20. Shaw
CHAPTER TWENTY
SHAW
Skulking into Gennaro Corporation under the cover of night, the marble lobby gleamed under soft lighting that made everything look expensive and sinister. Ishi smiled as I approached the counter.
The other women behind the front desk greeted me with polite smiles. “Good evening, sir.”
I waved awkwardly, grateful when Ishi gestured for me to follow her to the elevator. Once inside, I asked, “How are you?”
“Fine, sir. And yourself?” She pushed the fifth-floor button. The deviation from our usual routine of going straight to the penthouse level gnawed at my nerves.
When the doors opened, the hallway resembled a corporate office corridor, all neutral tones and subtle lighting. I followed her into the second room on the right, a minimalist lobby with black leather couches and low glass tables that cost more than my tuition.
Finding no other entrance for Dante to use, I asked, “Where is he?”
“He will be available in about an hour, so I’ve brought you to the VIP lounge to wait. Can I get you anything to drink?”
The news hit me harder than I expected. “Is he with someone else?”
Her gaze softened with sympathy, confirming what I already knew without violating company policy. “I will come retrieve you when he’s available.”
“Sure.” I paced the pristine lounge, my earlier excitement evaporating. Upstairs, Dante was with someone else. The thought painted vivid images in my head until the silence felt suffocating.
The employee portfolio had said Dragon was available for any gender’s pleasure. I envisioned him with a woman spread beneath him on silk sheets, her back arching as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh while he whispered filthy promises in that same gravelly tone he used on me.
She’d be wet for him already, and he’d slide those long, skilled fingers inside her, curling them just right until she begged.
Dante would smirk, that devastating half smile I’d convinced myself was special for me, before fucking her until she screamed, “Dragon.” Because that was who he was to her, to everyone who paid.
Worse was the vision of Dante bending a man over, driving into him with powerful thrusts.
My pacing stopped when I remembered how it felt to have Dante press me into the mattress, his hands pinning my wrists above my head, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “You’re mine tonight.” It was the lie I paid thousands to believe.
While I waited like an obedient dog hoping for table scraps, another client was experiencing everything I’d been craving since our last encounter.
They were hearing those growls Dante made when he was close.
That stranger was feeling his hands gripping their flesh hard to mark them as temporarily his.
I’d always understood intellectually that Dante slept with others. It was his job. But knowing it and confronting it were vastly different things. The reality crushed me when I remembered I was merely one name in his appointment book, a single credit card transaction among untold numbers.
I sank onto one of the leather couches, unable to stand as the paranoia mounted. Waiting for an hour while Dante finished fucking someone else, then cleaned himself up to come to me with recycled passion and manufactured desire, made me ill.
Unlike the others, I cared about the real Dante, not the brothel persona he created to survive.
My interest went deeper than sex. I wanted to know what trapped him in such a place, what dreams he cherished outside these walls, and who he was when the performance ended.
More than anything, I needed to matter to him past the zeros on my credit card statement.
I imagined Dante missing me when we were apart, craving my touch as desperately as I longed for his. But the harsh reality crushed these fantasies. Dante couldn’t give me what I wanted, because emotional attachments were liabilities in his world. People who wanted things in the Mafia ended up dead.
Decision made, I left and pressed the button for the elevator, but it stayed dark. Then I remembered I was on a secure floor. I’d need Ishi to escort me downstairs. I glanced around for a call button or intercom, spotting a discreet panel next to the door with what looked like a house phone.
I picked up the receiver, and a woman’s voice answered immediately. “VIP services.”
“Sorry, I need to leave early,” I said, my voice tight.
“Understood. Someone will be with you momentarily, sir.”
I hung up and paced the room, trapped in the luxurious prison with my jealousy and shame.
The irony didn’t escape me that I couldn’t even leave the place without permission.
It was a perfect metaphor for my relationship with Dante.
I was bound to him, to the brothel, to the transaction I both craved and despised.
A minute later, the elevator doors opened, and Ishi stepped out, surprise evident on her face. “Sir, is everything okay?”
The world I thought I understood had shattered, leaving me standing in the ruins of my own delusions. “Sorry, I changed my mind. I can’t be here tonight. Please cancel my appointment and refund my charge.”
She studied my face, then nodded. “Of course, sir. Please follow me.”
The elevator ride down felt endless, each floor marking another increment of my humiliation.
“Would you like me to call you a car?” Ishi asked, breaking through my spiraling thoughts.
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’d rather walk.”
She nodded, understanding more than I’d said. “Take care, sir.”
Once free of the elevator, I pushed through the glass doors into the night.
The cold air hit my face sharply, a welcome distraction from the burning behind my eyes.
I kept walking, not caring where I ended up, as long as it was far from Gennaro Corporation and the man upstairs who was moaning someone else’s name at that very moment.