Bound by Lust and Honor

One

Maxim

As I lean back in the leather armchair, shirtless and high on pleasure, I take a long drag from my cigarette. Through the haze of smoke curling past my lips and rising into the air, I fix my gaze on the curvy girl spinning around the pole.

I shift my half-lidded gaze away from the pole dancer and drop it to the other beauty kneeling between my legs, her mouth stretched wide, stuffed with my cock all the way down her throat.

Her lips are starting to swell, but I’ve got no plans to finish anytime soon.

I snap my fingers at the pole dancer, and within seconds, the girls switch places.

Over the pounding beat of the music, I catch a wet, sloppy sound coming from somewhere across the room.

I tilt my head back and spot Lorenzo’s broad frame hunched over the third girl on the couch, tongue halfway down her throat.

Knowing Lorenzo, he’ll be balls deep in her in under a minute.

I enjoy the build-up, the tease, the foreplay.

Lorenzo skips straight to the main event.

My phone vibrates against my thigh. Elen, the woman who handles the club girls and sent this batch tonight.

She wouldn’t be calling in the middle of my fun unless it’s serious.

I pick up without hesitation. What I hear sends my pulse into overdrive.

Now the girl’s skilled mouth around my cock doesn’t do it for me anymore, it just distracts me.

I stroke her hair gently, and when she looks up, I give her a nod to leave.

She obeys without a word. That’s my number one rule, one Elen always drills into them before sending any girl my way.

Total obedience. No questions. When I reach for the remote and kill the blasting music, even the pole dancer freezes. She feels something’s off.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo’s still thrusting into the other girl on the couch, completely oblivious to what’s going on around him. I keep my face calm, but there’s fire in my eyes, and it’s got nothing to do with joy. People close to me know I don’t do moderation. I’m either in a good mood or mad as hell.

I say one word, cold as death. “Coming.”

I get to my feet, buckling my belt, when Lorenzo pants behind me, “What happened?”

I grab my shirt from the chair, slip it on without rushing, and face him.

“Wrap it up. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

I pull a few bills from my pocket, drop them on the table, and turn to the two girls, who stand there clueless about what to do.

“Get dressed. I’m heading to Heaven. I’ll give you a ride.”

***

Everything at the club seems normal. Music’s pounding, girls are spinning around the poles, and the private rooms upstairs are busy satisfying Rome’s richest and most powerful men—men who know they can enjoy the city’s finest whores without an ounce of shame or fear of scandal.

Confidentiality is the first rule of Carlo Bruni’s brothels, and everyone is aware of that.

Heads turn the moment I walk in, but no one dares to speak.

They carry on with their routines, sneaking glances at the man who’s about to raise hell.

I scan the crowd, then head upstairs. As I walk down the long hallway, where a huge guard stands outside every couple of rooms, I tune out the sound of bodies rubbing and lust-drenched moans.

I round the corner and reach Elen’s room.

Without knocking, I push the door open and step inside.

Elen stands by the bed in a dress that shows off her fake curves. As always, her long hair’s been curled and tossed over her slender shoulders. Her rich brown skin and delicate features give her that polished, doll-like beauty.

When I walk in, she takes her eyes off the bruised mess on the bed and stares at me, pressing her plump lips together in anger. “Filthy scums tore her apart.”

I stand beside her, gazing down at the woman who’s been beaten like a dog.

Her face is battered beyond recognition, but I know exactly who she is the second I see her.

She goes by Penelope. I fucked her a few times—nothing special in bed, but her face was pretty.

A beauty that’s now completely gone. Unrecognizable.

“She needs to go to hospital, Maxim. The doc came and checked her out, said she’s got internal injuries and needs surgery. Those motherfuckers destroyed her ass,” Elen says again.

Heat floods my chest and my fist tightens. My voice, though, stays calm. “Who was guarding her?”

“Andro. But he’s not to blame, they gagged her so she couldn’t make a sound.”

“When a girl goes into a fucking room with two clients and doesn’t make a peep for an hour, something’s off, Elen.”

I turn around and face Lorenzo, who’s standing in the doorway. “Send two men after him. I want him off his feet for a month.”

Lorenzo nods and pulls out his phone.

A faint voice reaches my ears. “I’m sorry!”

Looks like she’s awake again.

“Sorry for what?” I ask her.

She doesn’t answer. But I can say she said it without thinking. A lifetime of being treated like shit trained her to think everything’s her fault.

I lean over her, trying to keep my voice soft. “Were they high on something?”

She breaks into tears at the memory of what they did to her, and answers my question with her busted lips. “No… they didn’t even drink. I agreed to service them both at the same time, but I didn’t think they’d do this to me.”

I straighten up and look at Elen. “Take her to the hospital and stay with her until she’s discharged. I already talked to Dr. Donati.”

“My kids are home alone,” Penelope whimpers.

I think for a second. “Are you close to any of the girls here? Someone you trust?”

“Yeah. Olivia.”

I turn to Elen again. “Send Olivia to watch her kids. Until Penelope’s back on her feet and ready to work again, I’ll pay both of them like it’s peak season.”

As I walk out of the room, I let go of the raging bull inside me, the one that’s been stomping the ground, ready to charge.

Its horns are pointed right at those two bastards who fucked up my whore so bad she needs surgery to fix her ass.

Every woman working here is under the full protection of the Bruni family.

And this is the first promise I make to them, as Don Carlo’s representative and the one running this damn place.

Just because they sell their bodies to make a living doesn’t mean some sadistic bastard gets to walk in and do this to them.

I slam the office door open so hard it crashes against the wall.

The two sick fucks are sitting side by side, their hands tied to the chair arms, while four of my biggest bodyguards stand over them.

I take a look at their pathetic faces. The marks from the scuffle with my men are all over them—messy hair, split lips, and torn collars.

Other than that, they didn’t take much damage.

They’re both young, probably twenty-two or twenty-three. The watches on their wrists scream money, and even without those, the arrogance in their eyes gives away their privileged background.

One of them flips out when he sees me. “You run this shithole?”

Yep. Definitely a spoiled brat. The other one’s pissed too, but composes himself and tries to save his ass with a polite, cliché threat. “Do you even know who we are? Do you have any idea what the consequences of this could be?”

Well, this is getting interesting. These assholes must be connected to some politician.

I lean back against the big leather desk as one of my men hands me two IDs.

A grin spreads across my face when I see the names—Roberto Rosa and Mario Albergini.

I toss the IDs onto the desk, cross my arms over my chest, and turn to Roberto, the quieter one.

“What about you? Do you know who I am? Do you know who owns this place?”

Mario fires off again. “I don’t give a fuck who you are, you cocksucking bastard. You don’t know my father. Once I’m out of here, he’ll burn your whole fucking whorehouse to the ground.”

My hands curl into fists.

Roberto, starting to realize the gravity of the situation, snaps at his friend through clenched teeth, “Shut your mouth.”

Then he turns to me, trying to sound reasonable. “Look, man, we just wanted to have a little fun, that’s all. We made it clear to the girl from the start what was going to happen. I admit things got a little out of hand, but whatever damage we caused, we’ll pay for it.”

His friend runs his mouth again. “What damage? That whore wasn’t even hot. This is her job, to come here and get wrecked.”

I give a nod to one of my men, Brunello. He punches the asshole right in the mouth. Before the fucker can even spit out the blood, he tapes his lips shut.

I walk around the desk and sink into my chair. From the drawer, I take out a cigarette, light it, take a drag, and lean back.

Roberto swallows hard. “Who owns this place?”

“Don Carlo Bruni,” I answer. The checkmate look on his face almost makes me smile.

His eyes widen for a second. Then he drops his head in defeat, squeezes his eyes shut, and mutters under his breath, “Shit. Shit.”

I take another drag from my cigarette, then speak to the motherfucker with his mouth taped shut. “I do know your father. He’s one of my regulars. In fact, the girl you two motherfuckers beat to a pulp is one of your powerful daddy’s favorites.”

He’s still glaring at me, his face red with rage. I go on to make it clearer. “Don Bruni was your father’s main sponsor on his way into parliament. The two of them go way back.”

Then I turn to Roberto. “And everything I said goes for your father too, Roberto.”

He lifts his head, trying to hold on to whatever pathetic pride he’s got left. But I can tell he’s two seconds away from pissing himself.

His voice shakes. So does the rest of him. “Listen... I had no idea this place belonged to Don Carlo. Mario and I just got back to Italy last night after years of studying in the U.S. We only wanted to blow off some steam.