13. Dante
Dante
By the time I leave SilverTech, my head’s pounding. I waste most of the day discussing a merger with Onyx, another tech start-up. My role is limited to approving and financing projects. Occasionally, I also negotiate deals with different companies to add legitimacy to my other ventures.
Onyx and I have been hashing out an agreement over the patent for their surveillance tech for over a month. We’re supposed to reach a deal by the end of the week, but it’s impossible to focus on that when Sara’s all I can think about.
Normally, I’d stay late, poring over numbers and studying market trends, but tonight, I go home early.
In the elevator, my finger hovers over the basement button, but I press the italicized two instead.
It’s because I want to see her that I don’t.
Once I enter the correct code and the elevator doors slide open, my shoulders relax.
My home office, where I spend most of my time, occupies this entire level. I’ve decorated the space with a mix of dark, heavy antiques and chestnut brown leather. The aesthetic reminds me of my father’s office from my childhood, and I find the nostalgia comforting on nights like tonight.
Or at least, I would if I weren’t being watched.
The floor-length curtains framing the alcove behind my desk are open. As a result, a glow from the streetlights seeps in, though the faint illumination fails to banish all the shadows. I don’t see anyone, but I’ve come close to death too often not to feel when something is off.
The presence is cloying, suffocating, and invasive. I check the digital clock on my desk and freeze as a shadow shifts in the dark.
Removing my hand from the gun holstered at the small of my back, I crack my knuckles one by one to relieve the growing tension in my muscles. “You’re early.”
Pantalone steps out from his hiding spot, a stark silhouette in the low light. “You invited us, Argento. Or did you forget?”
Rather than admit as much, I gesture to the chairs in front of my desk. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll pour you a drink.”
Pantalone lifts his chin. “We’ll stand.”
For an instant, my attention fixes on the fireplace. “Suit yourself.”
Yanking at my tie, I head to my desk, unhurried, and settle into the chair.
I don’t bother switching on the lamp that sits beside the computer monitor.
The Council will only see my desire for illumination as a weakness.
Instead, I recline and reach for the case of cigars I store in my top drawer.
After extracting one that smells like aged whiskey and dark chocolate, I lop off the cap with the cutter and strike a match.
Soon, the cigar’s smoky essence infiltrates the room.
I hate smoking, but the cigar serves as a signal.
If I wind up missing or dead, the scent will inform Luca that the Council was here.
It’s a subtle way to send a message right in front of the very people who pride themselves on their intelligence network.
Luca and I agreed on different flavored cigars for each of the Councilors, though we haven’t yet agreed on a signal if I’m ever visited by two at once.
Seeing them both here is further proof that I have a mole.
Only a few people know the code to the second floor, and neither Luca nor my brother would share that information.
The system is damn near impenetrable, but this is the Council.
If they want to violate my privacy, they’ll eventually find a way in.
I drag the smoke into my lungs and blow a gray cloud toward the ceiling. The whiskey and bittersweet chocolate aren’t for Pantalone. They’re for his companion, who’s still tucked in the corner of the room near the fireplace, observing me with his arms folded across his massive chest.
My eyes are accustomed enough to the dark that I can watch Zanni shove off from his perch by the fireplace.
“You’ve hidden your pretty little pet away, Argento.” Striding to the bookshelf, he tips over a small bronze clock. Asshole. “It’s almost a shame she isn’t one of us.”
Zanni speaks as if he knows Sara, but how? The security camera in her cell? Do they have remote access to the feed, or did they hack my computer’s password? I’ll need to implement end-to-end cryptographic safeguards to ensure the system remains uncompromised just to cover my bases.
“A shame indeed,” I echo flatly. I pull the cigar from between my teeth before I bite it in half. “Is that what you’d call it?”
Chuckling, Pantalone crosses the room to stand in front of my desk. “Ignore him.” The anemic light creates sharp angles on his mask. “He’s just fucking with you. We wouldn’t be able to sanction a union like that, regardless of how attached you might be. It’s too much of a risk.”
Smoke curls through my teeth as I grin, my expression the intention I once had to claim Sara as a permanent fixture in my world. A plan conceived in the shadows of my past. “Good thing she’s not a risk, then.”
Rising to my feet, I circle the desk until less than a foot separates me from Pantalone. On my right, Zanni drifts closer but remains just out of reach.
Pantalone lifts a hand in silent reassurance, and Zanni cocks his head to one side. “Can we take that to mean that your revenge is going well?”
Right. They think I’m punishing her for being a cheating skank, which is the only reason they allow us to come and go in public so easily. They enjoy playing with their food as much as I do.
I shrug. “For me? Yes. For her? Not so much.” They both laugh and relax, and I make a show of doing the same. Resting the cigar in a small glass dish, I lean my hips back against the desk and cross my arms over my chest. “I have things under control here.”
“Oh, we know.” Pantalone nods toward my computer. “We took the liberty of checking in when we arrived.”
Zanni nods, the movement languid. “When you first arrived at the Paradiso the other night, we were concerned that your intention to punish the bitch had changed. Your subsequent behavior eased our worries, but a few of our members still have doubts, so we thought we’d drop by.
I’m happy to see that we needn’t have bothered. ”
I trace my teeth with my tongue while sizing them up, one after the other. Their masks might give them an inhuman appearance, but I bet they still bleed red.
If they threaten Sara, I might have to put that theory to the test.
The thought brings me up short.
Am I seriously considering killing Councilors for Sara?
The answer is immediate.
Yes.
But only because I’m possessive.
I may have needed to obtain the Council’s permission to bring her here, but I won’t tolerate any interference. Sara’s mine. She always was, and she will be until the day she dies.
And I’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep it that way.
Satisfied with the answers they came for, Pantalone and Zanni don’t stay any longer.
As soon as they leave, I collapse at my desk and pull up the security interface.
SilverTech specializes in surveillance, so I should be able to figure out where the system fell short.
At first glance, I can’t identify any evidence of any tampering or interference, so my experts will need to perform a deep dive.
In the meantime, I toggle the basement feed to live-only and purge the recording cache.
The cameras are still hot, but they’re no longer committing to the drive.
The measure is a Band-Aid, but for now, it’ll at least ensure the Council won’t be able to tap into the footage. Rubbing a hand across my face, I curse beneath my breath. It’s well after midnight now, but I know sleep won’t come. Once the two Council dickheads left, calm settled over my office.
That peace is disrupted by the little moan that travels through my computer speaker.
I enlarge the camera feed from Sara’s room until the black-and-white image of her fills the screen.
She twists beneath her blanket on the cot, her hair fanning out around her.
At first, I’m worried she might be having a nightmare, but when she makes that sound again, a bolt of awareness shoots through me.
Her body’s arched, and she’s biting her lower lip. Her legs shift restlessly beneath the blanket, and I realize exactly what she’s doing before the next whimper. I’ve heard her sex noises so often that they’re ingrained in me, and my cock stiffens.
As her arm moves beneath the blanket, my mouth goes dry with need. I feel like a man lost in the desert, desperate for the tiniest sip of water. I should maintain better control over myself, but that tiny sample of her the other night at the club just wasn’t enough.
Once will never be enough again. At this point, I’m basically a slave to my own desire.
Sara was nearly mine.
I reach for my zipper, wincing as I free my length from the suffocating confines of my dress pants. I dial up the volume on the computer with a few clicks and lean back in my seat. Her heavy panting echoes through the room, and I shudder as I stroke my dick.
If I close my eyes, I can almost smell her, almost taste her. Cherries and roses and warm skin and her sweet pussy on my tongue. She finds her rhythm with a stifled sob, and I match her pace. The memory of her heat enveloping my fingers causes pre-cum to wet the head of my cock.
Releasing a hungry groan, I switch on the intercom.
“Move the blanket, coniglietta. Show me how you make yourself feel good.”
She startles at my voice, and her head tips in the direction of the camera, her eyes glowing like specters. Her body goes still, hesitating, but in the end, Sara is just as weak as I am.
She kicks the blanket aside, stripping off her pants, lifting her sweater up over those perfect breasts, and tucking the material beneath her chin.
The sight that greets me when she parts her legs steals the breath from my lungs.
Every part of her is flawless, from the rounded thighs to the thick curvature of her ass.
But I can’t take my eyes off her pussy. I zoom into the feed with clumsy fingers and bring the image tantalizingly closer.
“Cazzo.” I can’t see how wet she is through the camera, but I can hear her pussy’s sloppy sounds as she drives her fingers deeper.
“Spread those lips. Show me what I’m missing.” Sara obeys my gruff, almost desperate command, and I watch, enraptured as she loses herself to sensation, her head falling back and her eyes closing. It’s all I can do to not get on the elevator right now and go to her.
Her hoarse cries ring through my office, and her hips jerk and twist, desperate for something bigger to fill the emptiness.
That something should be me.
My hand clenches my length, and I smear the pre-cum to reduce friction before stroking harder and faster. My balls tighten, but I don’t slow my pace. “You’re doing so well, tesoro. Don’t stop. We’re so close.”
It doesn’t take her long to fall over the edge. Planting her feet on the cot, her back bows, and my own release punches through me. I shout her name as another convulsion shakes her curvy frame.
Cum drips from my hand, while on-screen, Sara sits up, breathing raggedly and peering at the camera through heavy-lidded eyes. For a wild moment, I imagine she can see me, that she knows just how much I’m willing to demean myself for a chance to have her again.
No. No.
I shoot to my feet, disgust by my traitorous thoughts.
My pants hang low on my hips as I shove the computer off the edge of my desk.
The screen goes dead as it crashes against the hardwood floor, but I’m already spinning away.
I’ll get a new one in the morning. With my left hand, I pull my shirt over my head and use the fabric to clean myself up.
I’ve hated Sara for longer than I loved her, which means I should be a pro at this by now.
Like an idiot, I assumed that my hatred would be enough to see this through.
She helped send me to hell, and instead of dragging her down with me, I’m questioning the Council and jerking off in a dark office in the middle of the night.
Perhaps Zanni and Pantalone were right to question my loyalty.