“I like this hotel for two reasons,” he said, taking a seat on the bed. “First, it’s mine, and second, it has this apartment. I’ve been looking for the perfect furniture for it for a long time.” His voice was calm, sexy. “You see, Laura, you’re immobilized now so efficiently that you have no chance of escaping or offering any resistance.” He licked the inside of my thigh. “At the same time, I can enjoy each and every part of your gorgeous body.”
He grabbed my ankles, spreading my legs wider. The telescopic rod snapped a couple of times and locked in place, holding my legs in the shape of a very wide V.
“Please,” I whispered. It was the only thing that came to my mind.
“Are you asking me to begin already? Or stop?”
This was a simple question, but the answer to it wasn’t coming. I only let out a soft yelp of resignation. The Man in Black crawled toward me and hovered over my face, pinning me with his eyes. His lower lip brushed against my nose, lips, cheeks.
“I’ll fuck you so hard, all of Sicily will hear you scream.”
“Please, no,” I croaked with the last of my strength, and squeezed my eyes shut. They were watering. Complete silence fell then. I was too afraid to open my eyes—terrified of what I’d see. I heard a click and felt my right hand falling to the mattress, free. Then more clicks. After a while I was completely free.
“Put some clothes on. We need to be in one of my clubs in an hour,” Massimo said, leaving the bedroom, still naked.
I stayed on the bed for a moment longer, analyzing what had happened. Suddenly, a tsunami of fury rolled over me. I jumped to my feet and rushed out, chasing him. He was already standing in his suit pants and sipping on champagne.
“Would you care to explain this to me?” I shrieked as he slowly turned, hearing me stomping out of the adjoining room.
“What is there to explain?” he asked, nonchalantly leaning against the table.
“That girl took your interest? She’s nothing but a whore. I own a few brothels and you didn’t want to help me blow off some steam. The bed and the toys on it didn’t seem to be to your liking. That doesn’t require any further comment, does it? Just like Veronica and what she did. Judging by your reaction, at least.” He lifted his brows. “What more is there to say?” Massimo crossed his arms. “I won’t force myself on you. Not before you give me your consent. I promised. It’s hard for me to control myself fully, but I won’t rape you.” He turned away and headed toward the door. “Despite that we both know perfectly well that it would be the best sex of our lives. And that you would beg for more when it ended.”
I stood rooted to the spot, not able to deny what he was saying. He was right—there was no point fighting the obvious. Back in the bedroom, he had been just a couple of minutes from finally making me cave in. What Massimo wanted, though, was for me to give myself over out of love, instead of animalistic desire. He wanted to possess me whole. Sticking his cock inside me wasn’t enough. God, he was devious and manipulative. After what he had said as he was leaving, I wanted him even more. Now it was I who needed to keep it together, just to stop myself from throwing myself on him on one of those gigantic sofas. I screamed, helpless, balling my fists. Then I went to take a cold shower. It was what I needed. When I left the bathroom, I met Domenico in the living room. He was leaving another bottle of champagne on the table.
“I’m surprised you aren’t sick of him yet,” he said, pouring me a glass.
“Who said I’m not? And you never ask me what I’d like, instead making me drink all those fizzy carbs all the time,” I said with a laugh, sipping the beverage. “What is this place we’re about to go to?”
“It’s called Nostro. Massimo’s favorite club. He keeps an eye on all the comings and goings personally. It’s a pretty classy spot. Only politicians, businessmen, and…” He trailed off, making me all the more curious.
“And who? Their whores? Like Veronica?” I spun on my heel, facing him.
Domenico sent me a probing look, as if checking my bluff. I didn’t allow my face to show any emotion, instead focusing on rummaging through my clothes, pretending to look for something appropriate for the evening. Once in a while I pressed the champagne glass to my lips, sipping.
“Maybe not exactly like Veronica, but yes. It is a place for people who cannot act as freely anywhere else.”
“After she sucked Massimo off in front of me, I had the impression she knew him well. They probably spent some quality time together in that club of his, eh?”
I said it. I had meant to think it only, but it came out aloud.
Now I didn’t know what to do. I shrugged and went to the bathroom, silently scolding myself. I didn’t close the door and, after a while, as I was doing my makeup, Domenico appeared at the door and leaned against the wall. He couldn’t hide his amusement at my sincerity.
“You know, it’s not really my business who blows whom. Or employs, for that matter.”
“So, you’re telling me you’re not even interested in how you get your recruitment done?”
Domenico raised his brows and burst out laughing.
“Forgive me, Laura, but… are you jealous?”
I felt a shiver running down my spine. Was I that bad at pretending not to care? “I’m just losing my patience. I want this year to end and I want to go home. Now. What should I wear today?” I asked, changing the subject and turning away from the mirror.
Domenico smiled charmingly and turned to head back to the living room. “You can’t be jealous about a whore, you know. She’s only doing her job. And I’ve already prepared a dress for you.”
As he left, I collapsed, hiding my head in my hands, bent over the sink. If it was so clear that I couldn’t keep my wits about me, it would only become worse with time. Focus! I said to myself, slapping myself in the face.
“If this is your way of disciplining yourself, I can gladly hit you harder.”
I raised my eyes and saw Massimo sitting in an armchair behind me.
“You’d like to slap me in the face?” I asked, grabbing my eyeliner.
“If that’s your thing…”
I tried to focus on doing my makeup, but those piercing eyes of his were making everything harder. Even the easiest things, it seemed.
“You want something? If not, leave me.”
“Veronica is a prostitute. She comes over, sucks my dick, and sometimes I fuck her if I’m in the mood. She likes the violence and the money. And she works with the most discerning clients—myself included. All the girls working for me—”
“Do I have to listen to this?” I spun around and crossed my arms. “Would you like me to tell you how Martin used to fuck me? Or maybe you’d like to watch?”
His eyes darkened and his sly smirk vanished, leaving a face that could have been made of stone. Massimo got up and walked over to me, grabbing me by the shoulders, lifting me, and perching me on the counter next to the sink.
“Everything you see here is mine.”
He seized me by the head and turned my face to the mirror. “Everything. You. See,” he hissed furiously. “And I’ll kill anyone who takes what’s mine.” He turned his back on me and left without another word.
Everything was his. The hotel, the whores, and the game. All of a sudden, I had a plan. I would punish Massimo’s hypocrisy. I went to the bedroom and glanced at the dress splayed on the bed—it was golden, bare backed, covered with sequins. A beauty. Regretfully, it wouldn’t do for my plan. I went to the closet and looked at all my dresses.
“You like whores? I’ll show you a whore…” I murmured in Polish.
I picked a dress and a pair of shoes, and then went back to the bathroom to redo my makeup. Thirty minutes later, as Domenico knocked on my door, I was fastening my boots.
“Fuck me,” Domenico breathed, nervously closing the door behind him. “He’ll kill you. And then he’ll kill me. You can’t go out like that.”
I laughed mockingly and went to the mirror. The flesh-colored dress with th
in shoulder straps looked more like a slip than a full outfit. It revealed the entire back and the sides of my breasts. It didn’t really cover much at all, but that was the whole plan. As the dress had a high neckline, I hung the necklace—a large cross studded with black crystals—on my back, so nobody could miss my nakedness. I also picked thigh-high boots—they served to emphasize the fact that the dress barely covered my ass. It was hot outside, but fortunately Emilio Pucci, the designer of this particular pair, had foreseen everything. Women who loved high boots wanted to wear them all year round, so he had designed them to be airy, with laces going all the way up, and toeless. They were obscene. And obscenely expensive. I tied my hair into a very tight ponytail, on the top of my head. The sexy, simple, and lifting hairdo perfectly complemented the smoky eyes and bright, glossy lips.
“Who bought me all those things, Domenico? If he paid for them, he had to realize I’d wear them,” I said, adding, “You look pretty nice yourself. Are you coming with us?”
The Italian stood immobile, with his hands clutching at his head. His chest was heaving.
“I’m going with you because Massimo has some other business to attend to first. Do you realize I’ll be in big trouble if he sees you like that?”
“So you’ll tell him you tried to stop me but I overpowered you. Come on!”
I grabbed a black clutch bag and a tiny white fox bolero, passed Domenico with a happy smile, and left the apartment. He muttered something, which I didn’t catch, but followed.
As we left the elevator and crossed the hall, the staff all froze. Domenico nodded at them, and I just kept walking with a big grin on my face. We stepped into a limo parked by the entrance and drove to the party.
“This is the day I die,” Domenico said finally, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. “Why are you doing this to me?” He drank it all in one gulp.
“Oh, Domenico, don’t be such a crybaby. I’m not doing this to you. I’m doing this to him. Besides, I think I look very stylish and sexy.”
The young Italian helped himself to another drink and poured the third. He looked especially dapper that evening in light-gray pants, similarly colored shoes, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There was a beautiful golden Rolex shining from his wrist, paired with a set of bracelets—some wooden, some gold, and the other made of platinum.
“Sexy, that’s for sure, but stylish? I sincerely doubt that Massimo will appreciate this particular brand of elegance.”
CHAPTER 7
Nostro reflected Massimo’s personality perfectly. Two tall bouncers stood guard at the red-carpeted entrance. A flight of stairs led down, straight to the elegant, dark interior. Tables were nestled in alcoves divided with dark, heavy drapes. Walls of ebony and the dim light of candles gave the impression of sensuality, eroticism, and luscious appeal. There were two platforms, where scantily dressed women in masks writhed to the rhythm of Massive Attack.
The bartenders standing behind a long black bar covered in quilted leather were women. They were all dressed in tight-fitting bodysuits and wore high heels. Their wrists were adorned with leather straps imitating manacles. Yes, everything was unmistakably Massimo’s idea.
We passed the bar and the crowd of bodies lazily moving to the rhythm of the music. A massive bouncer who was making way for us drew another drape open, revealing another room—a cavernous hall. Massive dark wood sculptures shaped in the form of conjoined bodies dominated the space. I was awed by their sheer size rather than by what they depicted.
In the corner, on a pedestal, obscured by semitransparent curtains, was an alcove where we were led. It was decidedly larger than the other ones. I could only speculate as to what normally happened here—there was a dancing pole in the middle.
Domenico sat down, and before he touched the satin lining of the sofa, alcohol, appetizers and a tray covered with a silver dome were brought into the alcove. On instinct, I reached out for the tray, but Domenico caught my hand before it touched the metal surface, shaking his head. He passed me a glass of champagne.
“We won’t be alone today,” he said cautiously, as if afraid of what he had to say. “We’ll be joined by several people with whom we have to tend to some business.”
I nodded and repeated after him, “Some people, some business. Right. You boys will play gangsters.” I poured the content of the glass down my throat and stuck my hand out so Domenico could refill it.
“We’ll be doing business. Best get used to it.” Suddenly, his eyes bulged.
He was staring into the distance, at something behind me.
“Shit is going to hit the fan now,” he breathed, running his hand through his hair.
I turned around and noticed several men entering our alcove. Massimo was among them. Seeing me, he stopped and froze in perfect stillness. He stared at me coldly.
I swallowed hard, and suddenly my plan to dress like a hooker didn’t seem like such a good idea. Massimo’s companions passed me on their way to greet Domenico, while the head of the family kept his distance. His fury was clear and apparent.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he growled, grabbing me by the elbow.
“Only what you picked for me,” I replied, freeing my arm.
My retort wasn’t to his liking. I could see the red-hot rage boiling over in him, wondering why he hadn’t started spewing steam from his ears yet. That’s when one of the men shouted something to Massimo, who replied, keeping his eyes aimed at me.
I sat at the table and reached for yet another glass of champagne. If I was to play a piece of decor, I might as well be a very drunk piece of decor.
It was a good day to drink. Bored witless, I observed the room, listening in on the conversation. When Massimo spoke Italian, he was really sexy. Suddenly, Domenico broke my reverie by lifting the dome from the silver platter. I shot a glance at what was on it and nearly choked—it was cocaine. The drug, divided into several dozen neat little lines, covered the entire platter. Where I come from plates like that are what you serve roast turkey on. I exhaled slowly and left the alcove, but I didn’t even manage to turn my head to take a look around, as the gigantic bouncer materialized in front of me. I shot Massimo a look. The man was keeping his eyes trained on me, standing right behind me. I bent over, pretending to scratch my leg, but really to show him how short my dress was before I left. I straightened up and met his predatory glare.
“Don’t provoke me, girl,” Massimo said.
“Why? Are you afraid I’m doing it well?” I asked, trailing my tongue along my lower lip. Alcohol always has that effect on me—I feel bolder—but with Massimo, when I got drunk it seemed to always bring out the demon in me.
“Alberto will keep you company.”
“You’re changing the subject,” I purred, clutching the lapels of his suit and inhaling the scent of his cologne. “My dress is so short you could enter me without even taking it off.” I grabbed his hand and led it down my waist and then under the fabric of the dress. “White lace, just the way you like it,” I breathed. “Alberto!” I called out suddenly, and headed toward the dance floor.
I took a look back, shooting a glance at Massimo, who was standing propped against one of the pillars with his hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his face. He was into that stuff.
I crossed the hall and found a place where the rumbling music was the loudest. People were dancing, drinking, and fucking in the private alcoves. I paid them no mind. I needed to switch off. I nodded at the bartender, and before I could count to three there was a glass of rosé champagne in front of me. I needed another drink, so I downed it and grabbed another glass, which magically appeared on the counter. That’s how I spent another hour, or maybe more. As soon as I decided it was enough and I was suitably drunk, I headed back to those junkies in the alcove, surprised to see that the gentlemen were not alone anymore. There were women all around them, purring and brushing against their legs, arms, and crotches like horny cats. They were all beautiful and all hookers. Massimo was
sitting in the middle, but alone. Was that coincidence or something he had planned? I didn’t care. I was happy with what I saw, because otherwise I might have reacted violently. And I wouldn’t even hold that against myself. Before I could continue this train of thought, my eyes focused on the dancing pole. It was free.
When I had moved to Warsaw, I started taking pole dancing lessons. At first I thought it was all about sexy squirming, but my instructor quickly taught me better. Pole dancing was the perfect way to keep your body in shape. It was a bit like gymnastics, only on a pole. So, without thinking, I went to the table, aimed my eyes at Massimo, and slowly took off the cross hanging from my back. I kissed it and placed it gently on the table in front of the Man in Black. “Running Up That Hill” by Placebo was blasting from the speakers. It felt like an invitation. I knew I couldn’t do everything I had in mind. My dress was too short and there were all those guests around. One thing I knew was that the moment I touched that pole, Massimo would blow a gasket anyway. When I grabbed the metal pillar and turned in a fluid pirouette, trying to gauge his reaction, he kept still. All the men suddenly lost interest in the women around them and instead looked at me. I got you now! I thought, and started the show. A few seconds later I already knew that the few years I hadn’t practiced had done nothing to blunt my talent. I remembered all the motions and could do it without breaking a sweat. Dancing came naturally to me; I had danced since I could remember. Whether it was pole dancing, ballroom dancing, or Latino, it always soothed me.
I allowed myself to sink into it: the alcohol, the music, the atmosphere of the place—all that had changed me. After a longer while I shot a glance at the place where Massimo had been standing a while ago. The space was empty now, but all eyes were on me, including Domenico’s. The young Italian was sitting wide legged on the couch. I pirouetted once more and froze. That wild, icy stare was drilling holes in me. Massimo was standing right next to me. I wrapped one leg around him and ran my fingers through his hair, leaning him back against the pole.
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