Chapter 2

NEW DISTRACTIONS

Marco:

I hate charity galas.

I hate board-room handshakes even more.

Give me the cash to count and I’m grinning; give me politicians begging for bribes and I start grinding molars.

It was already Midnight. I had just finished my meeting for the night as I stretched holding my suitcase waiting for my guard to bring my umbrella. The rain hadn't stop since afternoon. I climbed into the back of my Maserati, shoulders aching from the forced smiles. Anton, my driver, pulled away from the curb smooth as silk.

I needed some rest and little pleasure alone as I had Annabel—tonight’s arm-candy. She is tall, blonde, her breasts full in nature just as I liked them. She smelled sweet and looked very eager to please me. The moment the door shut she popped champagne and tossed her stilettos on the floor.

“Cheers to successful extortion,” she purred, bumping her glass into mine.

“It’s called negotiation,” I corrected, though she wasn’t wrong.

We turned onto Via del Porto. No streetlights here, just warehouse shadows and puddles that looked like oil slicks. Anton kept his speed steady—he knew the right directions to drive to avoid dipping into potholes.

Annabel crawled across the seat, as she dropped both glasses carefully on the floor. She hiked up her purple dress past her thigh revealing her laps. Her sequins scratching my trousers, as she pressed her lips to my jaw slowly unzipping my down. She was good at pretending to please me. I just wanted pleasure to ease my body from the day stress.

She can't fool me.

My phone vibrated— it was Paul from finance texting numbers. Good numbers. I smiled, pocketed the phone, as I pushed myself back against the leather to allow Annabel please me. Rain drummed on the roof like applause. I loosened my tie; she took it as permission. Her fingers unbuttoned my shirt, mouth tracing my chest. She slid down between my knees as she found way to my dick thrusting. Slowly.

The engine hummed, low and soft. Street empty. My head tipped back as I groaned in pleasure. For what seemed like five minutes or more it was all heat her mouth going in rhythm to how I wanted to feel it

"Go deeper, hmmm, I want to feel your throat," I groaned a bit louder, making her thrust harder as we moved in rhythm.

I was about to cum, then THUD.

The car lurched. Brakes squealed. Champagne bottle rolled under the seat, glass shattering somewhere. Annabel's teeth scraped exactly where you never want teeth scraping.

I hissed, shoved her back. “Anton!”

The car stopped. Rain hammered the windshield. Anton’s voice crackled through the intercom: “Boss—I think we hit someone—no, she collapsed, she just—”

“Open the damn door.”

I zipped, buttoned halfway, as I grabbed the umbrella to go outside. Annabel adjusted her lipstick with a snarl. “Seriously? Traffic corpse now?”

I didn’t answer. Outside, water came sideways. My shoes splashed deep. The headlights carved a little cone of light onto the road—and there she was.

A young girl in a yellow raincoat that clinged to her small body like a drowned chick. Knees scraped raw, dark hair plastered to her cheeks. She wasn’t bleeding bad—only from one knee—but shock had drained her face sheet-white.

She hadn’t been hit; Anton swerved. She must’ve fainted from running. Or fear.

I crouched, ignoring rain stabbing my neck. “Hey. You breathing?”

Her eyes fluttered open. Big eyes—the color of storm clouds if storm clouds ever begged for mercy. She looked straight at me, like I was both salvation and the wolf at her door.

Something punched me in the ribs from the inside.

“Name?” I asked. I always ask. Names make people real.

Her mouth moved. Nothing came out.

Fine. I slid arms under her. Light, fragile, bones sharp under soaked clothes. Her cheek fell against my shoulder like she’d done it forever.

Annabel shrieked from the car doorway. “You cannot be serious! She smells like gutter.”

“Get in the escort car,” I ordered, not ready to shout over rain.

“I—I was in the middle of—” She gestured to my half-done buttons.

“And now you’re done.”

Guards hustled her to the trailing SUV. She swore in French and English, heels clicking. She’d still take the gift bag later. They always did.

Backseat, I settled the girl—raincoat dripping, hair covering her face. She shivered hard, teeth chattering even unconscious.

I shrugged out of my suit coat, wrapped it over her like a blanket. It swallowed her. She curled into the warmth instinctively. Crazy that someone could trust a stranger’s coat more than their own home.

“Hospital, sir?” Anton called.

“No. Westlake private.” Too many questions at public ER. I didn’t like cops pawing around my business.

“Copy.”

The convoy moved. Wipers smacked furiously. My phone buzzed—Annabel texting fury emojis and something about a ruined night. I ignored the text immediately. Easy.

I glanced at the girl again. Water dripped from her eyelashes. Her red lips were barely parted. I could feel her boobs soft touching my laps close to where my cock lay. Her barefoot toes pale white peeked from under her coat, paint chipped on one, exactly like a teenager dodging chores.

I wonder who would dump a kid out in a storm?

Monsters like my father. Devil in human skin.

My memory flashed to when I was eight, kneeling on marble under the rain, Dad's boot on my shoulder because I had spilled ink on his desk. That same helpless cold.

But it carved me to be strong. Heartless

But why did my heart soften to this fragile girl. My jaw clenched.

“Boss, we’re five minutes out,” Anton said.

The girl stirred. A soft, broken sound, almost a word. I leaned closer to listen to her

“Where am I—” she whispered in an unconscious tone.

“Safe,” I replied softly. It felt stupid. Nothing in my life was safe. But I said it.

Her hands grabbed my already hard cock I had been taming due to her hard nipple tingling on it. Leaving me at shock.

Then she fainted fully against me. I relaxed. She might have touched it by mistake. But the deed has already been done.

---

Westlake Clinic sat behind a nondescript gate, cameras everywhere. Doctor Bianchi was waiting, gray hair flat from the sprint in the rain. “Hypothermic. Minor lacerations. Possible fracture in the hip,” he rattled off while staff eased her onto a gurney. “We’ll warm her up, run scans.”

“No police,” I reminded.

He nodded—paid enough not to ask.

Annabel’s SUV pulled in. She stepped out, umbrella held by a guard, mascara streaking down cheeks. “Marco, this is ridiculous. I ruined my knees for you earlier.”

I gave a thin smile. “Get them fixed, then.”

“You’re choosing some street rat over me?” She asked irritated.

“I’m choosing silence. You’re making noise.” I replied my eyes still fixed on my little kitten.

She spat a curse, stomped away. The guard trailed her—he’d escort her home, then she’d vanish from my contacts by morning. Problem solved.

I turned back to the glass partition where my little kitten lay under warming blankets. Pale lips, dark lashes, bruises I hadn’t noticed blooming on her thighs.

Bianchi read vitals, started an IV. She looked even smaller on that bed.

“Keep her overnight,” I said. “Charge everything to my Rome account. She wakes, you call me first.”

“Yes, sir.”

I lingered when everyone left. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and wet wool.

Why was I still here?

Because those eyes. Because nobody had looked at me like that since… well, never.

I rested my palm on the glass. Ridiculous gesture. She couldn’t feel it.

I needed answers: ID, family, reason for running. If she was trouble—and life taught me stray kittens bite—I’d deal with it.

For now, I watched her breathe.

---

Two hours later I was back in the car. Shirt changed, hair half-dry. The rain had eased to drizzle. City lights flickered reflection off the wet streets.

Anton eyed me in the mirror. “Where to, boss?”

“Home.”

He pulled away.

Silence settled. But inside my head, questions shouted each other: Why did she run? Who bruised her? And why did I care more about that than the entire port contract I’d sealed tonight?

At a red light, I caught my own reflection—tired, faint smudge of lipstick still on my throat. I wiped it off with my thumb.

My world had rules: buy or bury your enemies, pleasure without attachment, never pick up strays.

Tonight I’d broken rule three. Maybe rule two if I’m honest.

The light changed. The engine growled. I sat back and let the city blur, but somewhere in my chest, a new thread had been knotted tight.