2. Salvatore
SALVATORE
If Ophelia continues staring at me with those wide, steel-blue eyes, I’ll have no choice but to throw her over my desk again.
My cock stirs at the thought, already eager for a second round, not two minutes after I finished deep in her pussy.
I want her walking around my office all day, my cum dripping out of her.
Leaving my mark on her is essential. I see the way my employees look at her, stealing glances of her as she walks by, staring at her ass instead of the actual work in front of them.
“Are you okay, Miss Bennett?” I ask, securing cufflinks to my sleeves.
“Yeah,” she says, shaking out of her trance.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Good,” I say, winking. “That means you can take me again. Shall we do same time tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Ophelia points out.
“Ah, yes, indeed. How about Monday?”
Ophelia opens and closes her mouth, thinking about it. If she continues thinking about it, I’ll shove my cock in her mouth.
That would be a very pretty sight.
I underestimated Ophelia at first. Her fair complexion paints her in an innocent light, her eyes rather timid, but her mouth contradicts the good girl facade she sometimes has going on. She knows how to speak, how to use her mouth to her advantage.
“Don’t you have that meeting with Sandra Williamson on Monday?”
“We scrapped it, remember? We have the board meeting instead.”
“Of course,” she says, reverting back to my executive assistant now her clothes are back on. The flowy white blouse compliments her figure, sitting just above her hip bone. There is something very magnetic about Ophelia, something I cannot place.
People are normally easy to read, falling into one of five categories. But Ophelia? She’s a dark horse, always keeping her cards close to her chest, never giving too much away.
“I have places I need to be, sir, and so do you.”
“Indeed,” I say, watching her leave, hips swishing as she walks away. Her ass could do with another slap. The skirt is nothing scandalous, coming all the way down to her knees, but Ophelia always finds a way to make even the prudest of things sexual.
I clench my jaw, the sound of her heels disappearing down the corridor. She never wears anything below three inches. She was wearing a lot more than that a few minutes ago when I shoved my cock fully into her, doing what I’ve wanted to do for several months now.
They all break for me eventually. Interviewing Ophelia was a unique experience eight months ago. Women usually sit opposite me, overcompensate on the smiles and tell me everything I want to hear. Ophelia made it seem like she had options, narrowing her eyes at me, asking me the questions.
“I would like to make sure this role is a good fit for me, sir.”
I knew it would be an excellent fit, very snug.
I hired her because of her references. I knew she would do a good job for me. My last assistant struggled to keep up with my schedule, the one he wrote for me. Ophelia never misses a thing, not even my eyes when she catches me watching her across the room.
But people can only hold up their guard for so long before it breaks.
Sexual desire is a very powerful thing in this world and can do more damage than a gun.
Acknowledging a spark is better than choosing to ignore it, because the spark will explode either way, a ticking time bomb.
It’s better for it to be contained, hence why I asked Ophelia to clean me up today.
I’m shuffling some paperwork around on my desk, trailing my finger over the wet spot where Miss Bennett left her mark, when the door flies open.
“Robert,” I sigh, disappointed to be in the company of my younger cousin, not my pretty little assistant. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“The pleasure looks like it’s all yours.” Robert looks down at me pointedly. “Congratulations on finally nailing Ophelia.”
I grip the edge of the desk. “Tell me how you know.”
“It was a guess,” says Robert, a smirk crawling onto my face. “I guess I was right.” He steps into the office, shutting the door behind him. “Tell me how it was. Spare no details.”
“I’m sparing all details. She’s my assistant, not yours.”
“And you were nowhere to be seen in conference room four,” says Robert, pinning me a glare across the room. “Is her pussy worth missing important meetings for?”
“Yes,” I deadpan, keeping my eyes on him. “You like talking. I’m sure running the meeting was no skin off your back.”
“If this continues, it will be skin off everyone’s back. You know, if the leader of the Moretti syndicate is missing important meetings to fuck his assistant.” Robert scans me from head-to-toe like I’m employed under him, not the other way around. “Be careful who you show that tattoo to.”
“Of course,” I deadpan, circling around my desk. “I forget the Crows are the most powerful organized crime group in the entire city. So powerful they ran out of gas the second their leader died.”
“You don’t know who could have connections to them still.”
“Ophelia sure looks like she has connections with her fair complexion and blonde hair. The girl has never touched a drop of darkness in her life.”
“And you just gave her a first taste.”
“Lucky her.”
Robert looks out at the city, his back turned away from me. “The organization might be dismantled, but Crows are still circling, and we have no idea who they could be connected to.”
“The dead.”
“No,” counters Robert. “The living. A lot of the boys went on to create their own success, becoming powerful men, leaders in their own right, but you and I both know there were boys among us who tried stitching Crows back together after Renato died, making the organization their own.”
“They tried and failed,” I remind Robert, heading to the door. “Nostalgia is a feeling, not a resource. You can’t build anything substantial based on feeling alone,” I say, opening the door. “Besides, even if old Crows want to establish something, they need my help.”
“Not necessarily. You’d be their biggest threat.”
I snap my fingers, gesturing Robert out so I can lock up.
He slides past me in the doorway, regarding me. “When different forms of power exist in the same city, wars start.”
“Enough of the precautionary tales. Catch me up on business or take the next elevator. I would much rather listen to silence than you blabber on about things we left behind in the past.”
“Well,” says Robert, walking into the elevator with me. “I wouldn’t speak too soon. One of the gentlemen in sales may need to be eliminated. Wilson was overheard by an enforcer, speculating about you being in the Italian mafia.”
“Who was he speaking to?” I select the correct floor number in the elevator.
“Another colleague. Luckily, he laughed off the theories.”
“Well, at least he doesn’t know I own the mafia.”
“Here’s where it gets interesting,” says Robert, flashing me a sideways look in the elevator. “The guy reports Wilson talking about a self-storage compound over in Queens.”
“He can lock himself in there if he continues with the conspiracies,” I grumble. “People believe anything these days if the opinion sounds genuine enough. The last thing I need is a scandal, people exposing the Moretti mafia.”
“That’s all under control,” says Robert. “But the storage unit in Queens is not.”
I huff, stepping out of the elevator when the doors slide open. “What does a forgotten storage unit have to do with me?”
“Wilson mentioned something about Crows evidence being left in the compound.”
“What kind of evidence?”
Robert shrugs, walking alongside me as I head back to the meeting room where Ophelia spilled the coffee. “The assassin only overheard bits and pieces of the conversation, but it sounds like important records have been locked away there.”
“Burning records is much more effective.”
“Yes, if your plan is to eradicate the past completely, forgetting it ever existed…” mutters Robert under his breath, careful others might here.
I flash a quick smile to the cleaner, walking into the glass meeting room.
“The coffee has been cleaned, sir,” she says. “I left Miss Bennett’s purse on the chair, along with an envelope addressed to you.”
“Thank you,” I say, cracking open the door, Robert following.
He stands in front of me when the door shuts, his voice returning to normal. “Someone knows Crow information is being held in the Queens storage unit.”
“Why do they care?”
“Someone in this city clearly wants the Crows to be powerful again.”
“Giving vulnerable teenage boys an incentive to commit crime is not powerful.”
“I agree, but we both fell into the trap.”
“An easy mistake to make when you’re approached by someone who you believe is genuine, offering to take you off the streets, to put a roof over your head, in exchange for a quick drug deal.”
“I know,” grimaces Robert, doing a lap of the room.
“Looking at the way this economy is going, the Crows may rebuild. Homelessness is increasing. Trash cans are empty, people fighting over who can raid them first. People at the very bottom of society see powerful billionaires like you and become desperate to knock you down. Resentment can be a very powerful emotion, and resentment is what built the Crows the first time.”
“Resentment is a very powerful emotion indeed. Weakness can be turned into power very quickly. All it takes is the wrong person to say the buzzword…”
“And then you’re dealing with an army.”
I pull up a chair at the glass table, swinging my hands between my legs. “I need to speak to the salesman and find out what he knows.”
“If he knows where top-secret Crow information is being held, his next step might be to break into the unit.”
“And best of luck to him,” I chuckle. “Salesmen know how to break people, not locks.”
“Unless he knows someone…”
“Perhaps,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. “Like another Crow.”
“Exactly.”
“Fanculo,” I cuss under my breath. “Moretti Global will be destroyed if people find out I was involved in organized crime as a youngster.”
“Not to mention the mafia,” adds Robert, the real icing on the fucking cake.
“Leaked information could cause a chain reaction. The Crows, the empire you’ve built, all based on the foundations of organized crime and murdering people; everything will come back to haunt you. All it takes is one crack.”
“And I want that crack sealed,” I say to Robert, swiping a finger over my lower lip. “On second thoughts, I want the salesman dead.”
“What happened to talking to him first, seeing what he knows?”
“What he knows is irrelevant. That bastard is a fucking ticking timebomb. I need him sorted. Tell the enforcer to take care of it and stage the death. You can figure out the rest between yourselves.”
“On it,” says Robert. “I’ll call Lorenzo immediately, making sure the issue is resolved by the end of the day.”
“Not good enough,” I grumble, consulting my watch. “Have it done by lunchtime.”
“Si,” says Robert, leaving me alone in the meeting room.
I glance over my shoulder watching people pass, picking up their feet when they see me watching.
There will always be a Judas, that one bastard who’s desperate to go against the grain, ruining things for the rest of us.
My road to success wasn’t a legal one. I used my skills from the Crows to get ahead and built something strong, but I started with an unfair advantage.
I never met my parents. The corrupt government ripped me from their arms when I was just a child, wrongfully accusing them of drug abuse when they were simply trying to get by.
They were working for a local dealer, in need of some extra cash.
Favoritism is what led to them being deported back home to Italy, and me being handed over into the foster system.
I never wanted to be adopted, to find a loving family when my only real family had been sent away.
Running away, sleeping under cardboard every night, was better than being government property.
I grab Ophelia’s purse, inspecting the envelope, my name written on it.
Ophelia was in the middle of handing me this, but coffee got in the way… and then a few other things.
I rip open the envelope, unfold the paper and inspect the very formal letter, scanning the text, thinking this has to be a joke. Ophelia would never resign. She does an impeccable job. And she loves her job…
But the text at the bottom of this reads: “I have made the difficult decision to resign, effective immediately.”
All because she wants a new challenge, to seek new opportunities?
Bullshit. I give her enough challenges, always keeping her on her toes. She likes to be challenged… professionally.
I slot the letter back into the envelope. This letter tells me everything I need to know about how she feels toward me. She can handle high volumes of work, last minute schedule changes, but she cannot handle me.
I keep the letter safe with me, tucking it into my breast pocket. Grabbing her purse, I leave the meeting room, locking up. Ophelia will be staying right by my side until I’m done with her, which I’m afraid could be never.
Hanging around with the same woman for a day usually gets boring. I can only handle women in short doses. I have my cake and eat it and move onto the next. But I’ve known Ophelia for eight months and I’m still intrigued, even after bending her over my desk and fucking her tight little pussy raw.