Chapter 8 Sandro
EMILIO STOOD IN my foyer looking overwhelmed and trying to hide it.
I watched him take in the space—the vaulted ceilings, the modern art worth more than most people's houses, the Italian marble floors that cost six figures to install.
Cataloguing. Assessing. Trying to understand the man who lived here.
Good luck. I barely understood myself most days.
"Your home is..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Excessive?" I offered. "Ostentatious? A monument to wealth and ego? Obscene, like the penthouse?"
"Beautiful." He met my eyes. "I was going to say beautiful."
Something warm moved through my chest. Dangerous. I pushed it aside and gestured toward the hallway. "My study is this way. We should start working while we still have the self-control to focus on financial records."
His breath caught audibly. I smiled and led him through the house, hyperaware of his presence behind me. He'd worn jeans and a button-down like I'd suggested. Casual. Comfortable. The kind of clothes that would be easy to remove later when I finally got my hands on him properly.
The study was my favorite room—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds, custom bookshelves filled with first editions and legal texts, a desk large enough to work on or fuck on depending on the need.
I'd chosen this room deliberately. Neutral territory.
Professional enough to ease Emilio's conscience about what we were doing.
At least until I destroyed that conscience completely.
"Sit." I gestured to the couch rather than the desk chairs. More comfortable. Less formal. "Wine?"
"I probably shouldn't—"
"One glass won't impair your judgment. Though I'm hoping to impair it in other ways later.
" I poured two glasses of Brunello without waiting for his agreement.
Handed him one and settled beside him on the couch.
Close enough that our thighs touched. "To thorough attorneys who find embezzlement patterns their clients already knew about. "
He took the glass but didn't drink. "You enjoyed that. Testing me."
"I did. You're fascinating to watch when you're focused. All that brilliant intensity directed at solving problems." I sipped my wine. "I want to see what you look like when that intensity is directed at me."
Color rose in his cheeks. "We're supposed to be working."
"We will. But first I want to establish something.
" I set down my wine and took his glass, placing it beside mine on the side table.
Turned to face him fully. "What happens tonight—after the work is done—is your choice, Emilio.
I won't pressure you. Won't manipulate you into my bed.
If you want to leave, I'll have Thomas drive you home. No consequences. No judgment."
"But?" He knew there was a but. Smart man.
"But if you stay—if you choose this—I'm going to take you apart.
Learn every sound you make, every place that makes you gasp, exactly how you look when you come undone.
I'm going to be very thorough about it." I traced his jaw with my fingertips.
"So decide now, before we start working.
Before the wine and the late hour and the intimacy of being alone here together make the decision for you. "
He was breathing faster. I could see his pulse hammering in his throat. "What if I want both? The work and the rest?"
"Then you'll get both. But I need you to say it clearly. Tell me what you want."
"I want..." He swallowed hard. "I want to stay. I want everything you're offering. I want you."
Satisfaction flooded through me, dark and possessive. "Good. Now let's work. The anticipation will make it better."
I retrieved my laptop and the financial files I'd prepared. Settled beside him close enough that our shoulders touched. Opened the documents and began walking him through the real financial structure of my operations.
It was a seduction of a different kind. Showing him the empire I'd built.
The shell companies and offshore accounts and carefully structured transactions that kept everything legal on paper while serving purposes that definitely weren't. Trusting him with information that could destroy me if he ever chose to use it.
Emilio absorbed it all with focused intensity. Asked intelligent questions. Made notes. Understood the complexity in ways most attorneys wouldn't. His mind was beautiful—sharp and analytical and completely engaged.
I found myself getting hard just watching him work.
"Here." He pointed to a transaction I'd flagged. "This shell account—it's one of the ones being used for the embezzlement. But the creation date is three months ago. If Vincent is your mole, he's been planning this for a while."
"Or someone's been planning it for him." I pulled up the access logs. "These accounts require authorization codes that only five people have. Myself, my three partners, and Vincent."
"And you think it’s Vincent? Acting alone? Could he have an accomplice?"
"Possible but unlikely. We're careful about security." I scrolled through the transaction history. "But if he's working with the Costellos, they might have provided resources. Technical support. Someone to help him bypass our systems."
Emilio was close enough that I could smell his shampoo. Something clean and simple that suited him. I wanted to bury my face in his hair and breathe him in. Wanted to push him down on this couch and—
Focus. Work first. Pleasure after.
We spent two hours reviewing the financial records. Emilio built a timeline showing when the embezzlement started, how it escalated, and how it correlated with increased Costello family activity in our territory. He was brilliant at pattern recognition, at seeing connections I'd missed.
"This is good work," I said finally, closing my laptop. "Excellent, actually. You've built a compelling narrative showing coordinated harassment designed to weaken us financially while creating legal problems."
"It's circumstantial. We'd need hard evidence linking Vincent to the Costellos to make it stick." He rubbed his eyes, tired from the focused concentration. "But it's a start."
"It's more than a start. It's exactly the defense strategy we need." I stood and offered him my hand. "Come on. You've been staring at spreadsheets for two hours. Let me give you a tour of the house while your eyes recover."
He took my hand. Let me pull him to his feet. We stood close enough that I could feel his body heat, see the way his pupils dilated when I didn't immediately step back.
"A tour," he repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"We're calling it whatever you want it to be." I traced his lower lip with my thumb. Watched his eyes darken. "Though I'm hoping by the end of the tour, you'll have seen my bedroom from several interesting angles."
His laugh was breathless. "You're very confident."
"I'm very observant. You've been hard since we sat down on that couch.
You keep looking at my hands like you're imagining what they'd feel like on you.
Your breathing changes every time I move closer.
" I leaned in until our mouths were almost touching.
"I know what you want, Emilio. The question is whether you're brave enough to take it. "
"I'm not brave. I'm terrified."
"Good. Fear and desire make an intoxicating combination." I kissed him softly. Just a brush of lips. A promise of more to come. "Let me show you my home. Then let me show you what it's like to stop being afraid."
I led him through the house, pointing out rooms and features while tension built between us with every step. The kitchen with its professional-grade appliances. The gym where I worked out my stress. The library filled with first editions worth small fortunes.
And finally, the master suite.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds. A bed large enough to get lost in. Furniture that cost more than cars. Everything designed for comfort and luxury and the kind of debauchery I was planning to introduce Emilio to.
He stood in the doorway like crossing the threshold was crossing a point of no return. Smart man. It was.
"Last chance," I said quietly. "You can still change your mind. I'll take you home. No judgment. No consequences."
"Stop giving me outs." He stepped into the room. Closed the distance between us. "I'm here because I want to be. Because I want you. Stop asking if I'm sure and just—"
I kissed him. Swallowed whatever he'd been about to say and replaced it with the taste of me. He responded immediately, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer like he couldn't get enough.
I walked him backward toward the bed, kissing him the whole way. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, I pushed him down gently and followed him onto the expensive sheets.
"Tell me what you want," I murmured against his mouth. "I need to hear you say it."
"You. I want you. I want—" He broke off when I bit his lower lip gently. "Fuck. I want everything."
"Everything is a big category." I started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing skin I'd been fantasizing about. Smooth and warm and trembling under my touch. "Be specific, Emilio. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"I don't—I'm not good at—" His breath hitched when I traced the line of his collarbone with my tongue. "I want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want you to fuck me until I can't remember why this was a bad idea."
Christ. Hearing those words in his voice went straight to my cock. "That I can do."
I stripped him methodically. Shirt first, revealing lean muscle and pale skin that flushed beautifully under my attention. Then his jeans, pulling them off along with his underwear until he was completely naked beneath me.
Gorgeous. Even better than I'd imagined, and I'd been imagining obsessively.
I traced the line of his hip bone with my fingertips. Watched him arch into the touch. "Has anyone ever taken their time with you, Emilio? Really learned what you like?"