano Orsini, yes? Jesse here tells me you wanted to make amends.” He laughs, but it’s got no warmth to it. “Of course, there’s no need. No need at all.” But his eyes hover greedily on Caligula, who keeps his gaze glued to the floor.
“Just wanted to smooth over any ruffled feathers,” I say.
“Oh, no feathers ruffled. Your bid was—you must excuse me—quite beyond reason.” He laughs again. “Mine was pure curiosity. But Daniel explained the circumstances to me afterward.”
I give another smile that feels more like a grimace. Whether this asshole knows it or not, he’s telling me how widely known my hatred of Caligula Clemenza must be…and how clear my obsessive behavior was over the years. My weakness has been on display without me even realizing it.
That means anyone might have sent the text that summoned me to the Obelisk that night.
“It’s been well worth the money,” I tell the Russian.
“Jesse said you’d be interested in sharing.” The flat eyes gleam.
“And Mr. King says I am also at your disposal, Mr. Orsini,” Jesse purrs, putting his hand on my arm again. I have to fight not to shake it off.
The murderous look Caligula sends his way is enough to make me move away from the touch, camouflaged by reaching for my drink. “Actually, I’d prefer a little privacy with my new friend here.”
“But—” Jesse begins with a pout.
“Run along, Jesse,” the Russian insists. “Book us a private room for an hour.”
“An hour?” I say. “Why not two?” The Russian likes that idea, grinning wide. But Jesse doesn’t move, obviously trying to find an excuse to join us despite a direct order. “Thanks for the intro,” I tell him. “Maybe we can catch up after.”
That seems to appease him, although Caligula’s clenching jaw doesn’t escape my notice. The Clemenza is pissed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think…
Well, I do know better. And I need to keep my head in the game.
Andropov leads me down a hallway to a quieter part of the club, to one of the rooms used for private pursuits.
I’ve been in one or two of these rooms before—with company—although I was just blowing off steam.
This one’s the same as the others I’ve seen: a couple of black leather armchairs, a two-seater sofa that’s probably seen some action, a coffee table.
Low lighting. Private. Soundproofed. The kind of room where you either talk business or get your dick sucked, sometimes both.
There’s a small bar cart in the room and the Russian pours us each a vodka, my least favorite drink. I throw it back anyway and accept another. This one I’ll nurse.
As for Caligula, I point to the floor next to the armchair I’m sitting in, and he goes to his knees by my feet, head bowed. “I gotta be honest, Grisha,” I say before the Russian can steer the conversation. “I had an ulterior motive for getting you in here.”
“Oh, yes?” His beady little eyes are all over the Clemenza, and I know exactly what he’s imagining.
“Yeah. I wanted some info.”
He’s all smiles as he looks at me. “And you offer this in exchange?” He flicks one finger, from the hand holding his glass, toward Caligula.
I set down my drink. “You know, Jesse Foster might’ve given you the wrong impression out there.”
“Oh, yes?” he replies again, a lot colder this time.
“The Clemenza is mine.” I lay it out clear for him, so he knows not to push. “So if you were hoping to use him...” I give a shrug. “What can I say? I don’t share.”
The Russian stares at Caligula instead of me, frustration clear in his face. “You expect me to give you information for nothing? You waste my time, Mr. Orsini.”
He starts to rise, and I feel Caligula’s finger jabbing into my ankle. He glances up at me with a furious, fleeting expression.
The problem is, I knew the second I came into this place that I was not going to share Caligula Clemenza with any other fucker on earth.
I bought him. He’s mine. And there’s not a damn thing any of them can do about it.
But we need that intel.
“Hold on,” I say as the Russian turns to leave. “I didn’t say nothing.”
Andropov pauses, one eyebrow raised. “Then what do you offer? Because I was promised—”
“Jesse promised. Not me.” I lean back, keeping my voice easy. “But I get it. You came in here expecting a show. So maybe we can work something out.”
The Russian reaches for the bottle of vodka and takes it with him back to his seat, interest rekindled. “I’m listening.”
I pause, trying to come up with something. Anything. Caligula shifts slightly, his hand sliding up behind his back where Andropov can’t see it, finger and thumb meeting in the universal signal for “OK.”
Okay. Go ahead. I trust you to keep me safe.
Fuck.
“Maybe you’d like to watch,” I sigh out.
Something shifts in Andropov’s expression. I’ve hit a nerve—the right one.
I reach down and grip Caligula’s chin, tilting his face up. Those golden eyes meet mine, unreadable. I tilt his face toward the Russian. “Pretty, right?”
“As you say.” He’s still guarded. But he’s intrigued.
“The Clemenza can put on a show for you. But the only dick going near him is mine.”
Andropov’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s considering it. “And in exchange?” he asks. “What is this information you seek?”
This is it. I have to show our cards now, before we even lay the bet. But no point going through all this if the Bratva has no usable information. “You got any idea who’s been hunting down the Clemenzas?”
A slow smile thins his lips. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I wanna shake their fucking hand. And maybe give them a go at this last one, once I’ve used him up.”
“I see. Well…I might have something for you.”
“Gimme a crumb. Right now, so I know you’re on the up and up.”
There’s a long pause, and then Andropov says, “He is a compatriot of mine. I can introduce you.”
“What’s his name?”
“I have paid your entry fee. Now I get my performance, yes? And no rushing.”
I look down at Caligula. His hand is still making that “OK” sign behind his back.
“Deal,” I say. I unzip my pants, fish my cock out. It’s already half-hard at the idea. Because as sick as this fuck across the table from me is, I’m just as sick. Always have been. Always will be.
For the first time, I wish I could be different.
But wasn’t this my plan from the start? Humiliate the Clemenza. Break him down bit by bit until there was nothing left of him…
“Is it really true he was a virgin?” Andropov asks, leaning forward in his chair to get a better look at the action.
I slide a hand into the gold-bronze hair of my prize, and Caligula gives a little gasp of pain, even though I’m not even tugging.
“He was,” I say. “But let me tell you, Grisha, since we’re friends now, I didn’t take his virginity.
” I tug Caligula up so that he bends over the arm of the chair, positioning his mouth. “I obliterated it.”
My new friend laughs in delight. “So you have had the pleasure of training him. I saw the bruises on his wrists. Has he been difficult to tame?”
Bruises on his…? I glance down at Caligula’s wrists and see the marks I left on him from where I grabbed onto him while Rosa was stitching me up. Andropov has assumed they were left over from restraints.
But he’s not entirely wrong, is he? Not about me restraining Caligula. And I’ve done a lot worse to him than just chain him up.
I need to focus.
“He’s still learning,” I say. “He might choke a little.” I take Caligula’s jaw in my other hand.
“Let us hope he does,” the Russian says. “The Clemenzas were a blight on my brothers. There was much rejoicing after the old man was removed. And they will enjoy my tales of tonight.”
Under my hand, Caligula jerks as though stung.
“Well?” Andropov says eagerly. “Begin.”
I hesitate.
Because I don’t think I can do this. After all my talk at home, telling Caligula that he’d have to play submissive, cower in front of all these fuckers, I’m the one who can’t play my part. And it should be the easiest part of all for someone like me.
Caligula gives me a quick squeeze on the thigh. The Russian is starting to look impatient. Another thigh squeeze, harder this time.
“Open your mouth,” I hear myself say.
He opens it.
And then he swallows me down before I can second-guess my decision.
“There we go, there we go,” the Russian encourages, leaning forward. “A little deeper, now.”
If Caligula wasn’t doing his best to keep me right there in my seat, hands pushing down hard on my thighs, I’d be punching the hell out of this fucker opposite me for talking like that. The Russian doesn’t deserve to see this.
But I need to keep it together. Keep Caligula safe while he puts on a show of humiliation for this Bratva asshole—a show I’m supposedly directing. When Andropov leans over like he wants a closer look, I shift my position slightly to block his view.
I thread my hands through Caligula’s silky hair. His tongue slides all over my cock, and then he makes a gagging noise.
That sound makes the Russian groan with pleasure.
This is all wrong. But we need that lead.
“Surely he can take in more than that.” The Russian grins when Caligula pulls off me to gasp for air. “Don’t feel the need to hold back on my account, Orsini.”
Caligula’s head is bowed, hair hanging in his face, and I feel his fingers curl against my thigh. A silent message.
We started, so we might as well go on. I lift Caligula’s face up to look at him, trace my thumb over his wet lips. “You heard him, Clemenza. I’m not going to hold back.”