Chapter 25
Lorenzo
“ I have to give it to you. This is a great cigar,” Rafe grins, rolling it between his fingers like it’s a reward he earned.
I nod once, drawing the smoke into my mouth and holding it there. I don’t inhale, I just let the flavor sit before blowing it out into the night air.
Back when my dad was alive, I used to love Thanksgiving. It was a grand affair with all the trimmings, and Cy and I always had fun with my cousins. But since my father died of cancer, it’s become less about tradition and family, and more about debauchery.
That’s never bothered me until this year. I don’t want to be sucked off by one of the desperate women hoping to land herself a Russo husband. Like my heart, my dick belongs to one woman only, and she isn’t here.
“That it is,” I finally say, flicking ash off the end.
Rafe rocks back on his heels and exhales smoke into the cold Cleveland air. “So how are things going in D.C.?”
I glance toward the sky, where the stars are faint behind city light and haze. “Not bad,” I say, letting the words fall flat.
Rafe chuckles. “Is that so?” He tosses the stub of his cigar into the trash and looks at me sideways. “How about your intern?”
A smile pulls at my mouth. “She’s not just an intern.”
“No?” He arches a brow. “What is she then?”
I take one last drag from the cigar. “She’s mine.” I exhale the smoke with each word.
Rafe stills, the grin slipping from his face as something more serious settles into his features. “You’re serious.” It’s not a question. “Do you love her?”
I nod once. “Deadly serious.” Taking a moment, I contemplate his second question. Do I love my toy? I don’t know. She’s my everyt hing in so many ways. She’s all I can think about, and all I want. Is that love? “I don’t know if I love her. But I’m addicted to her,” I reply, my voice low.
He studies me. “Does she know that?”
Smirking, I reply, “She’s starting to.” I crush the end of my cigar into the ashtray beside us, the hiss of it cutting the air like punctuation.
Rafe lets out a slow, impressed breath, his mouth curling into something that’s almost a smile. “Fuck. You’ve got it bad.”
“I’ve got it perfect, ” I correct.
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he flicks ash to the side. “Are you going to tell her everything?”
I don’t need to ask what he means; he wants to know if I’m going to tell her who I really am, and what I do behind the curtain. “When the time is right.”
“When is the time ever right?” he laughs.
My jaw ticks. “When I say so,” I grunt.
“And if she walks?”
“She won’t.” My voice is steel. Cold. Absolute. “But if she does, I’ll burn every exit behind her. Leave her with nowhere to run except back to me.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s reverent. Like even the night is smart enough to shut up when something holy is declared.
Rafe turns toward the door, but not before tossing me a look over his shoulder. “Matteo’s probably setting something on fire by now.”
“Fuck, you’re probably right,” I agree with a grimace.
I follow him toward the entrance of the Leone Room. The heavy door opens with the creak of old wood and old power, spilling warmth into the cold.
The air inside is thick with the ghosts of a hundred backdoor deals, a thousand whispered betrayals. It clings to my skin like a shroud, threading into my lungs with the scent of old money and blood, scrubbed clean but never truly gone.
Here, the devils don’t wear Prada; they wear Armani, stitched with power, cut from control.
When we enter the room, we left only half an hour ago, it’s barely recognizable. The lights have been dimmed, and there are half-naked and fully naked women dancing on the floors and tables.
Remus sits on the couch, staring at his phone like it’s personally offended him, all while carrying out a conversation with Matteo, who’s getting his dick sucked.
The woman between Matteo’s legs moans dramatically, more performance than pleasure, and he doesn’t even look down. Just takes a sip of whatever’s in his tumbler, flicking his eyes toward us with a grin sharp enough to slice glass.
“There you are,” Matteo says. “We were starting to take bets on whether you got pussy-whipped and ran back to D.C. already.”
Rem us doesn’t glance up from his phone. “Speak for yourself. I was betting he snapped and buried a body in the garden.”
“Garden’s frozen,” Rafe mutters, heading for the bar. “You’d need a flamethrower.”
Matteo hums. “I do have one of those.”
I sweep a slow glance across the room. A blonde in nothing but stilettos tries to catch my eye. I ignore her. Another girl on the far end of the floor bends over deliberately, ass in the air like it’s a goddamn offering.
Shaking my head, I turn away from them. I won’t offend my toy by even looking. She might not be here, but that doesn’t mean I’ll disrespect her.
Remus finally sets his phone down and lifts his eyes to mine. “You look like someone who’s about five seconds from shutting this shit down.”
“I’m considering it,” I admit, stripping off my coat and tossing it over the back of a leather chair. “What the fuck is this?”
“Post-dinner entertainment,” Matteo offers cheerfully. “Blame Rafe. He said it was starting to feel too civilized.”
Rafe shrugs. “Didn’t say hire a fucking harem.”
“Semantics,” Matteo smirks, stroking a hand down the head of the girl still bobbing between his thighs.
I sink into the armchair across from them, one ankle resting casually over my knee, watching without blinking. “This is how you celebrate family?”
“It’s how we celebrate survival ,” Remus says evenly. “Besides, we knew you weren’t interested. Not anymore.”
I raise a brow. “Is that so?”
Matteo’s grin grows. “We’re not blind, cousin. You’ve gone full Enzo mode. Still, can’t hurt to try.” He waves vaguely at the girls. “Pick one. Or five. Might help loosen you up.”
“I’m plenty loose,” I murmur, lifting a glass from the table and inspecting the color. “Just not stupid.”
Remus exhales a breath, something almost like a laugh. “You used to be more fun.”
“No,” I correct, sipping the whiskey. “I used to be more bored.” And bored men are dangerous. But obsessed ones? We build empires—or burn them to ash just to watch our woman rise from it.
While Rafe and Remus throw themselves into a discussion about some jobs, I empty my drink, contemplating if I should just head back home. It’s not like it’s a long flight from Cleveland, Ohio, to Washington D.C. So I could get there before…
A brunette with honey-glossed lips who approaches from my left interrupts my thoughts. “Lorenzoooo,” she purrs, her hips swaying exaggeratedly. She perches herself next to me. “How have you been?”
I arch an eyebrow, unimpressed with her perfor mance. “Do I know you?” I ask coldly.
Her answering laugh grates on my nerves. “Don’t you recognize me?” she pouts. When I shake my head, she bats her lashes. “Maybe this will jog your memory.”
Leaning closer, she reaches for my cock. I catch her wrist mid-air and squeeze. Not enough to bruise, but enough to get her to back the fuck off.
“Never touch what doesn’t belong to you,” I snarl. “Get the fuck out of my sight. Now!”
She gasps, breath hitching more from surprise than pain. Then she tries to pull away, but I don’t let her. Not yet. I want her to remember this moment so she never makes that mistake again with me.
I hold her wrist for several moments, finally letting go when she lets out a pathetic whimper.
“Dick,” she mutters as she scurries away.
Matteo lets out a low whistle. “Christ, Enzo. You’re going to make the poor girl cry.”
“She should be more careful with her hands,” I say, reaching for the whiskey.
Her mistake wasn’t wanting some action. It was believing she had the right to touch me when I already belong to someone else.
Rafe raises his glass. “And now the room’s officially back to normal.”
“She’s lucky,” Remus chuckles, reclining back in his seat. “Five years ago, that would’ve ended differently.”
Matteo barks a laugh. “Three years ago, he wouldn’t have waited for her to touch him.”
“And just months ago,” Rafe adds, “he’d have let her.”
They’re not wrong about who I’ve been. But that version of myself is dead and buried, and it all happened when I laid eyes on my toy.
“So,” Matteo says, swirling the ice in his tumbler. “Now that we’re all accounted for—and now that you’ve made it painfully clear no one here’s getting their hands on you—how is your little intern?”
I meet his eyes and smile, slow and deliberate. “Better than your head game.”
The woman at his feet snorts mid-suck. Matteo smirks down at her. “That’s bold talk from a man who hasn’t even gotten his dick wet tonight.” Then he pulls her head back. “He isn’t wrong, you know. You’re not even acting like you’re enjoying it.”
She whines and promises she’ll do better, so he lets her get back to it. I scoff at how generous my cousin is.
“You know,” Matteo muses, “You won the blowjob lottery with your intern. She loved sucking you off.”
Remus’ brows lift slightly. “Are you honestly still thinking about that?”
I pin Matteo with my gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re fantasizing about —”
Rafe snorts. “It’s your own fault, Enzo. You let Matteo watch. What the fuck did you think would happen?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I remind myself it would be bad to kill Matteo. For one, I’d probably end up missing the crazy fucker. And, well, I don’t think Remus would appreciate it.
“Have any of you thought about my proposition?” Matteo says, smoothly changing the subject.
Remus watches him for a long moment before giving the barest nod. “You have the family’s backing.”
Even though my agreement isn’t needed, I say, “I think it’s a good idea to collect some favors. It’ll remind people you’re not giving shit out for free.”
“You should take Rafe with you,” Remus says, his tone making it clear it’s an order and not a suggestion.
Rafe smirks. “That’s code for ‘I’ll keep an eye on you so you don’t burn the whole thing to the ground.’”
Matteo lifts his glass in agreement. “It’s like no one trusts me—”
“We trust you,” I interrupt, smirking at my cousin. “Just not with flammables.”
Matteo scoffs, slouching deeper into his chair like a man perpetually unimpressed by the world around him.
“That was one small fire, for fuck’s sake.
” He waves a lazy hand. “And it wasn’t even the flames that were the problem—it was the explosives I stashed months prior. Completely forgot about them.”
Rafe barks out an incredulous laugh, his patience visibly thinning. “You do hear yourself, right?”
Matteo just grins. “I do. And I stand by it.”
Remus idly turns the ring on his index finger, watching the exchange with his usual measured patience. “This is why people assume you’re unhinged.”
Matteo raises his newly filled glass in mock salute. “I never said they were wrong. But I’m still everyone’s favorite cousin.”
Rafe snorts, shifting to stretch his legs out. “That’s only because I scare people, Lorenzo’s unreadable, and Remus runs a fucking empire. You win by default.”
Matteo shrugs. “A win is a win.”
I shake my head, exhaling a short laugh as I swirl the amber liquid in my own glass. This is familiar, comfortable. The banter, the ease between us—it’s a rare moment where we’re not running strategy, not making moves, just… existing.
Beneath the surface, there’s an unshakable bond that binds us all. We’d all place our lives in Matteo’s hands without a second thought. However, we’d rather avoid having him anywhere near an open flame, given his history of mishaps with fire.
Remus leans forward, finally peeling his gaze from the whiskey in his ha nd. “Have you told her who you are yet?”
The room stills, if only for a beat. Rafe swirls the ice in his glass like it’ll stir the silence back to life.
Matteo smirks. “Does she know she’s the intern to a man that makes presidents look like marionettes and cleans his hands with their secrets?”
“Not yet,” I reply calmly. “She knows my name is Enzo, and I guess she’s starting to piece things together.”
I fill them in on the meetings she’s been privy to, and all the things she’s overheard. I’m pretty sure she knows more than she’s led on. If it scares her, she’s hiding it well. Especially since she keeps coming back—both to the building and to me.
“What if she runs?” Matteo asks, tone more curious than cruel.
I look up, locking eyes with him. “Then I’ll chase her to the end of the fucking Earth.”
Remus raises his glass to that. “There he is.”
“You think I’m joking?” I don’t smile or blink. I hold his gaze so he knows I’m deadly serious.
“No,” Remus says. “That’s what makes it inevitable.”
Matteo snorts. “Chasing’s fun. I prefer the part after, when they realize they never had a chance.”
“I don’t want her broken,” I say, voice darker now. “I want her to know I bend the very fabrics of the world just for her.”
Even Rafe whistles at that.
Remus studies me over the rim of his glass, his eyes sharp, unblinking. “You’re in deep.”
“So I’ve been told,” I smirk.
As Remus steers the conversation back to Matteo’s new idea, I allow myself a moment to breathe. After checking my phone to make sure there’s nothing pressing, I check the clone of Piper’s phone, surprised there’s been activity I’ve missed.
It looks like she updated her Notes app hours ago. Smirking, I open it. My eyes widen and my pants feel too fucking tight as I read over her list of… fuck me.
My toy has created a kink list. I bark out a laugh at her question about whether she has any or not. If she’d asked me outright, I could tell her she does.
I scroll back to the top of her list, reading it again slowly, deliberately—like it’s gospel, which it very well might be since it’s bringing me to my fucking knees.
Do I have any? Do the below count as kinks?
My gaze drifts back to the last item on her list, and my cock jerks as I read it. If my toy’s curious about somnophilia, I’ll be the one to answer that question for her. I rise without another word, already texting my pilot and driver that we’re leaving.
“You’re leaving?” Matteo blinks, halfway through raising his glass. “You just sat down.”
“Enzo doesn’t sit,” Rafe mutters, watching me with something between respect and wariness. “He waits. And apparently, his wait’s over.”
Remus just looks at me, eyes sharp. “What’d she do?”
I smirk as I shrug on my coat. “She made a list.”
“A grocery list?” Matteo deadpans.
I glance over my shoulder, eyes cold, hungry. “A kink list.”
All three of them burst out laughing, enough to interrupt the woman still bobbing away between Matteo’s legs.
“Don’t wait up,” I grin, already pushing the door open.
There’s a girl in D.C. with a fantasy I plan on answering.