6. Santino #2
A giant smile overcomes my face, and I lean back against my headboard, settling on top of the covers with my now cold towel wrapped around my waist.
I’m tempted to go in the bathroom to snatch one from the warmer, but using three towels at once isn’t a nice thing to do to Kate. She works to hard for that.
My heart beats fast like it always does when it comes to this secret person. Out of curiosity and paranoia. I want to keep this person close just in case they dare to try to make a move when my defenses are down.
Keep my enemies close enough to smile at but kill if I need to—isn’t that the saying?
And there’s a part of me that wants this person to be Jovie.
Me: “I can’t stop thinking about you either, but I don’t know who you are.”
Her: “You don’t need to know. It only matters how I make you feel.”
Me: “It matters to me. You do know who I am, don’t you? I need to know all the people who want to be in my life.”
Her: “You can’t really think I’m out to get you?”
Me: “In my eyes, everyone is out to get me.”
Her: “That must be a lonely way to live.”
Me: “It has its moments, but that’s the job.”
Her: “Is a job really worth that?”
Me: “Sometimes. Especially in my line of work. Enough about me, how was your day?”
Her: “You’re changing the subject. We will circle back. I’m okay. I’m tired. I just got out of the shower.”
Me: “I did too.”
Her: “Did we shower at the same time? That’s almost like showering together, isn’t it? ; ) “
I can’t help the surge that travels through my body.
Me: “Prove it.”
Her: “I don’t know… What if you use my photos against me one day? A girl should never send nudes.
Me: “I’m not that kind of man. A boy does that. Your photos will be safe with me and if you want, I’ll delete them, or you don’t have to send them at all. There’s no pressure.”
Her: “How do I know you mean that?”
She’s right. She has no reason to trust me.
Angling my phone down towards my body, I hook my thumb on the edge of the towel.
I tense my abs and take a picture. It’s a good enough image, nothing too special.
The olive hue of my skin tone is apparent, and my abs look more defined in this lighting from the shadows finding the grooves.
I press send.
What the fuck are you doing, Santino? Sending fucking pictures like you’re a fucking teen in love. If anyone walked into this room right now to see me take a picture of myself half-naked, I’d never hear the end of it.
I’d kill them, so that would take care of the problem, but still, I don’t feel like dealing with a dead body this late at night.
Seconds turn to minutes going by without hearing from the mysterious woman.
There’s a voice in the back of my head warning me the person on the other end of this one of Bianchi’s men fucking with me.
It’s stupid of me to continue this conversation without tracing the number to see who I’m talking to, but, for once, I’d like to exist without the looming distrust in people controlling my every move.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the bubbles to show on her end. The longer I wait, the more impatient I become. Tossing my phone to the side, I turn on the TV, and flip through the channels mindlessly.
Not that I’d ever tell, but I might have put on the episode of Law and Order. Every now and then, I might learn a thing or two, run it by my lawyer, and use any education to my advantage for any future dealings.
TV can be beneficial if you know how to use the information it gives you to the best of your ability.
Checking my phone again, I groan when there’s no message and toss it across my bed so hard, it bounces and drops onto the floor with a hard thud.
Fuck it. I’m leaving it there. I need to get my head on straight, and I can’t do that if I’m constantly checking for updates.
My eyes are glued to the TV. The scenes play out and switch, the lighting changing, changing the darkness of the room, and I’m taking in none of it.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I think about the tasks for tomorrow.
I’m going to have to set up a meeting with Bianchi.
I want to see for myself how he acts around me, what he allows himself to say, or if he meets me with me at all.
It will have to be here on my property where everything is under surveillance and guarded.
His every move and word will be recorded.
What leaves me confused is to why he would be trying to buy the loyalty of my people in order to take over my territory.
Sure, the more one controls, the more powerful they become, but Bianchi is powerful enough.
Taking my territory will spread him too thin.
He can fool the people that he pays, but he can’t fool me.
No good leader would keep another leader’s employees.
He will kill them and if the people who work for me can’t see that, then they’re dumber than I thought.
My phone buzzes from the floor and it has the stress of Bianchi and everything else fade away. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m sliding across the sheets and leaning over the edge of the mattress to snag it.
It’s my Ms. Smith.
Grinning like a fool, I lean against the headboard again, tuning out the TV show.
Ms. Smith: “Sorry it took so long for me to answer. I sat here and studied every detail of that photo and now…”
I bite my bottom lip, my fingers flying over the screen.
Me: “…And now what? Did I not pass the inspection? ; )”
It’s a joke, but now that I’ve said it, I’m wondering if it’s true.
Her: “Oh, you passed a little too well, Mr. Smith.”
A video comes through next, the alert vibrating against my palm. I stare at it, my thumb hovering over the play button. A hot sheen of sweat breaks out over my entire body, my cock twitching under the towel.
“Get yourself together. You’re one of the deadliest men in the country.” I try to give myself a pep talk to watch this video.
I shouldn’t be nervous considering I’m a grown fucking man with two grown sons. A man who had another man killed the other day. A man who rules an entire city with a flick of the wrist.
Pain. Death. Power. Money. Control.
They all come so easily.
Intimacy after so many years does not.
Even though I’m Santino Salvati, I don’t fuck any woman who throws themselves at me. I don’t go out searching for a different woman every night. I’ve never been the type. I’m a romantic at heart. I believe being possessive of the one you love is the most powerful thing someone can have.
So yes, I’m nervous because I’m stepping outside of a comfort zone I’ve locked myself in for many, many years.
I press play.
“Fuck,” I moan, turning my phone to the side.
I want a full display.
She’s smart. She didn’t show her face just like I didn’t, which is fine. Everyone should feel comfortable enough to protect themselves in any way they want.
My mystery woman is lying on her bed. Her comforter is pale pink and fluffy, seemingly soft to the touch. I grip my own blanket in my hand, jealous over it being able to touch her skin and not me.
The volume on the TV is too loud, drowning out any noise, if there is any, on the video. Picking up the remote, I press the mute button, then start the video over.
Her legs are bent, her knees pointing to the ceiling. Her thighs… Fuck… her thighs. They are thick, and the smooth, flawless flesh is begging for my attention. If I were there, my head would be buried in that valley, eating like a starved man that hasn’t had a good meal in weeks.
Her breathy moans and gasps have my cock coming to life again. I unwrap the towel from around my waist, tossing it onto the floor. I swallow, lust nearly choking me as I watch her hand move between her legs.
The sounds falling from her turn to broken whines. She pulls her fingers free, lifting them toward the camera to show me how slick and shiny they are.
I gently stroke my hard cock, not going too fast because I want this conversation to last, but then her video stops, and I’m left wanting more.
So much more.
Me: “Send me another video. This time, I want the view of you fucking your fingers.”
Her: “Too bad they aren’t your fingers. I have a feeling I’d be able to come faster than I ever have.”
I growl, wishing I could hear her voice, see her face, hold her close, everything, anything. I’d focus on her pleasure only, wanting her to shout until her voice was hoarse from screaming my name.
A man can dream, but a man like me?
I always make all of my dreams come true.