Savio
The newest member of my inner circle is a lean Columbian rank-climber named Nathan. When Luca pulled him out of the soldiers and introduced him to me yesterday, I could tell he was smart. He keeps his head down, but underneath the deference he's smirking with confidence—and that confidence is earned. A few days ago, he worked over every hiring employer in downtown Chicago in record time, making sure their vacancies were filled. He leaves them nervous and respectful but not panicked, just how I like them.
As I finish my after-lunch coffee, a knock sounds on my office door, and Nathan enters. He startles slightly at the incredible view of the lake that I enjoy, as well as the contemporary fixings that don't match the rest of the apartment. It's just a very expensive hardwood standing desk in the middle of the room with an iMac on it. No fireplace, no bookshelves, none of the distracting garbage that fills most offices. "What?" I prompt when he's taken in his fill.
He places a folder on my desk, which I open to reveal a stack of glossy photos taken with a telephoto lens. Natalia is walking out the door of an ugly antique shop, the kind that fills the windows with dolls and then wonders why no one comes in.
I wait silently for him to explain.
"One of the businesses I visited the other morning was this old woman's junk store. She seemed cooperative. Had a stack of resumes. I told her to pick one and she made the call in front of me." His emotive brown eyes flash in the afternoon light. "When the target came in, I saw her start to cry, then exchange money with the owner and shake her hand."
My eyebrow quirks. "You're saying she made some kind of under the table deal."
"She was shifting around like a kid with ants in his shorts. She knew she was bending the rules."
"Find out how often and how much. Talk to me before you shut it down."
"Whatever you say, sir."
He doesn't leave, instead staring at the stack of photos until I remove the top one and reveal a second. Natalia is kneeling on the sidewalk, skirt riding up her thigh, staring at a man in a tan overcoat.
"These two bumped into each other outside. She ran up the street like her butt was on fire and went into a convenience store a few doors up from her apartment. He went into a photography show across the street."
I pick up the photo, tilting it back and forth in the light, trying to interrogate as much information as I could from the man's blurry profile. It isn't much.
"Talk to Luca; he can help you trace the guy in the photo." I type my password into my computer and pointedly return to work, but Nathan just clears his throat.
"No need. I already had it worked up. The man's name is Ian, and he was definitely following the girl. He left out the back of the gallery a few minutes after entering. But..." I grit my teeth as he pauses for dramatic affect. "He belongs to Vincente Del Toro."
My head snaps up, my fingers clenching dangerously around my flimsy mouse. "Del Toro?"
"Luca said you'd want to hear that name right away."
Anger and hunger and need surge through me, heating my blood until the sunlight becomes nearly unbearable. "Trace this Ian guy. If you pick him up, you can—"
"He's in the bathroom." Nathan jerks his head toward the wall my office shares with the small apartment toilet.
"I—what?"
"I tracked him to his mistress's house in the 'burbs. When Luca said it was important, I had him picked up."
I push away from my desk and approach him, enjoying the mixture of power and tension I can smell laced with his cologne. He twitches as I rest my hand against the side of his head for a moment. "You're second only to Luca now, ok? We'll draw up the contract this evening." He takes the news dispassionately, and I like him even more.
My asshole team of "information brokers" have missed their deadline to figure out why Natalia panicked in her audition, and I sent them packing, ignoring their pleas for a second chance. Despite their failure, an interesting picture is starting to come together. Nathan has not only found evidence proving that Del Toro has his eye on Natalia, but he has handed me a valuable hostage. Over dinner the other night, my bounty hunter informed me that Del Toro is on the move, becoming sloppy; we just don't know why. I will have his location in my hands soon enough. Ever since Natalia stumbled into my club, things are moving so fast I can hardly keep up.
As Nathan shuts the door, I walk back to my desk and stoop over the pictures of Natalia. Now that I have seen her, touched her skin, I feel like she is coming to life on the page in front of me. She's wearing a tight skirt and a worn tee under a ratty leather jacket, her hands and face burned by the wind, tangled hair blowing across her face.
Ever since I had her thrown out three days ago, I have found myself poring over old photos of her, brushing my fingers across her black and white features. These new pictures are much larger and clearer, bursting with color and life.
Inhaling slowly, I turn to face my window, the broad view of Chicago most people would kill for. Even though I'm only on the second floor, I'm cut off from the street, looking out over empty roofs, smoking chimneys, and rusting HVAC units. My hand brushes the growing bulge in my pants as I pick my favorite picture of Natalia and pin it against the window with my fingers, examining it closely. Her curves, her frightened face. And the man tied up and probably hyperventilating just on the other side of this wall.
My belt buckle rattles as I unhook it with one hand, pulling my pants open and tugging my boxers out of the way, my breath becoming labored. I'm so wound up that my cock is already leaking and brushing my thumb along the head elicits a deep groan. I clamp my jaw, forcing the pleasure to stay under control for a short while longer.
The only sound in my silent office is my breathing and the slight, unconscious sounds not even I can control as I stroke my shaft, slowly at first, then more and more violently. I pillage Natalia with my eyes, imagining what I want to do to every inch of her skin. In my mind my hands are clamped around her soft hips, forcing her to stay still as I enter from behind again and again, her body jerking with my ruthless strokes.
In a split second, out of nowhere, the Natalia in my head turns around, looking straight into my eyes with her soft brown gaze, her face lit up the way it had in the split second where she grabbed my tie. She stretches one hand toward my face. Before I can punish her, telling her never to look into my face again, I've come violently, my body arching in raw pleasure as my cum splatters against the window glass. Still riding the aftershocks of pleasure, I clean the window with her photograph and throw it in the trash. It's not the first time I have jerked off to her image, but it is definitely the first time she has come to life in front of me. Ignoring this strange discomfort, I focus on the deeply sated feeling that spreads through my muscles.
Slicked with a slight sweat and bursting with energy, I stride out of my office and nod at Luca. He opens the bathroom door and drags a man out, throwing him on the floor. The man writhes around, struggling to breathe through the duct tape over his mouth. I bend over him, and his breathing quickens as I pull out my knife. I smile at him, then use the knife to cut the bonds on his hands. He flinches as I rip the tape carelessly from his skin.
Now he's on his hands and knees, crawling, whole body desperate to run, but with nowhere to go. Every time he picks a direction to crawl, he falters at the sight of my men hemming him in, watching like spectators at an execution. Tying them up isn't as fun as this. The pleasurable ache in my groin that still lingers surges again. I use my shoe to tip his chin up toward me. "Why were you following Natalia Fiore yesterday?" His face goes blank. I'm not surprised; Vincente Del Toro is not the kind of boss that you easily betray. I stomp on his fingers, enjoying his yelp of pain even though I know it won't give me any information.
I make him watch, trembling, as I stroll slowly across the apartment, brew a cup of coffee, and carry it back, steaming, in my hand. "What do you do for Vincente? Why did he have you following Natalia?" Before he can even finish spitting at my shoes, I dump the burning hot coffee onto his face and listen to him thrash and scream.
I already know that Vincente Del Toro is related to Natalia, but as far as I know, they have hardly spoken for years. I have nieces and nephews that I see a few times a year, but of course none of them know anything about my work. So why would he suddenly be following her? A surge of possessiveness flows over me and snaps me back to reality. Forget Natalia, I already have her. I need to focus on Vincente, the slippery bastard.
Crouching down next to the prisoner, I take out my knife, the one my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday, and run it down his bright red, peeling face, then along the edge of his jugular. He tries to crawl backwards but is blocked by the couch. I enjoy his terror, but I can already smell that he's useless. There is nothing I can do to him that will be worse than what he receives from Vincente for betraying information. He won't talk, so his head is more valuable detached from his body. I watch him quiver as Luca spreads out a thick plastic bag on the floor, placing a chair on top of it.
My men grab his arms and drag him over to the chair, throwing him down in the seat as he thrashes like a fish on a harpoon. Luca hands me my small pistol with a silencer attached. I can still feel the heat of my climax as I press the muzzle to his forehead, looking straight into his eyes. His head snaps back as I pull the trigger, a spray of blood marking the plastic sheet. Luca immediately takes the gun and hands me a handkerchief to clean the blood from my face. "Put the body in the middle of the street at the edge of Del Toro's territory," I instruct. "Decapitate the statue outside Del Toro's public offices and replace it with his head. Have the area watched and follow whoever collects the body."
I notice that Nathan is still in the room, leaning casually by the door on his phone like he's playing Candy Crush on the bus. "What is it?"
"What did you decide about the antique store owner? Should I discipline her or take the store? It's only two hours a week for under the table cash. A few bucks."
I glance out the window, imagining Natalia on the sidewalk, limping as she walks from one job to the other, exhausted, and determined. My cock is already hardening again. "Let her be, for now. If she wants to work herself to death, let her."
As I watch my men wrap the body in plastic, my mind returns to the link between Del Toro and Natalia. The more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I feel at the thought of my enemy's goons chasing her around the streets with unknown motives. If he has her killed or taken before I can, years of hard work will fall apart. I am wasting far too much time and too many resources keeping track of her, and my body and mind are becoming unproductive as they obsess more and more over being near her again.
It's time to take action. I'm good at waiting, but I'm also good at knowing when to stop.
I jog downstairs and seek out Joe. The club is about to open and he's hurrying around like usual, talking to the girls as they stretch. When I appear in the doorway, the girls all freeze, and Joe follows their gaze toward me. "Savio?"
Bending down, I speak quietly in his ear. His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't question me. "I'll make the call tomorrow," he says hesitantly.