Chapter Seventeen SANTINO
The study smelled of aged leather, whiskey, and the faint metallic tang of violence that still clung to the air like a second skin.
Dim golden light from the desk lamp cast long shadows across dark wood paneling and shelves lined with ancient books no one ever read.
Rain lashed against the tall windows, a relentless drumbeat that matched the dark pulse in my veins.
I sat behind the heavy oak desk, reviewing shipping manifests, when the door opened without a knock. Only one man alive got away with that.
Marco stepped inside carrying a black leather bag, his expression flat and professional, as if he were delivering yesterday’s mail instead of the evidence of fresh death. He set the bag on the desk with a dull, heavy thud that echoed slightly in the quiet room.
“As promised.”
I leaned back in the leather chair, the wood creaking under my weight, and slowly unzipped the bag.
Inside, resting on clear plastic, were two severed hands.
The cuts at the wrists were clean, almost surgical.
These were the same hands that had held the camera, the same fingers that had dared capture images of Aurora without my permission.
I stared at them for a long moment, the metallic scent of dried blood reaching my nose, satisfaction settling low and heavy in my gut like warm whiskey.
“Good.”
Marco didn’t flinch. He’d seen worse. So had I. “The rest of him won’t be found. Ever.”
I nodded once, zipping the bag shut with a decisive sound. One less threat breathing near what was mine. The rain outside intensified, thunder rumbling in the distance like the universe itself approved.
Before I could dismiss him, the door opened again. Matteo stood there, eyes flicking from the bag to me. He didn’t look away. Didn’t pale. The kid had steel in him already.
Marco raised an eyebrow. “I’ll leave you two.”
Once the door clicked shut, Matteo stepped fully inside. He glanced at the bag again. Bloody fingers were peeking out.
“Hands?” he asked, voice steady, almost curious.
“Belonged to the man photographing your sister,” I muttered.
Matteo absorbed that without horror. Just a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Good.”
I gestured to the chair across from me. He sat without hesitation.
Silence stretched for a beat, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, low and urgent. “I don’t want to go back to Leo’s.”
I studied him carefully, letting the weight of my gaze press down on him. “Explain.”
“I know what Leo did to my father. I know he saved us too. But every time I look at him… I see the man who ended my family. I can’t live there.
Not anymore.” His jaw tightened, eyes burning with that Ventura fire.
“I’d rather stay here. With you. With Aurora.
I’ll earn my place. I’ll do whatever you ask. Just… don’t send me back.”
The kid was sixteen and already choosing the Devil over the Serpent. Smart. Or suicidal. Maybe both.
“You understand what staying with me means?” I asked quietly, my voice low and dangerous. “This isn’t protection with training wheels. This is my world. Blood. Violence. No mercy.”
“I know.” His eyes met mine without flinching, steady and determined. “I want it. I want to learn from someone who doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not.”
I let the silence linger, testing him. He didn’t squirm, didn’t look away. Good.
“Fine,” I said finally. “You stay. Guesthouse on the east side of the property. You train with me every morning. You follow every rule. You cross me, or you put your sister in danger, and I’ll put you on a plane to the other side of the world. Understood?”
Relief flashed across his face, raw and genuine. He stood and offered his hand like a man. “Understood.”
I shook it, my grip firm. “Go get settled. Marco will show you the house.”
Matteo paused at the door. “Thank you… Santino.”
Then he was gone.
I sat there a moment longer, the weight of another responsibility settling on my shoulders like another layer of armor.
Angelo’s ghost would probably laugh at me for collecting strays.
The rain continued its assault outside, thunder growling approval.
Then I stood, the need to see Aurora burning hotter than anything else, a primal hunger that clawed at my chest.
I found her exactly where some dark, possessive part of me had hoped she would be.
My bedroom. Lights low and golden, casting warm shadows across black silk sheets. The air was thick with the faint scent of her vanilla-apple perfume and something sweeter, arousal.
Completely naked, she knelt in the center of the massive bed, thighs spread wide, hands resting obediently on her knees.
Dark hair spilled over her bare shoulders like ink, her nipples tight and flushed, her pretty pink pussy glistening under the low light.
Those big, dark eyes lifted to mine, full of challenge, hunger, and just a hint of fear.
“Santino,” she whispered, voice husky and trembling with need. “I’ve been waiting.”
My cock hardened, thick and heavy, straining against my pants. Control, already frayed from the day’s violence and responsibilities, strained dangerously close to snapping.
She crawled forward slowly on her knees, graceful and sinful, eyes locked on the bulge in my trousers.
“Please… let me suck your cock. I need to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Dreaming about it.”
Fuck.
I stood at the edge of the bed, slowly unzipping my pants and freeing my thick, veined cock. It bobbed heavily in front of her face, the swollen head already glistening with precum, the musky scent of my arousal mixing with hers in the heated air.
“You want my cock so badly?” I murmured, voice low and dark with command. I tapped the swollen, leaking head against her full bottom lip, smearing a bead of precum across it. “Then you’ll earn it. One lick at a time.”
She whimpered, the sound vibrating through me, but leaned forward eagerly. I pulled back just enough to tease her.
“Ah ah. One lick. Then you stop. Understand?”
“Yes,” she breathed, voice wrecked already.
I let her lean in. Her soft, warm, wet tongue dragged slowly from the base of my thick shaft all the way up to the leaking tip in one long, reverent stroke.
The velvet heat of her tongue sent white-hot pleasure shooting up my spine. The wet sound of it, the sight of her pink tongue against my flushed cock, the faint taste of her earlier arousal still lingering on my skin. It was intoxicating.
“Good girl,” I praised, my voice rough as gravel. “Now stop.”
She pulled back with a frustrated moan, lips shiny and parted, eyes pleading up at me like I was her god and her tormentor all at once.
“Again,” I ordered. “One lick.”
She obeyed, licking me slowly, worshipfully, like she was starving and I was her only salvation. I watched every second, my control fraying thread by thread. The slick, obscene sounds filled the room, mixing with the rain hammering against the windows and her desperate little whimpers.
“Stop.”
Another desperate, broken sound left her throat. I smiled, dark and satisfied.
We continued like that for long, torturous minutes, with slow, agonizing licks.
Each one longer, wetter, needier than the last. Her breathing grew ragged and shallow.
Her thighs were slick and shining with her arousal, dripping down onto the silk sheets.
She was trembling visibly, hips twitching helplessly.
“Such a pretty slut,” I murmured, stroking her dark hair almost gently while she licked me again. “Look at you. So desperate for my cock you’re shaking like a leaf. You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you? Crawl. Cry. Beg on your knees for hours.”
“Yes,” she whimpered, licking me again the moment I allowed it, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. “Please, Santino… I need more. I’m aching for you.”
I gripped her jaw firmly, tilting her flushed, tear-streaked face up to mine. “You want it in that greedy little mouth?”
She nodded frantically, eyes wild.
“Beg.”
“Please let me suck your cock,” she sobbed. “I’ll be so good for you. I need to feel you stretching my throat. Please, Santino, I’m dying for it.”
I cut her off by feeding her the thick head.
“Three seconds,” I said coldly. “Count with me.”
I slid the fat head past her swollen lips. Her mouth was hot, wet, silky heaven. The suction was immediate and desperate.
“One,” I counted, voice steady.
She moaned loudly around me, sucking greedily, tongue working frantically.
“Two.”
Her tongue swirled desperately, cheeks hollowing.
“Three.”
I pulled out completely. She chased me with a broken, needy whine, drool connecting her lips to my cock.
“No… please…”
“Quiet.” I tapped my heavy cock against her cheek with a wet smack, leaving a trail of her spit and my precum. “You get what I give you. Beg again.”
She did. Beautifully. Tears of pure frustration and overwhelming lust shining in her eyes as she pleaded with me like her life depended on it.
I let her have my cock again, feeding her more this time.
“One… Two… Three… Four. Five.”
Each second I held it in her mouth, she sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, trying desperately to take more. Each time I pulled out, she looked more wrecked, drool dripping down her chin, tears streaming, body trembling with denied need.
By the time I reached ten, she was a complete mess, with drool coating her chin and dripping onto her heaving tits, tears on her lashes, hips grinding desperately against nothing, her pussy visibly clenching and leaking onto the sheets.
“You’re not sucking my cock, Aurora,” I told her, voice low and vicious. “You’re fucking it with that greedy little mouth for the pathetic seconds I allow. And you still don’t get to cum. You don’t even get to have it properly. You’re just a desperate little toy right now.”
I slid back in deeper.
“Fifteen seconds this time. Count in your head. If you lose count, I stop completely.”