2

Alessandro Rossi

 

The alarm never had to wake me. I was already up by 4:45, the way I had been every morning since I was twenty three and realized sleep was a luxury men like me couldn't afford.Penthouse on the 72nd floor of One57, Manhattan. Floor to ceiling glass looking out over Central Park like a dark mirror. The bed was king sized, black sheets, empty on both sides. I hadn't shared it in years not since the night I realized trust was a blade turned inward.I rose, bare feet silent on heated marble. Naked, I crossed to the bathroom, the city lights still glittering below like fallen stars. Mirror fogged from the shower I hadn't taken yet. I studied my reflection the way I studied enemies, critically, coldly.Dark hair still damp from last night's restless sweat. Blue eyes sharp enough to cut. Jaw shadowed with stubble I would shave in exactly seven minutes. The jagged knife scar on my left hip three inches long, raised and pale caught the low light. I traced it once with my thumb, feeling the old burn."Still here," I muttered to the empty room.

 

Shower first. Hot enough to scald. I stood under the spray, letting water pound my shoulders, my chest, my dick half hard from the dream I never remembered but always woke from aching. Soap smelled of sandalwood and amber same as always. Routine was control. Control was survival and By 5:30 I was dressed in charcoal suit, white shirt, no tie yet. Rolex on my left wrist. Black card in my inner pocket the one with no visible limit. I never carried cash. Cash was for people who still believed money was the currency of power.Down in the private elevator. Doorman nodded. "Morning, Mr. Rossi.""Morning, Carlos."the Black Maybach was waiting at the curb. Driver Marco opened the door without a word. He knew better than to speak unless spoken to."Office first," I said, sliding into the back. "Then the warehouse at eight."Marco pulled away smoothly.

I opened my tablet, scrolled through overnight reports ,stock movements, merger talks with a Dubai firm, security alerts from the Bronx territory. Luca had sent photos at 3 a.m. shipment crates unloaded, no tails. Clean.I exhaled. Clean was rare.Wall Street by 6:15. Rossi Enterprises occupied the top fifteen floors of a glass tower on Broad Street. My office was corner to corner windows, black desk, single red rose in a crystal vase on the credenza. Dried petal beside it three years old, fragile. I never explained it to anyone.

The Assistant Isabella, my sister knocked once and entered at 6:30 sharp. She was the only person allowed in before coffee."Board meeting at nine," she said, laying a folder on my desk. "Dubai wants concessions on the security contract. They're pushing for backdoor access.""Tell them no," I said without looking up. "If they want our tech, they buy it clean."She hesitated. "They're hinting at walking.""Let them walk. We don't bend."Isabella studied me. "You look tired, Ale.""I'm fine.""You're always fine." She sighed. "Luca called. Warehouse at eight. You sure you don't want me there?""No. Stay here. Handle the board."She left without arguing. Family was the only leash I allowed.Coffee arrived at 7 black, scalding. I drank it standing, staring at the city. My city. Half of it paid me tribute in cash, the other half in stock options. Rossi Enterprises built security systems that governments used to watch their own people. The mafia side built empires on the things those systems couldn't see.

 

By 7:45 I was in the Maybach again, heading to the Bronx warehouse. Marco drove silent. I scrolled messages ,rival moves in Queens, a shipment delay in Jersey, a name I hadn't heard in years Enzo Bianchi surfacing in whispers.I closed the tablet. Some ghosts you didn't chase. You waited for them to come to you.Warehouse district smelled of rust and salt water. Luca waited outside the loading dock, cigarette between his fingers."Boss," he said, falling in step. "Everything's accounted for. No leaks.""Good."Inside  crates stacked high, men in black jackets unloading discreetly. I walked the rows, checking seals. One crate had a scratch fresh. I stopped."Who handled this one?"Luca shifted. "Rico. New kid.""Bring him."Rico appeared thirty seconds later, nervous sweat on his brow. Twenty two. Eyes darting."You scratch the crate?" I asked quietly."No, boss. I swear ..."I stepped closer. "Lie to me again and you'll wish you hadn't."He swallowed. "It slipped. I'm sorry."I nodded once. "Fix it. And next time, don't."He nodded frantically and disappeared.Luca exhaled. "You going soft?"I shot him a look. "Soft gets you dead."

 

We walked back to the car. My phone buzzed security alert from the bank, Wallet missing. Black card pinged first transaction boutique on 34th. Then hotel swipe.I froze."Luca. Pull cams from Rockefeller crosswalk. Now."He was already dialing.I slid into the back seat, pulse steady but faster than usual. A woman. Curvy. Dark hair. Red lips. Lifted my wallet clean.And that scent faint, raw, female still clung to the memory of her brush against me.It hit me then, full force. The scar on my hip burned like it was fresh. My mind reeled back three years, to the night it all changed.

 

Three years Ago

 

It was raining that night. Sheets of water hammering the Brooklyn docks like gunfire. I was twenty two, rising fast in the family ranks, but trusting too much. My so called partner, Enzo Bianchi, had called a meet said it was about a shipment from Colombia. Peace talk.It was an ambush.Three of his men jumped me in the warehouse. Knives out. One got me in the hip, blade twisting before I broke his wrist. I fought back fists, knees, a loose pipe from the floor. Blood everywhere. Mine. Theirs.I killed two. The third ran. Enzo watched from the shadows, smiling, then vanished.I staggered out, hand pressed to the wound, blood soaking my shirt. Drove myself to a safe house stitch up no hospitals, no questions.The doc patched me, but the pain was nothing compared to the betrayal. Trust shattered. My father died six months later from "stress," but I knew Enzo's hand in it.That night, stitched and raging, I couldn't go home. Couldn't face the empty bed, the silence. I needed to feel something. Anything.

 

I drove to Eclipse an underground club in Williamsburg. No names, no lights. Just shadows and secrets. I wore a mask black leather, covering eyes and nose. Anonymity for men like me.She was at the bar. Masked too, lace over her eyes, full red lips curved in a smile that promised control. Dark hair cascading down her back. Dress hugging curves that made my dick harden on sight heavy breasts straining the fabric, waist nipping in before flaring to hips and a round ass that begged to be gripped.She saw me looking. Approached."You're new," she said, voice low, sultry. Colombian accent like velvet."First time," I lied. "You?"She laughed softly. "I'm the one asking questions tonight."I named a number. High. She named higher. I paid cash, no hesitation.

 

We went to a hotel across the street my choice. Suite. Dim lights. Door locked.She pushed me against the wall first, hands on my chest. "I'm in charge," she whispered, full lips brushing my ear.I let her think that. Grabbed her hips, spun her, pinned her back to my front. "Not tonight."She gasped, but didn't fight. Arched into me instead. I slid the dress zipper down slow, exposing golden skin, lace bra barely containing her tits. I cupped them from behind, thumbs circling nipples through the fabric until they pebbled hard. "Perfect," I growled.She moaned soft, needy. The sound went straight to my dick.I turned her, dropped to my knees, hiked the dress up. Lace thong soaked. I inhaled her scent raw, feminine, alley fresh mixed with arousal. It imprinted on me like a brand.I hooked the thong aside, spread her thighs. The crescent moon birthmark on her inner right thigh glowed. I traced it with my tongue, then dove in with flat licks over her clit, fingers curling inside her. She was tight. So fucking tight. Her hands fisted my hair, hips bucking. "Yes... like that..."I worshipped her. Sucked her clit until she shattered, juices coating my chin, moans echoing like music I couldn't forget. High, breathy, breaking .

 

She pulled me up, mask still on, lips crashing to mine. Tasted herself on me. Undid my belt, freed my dick thick, veined, throbbing. Her full lips wrapped around the head, sucking slow, deep. Tongue swirling. I groaned, hand in her hair, guiding but not forcing. She took me deeper, gagging slightly, eyes watering behind the mask. "So big," she murmured, popping off to lick the length.I lifted her, legs around my waist, carried her to the bed. Laid her down, stripped her fully. Worshipped every inch kissing full lips, sucking nipples until she arched, hands palming her round ass, spreading her cheeks to tease her hole with a finger."Please," she begged, voice breaking. "Inside me."I positioned myself, rubbed the head against her wet folds. Pushed in slow. She was tight...virgin tight. I froze halfway. "You okay?""Yes... don't stop." Her nails dug into my back.

 

I thrust deeper, feeling her stretch around me, walls clenching like velvet fire. We moved together slow at first, then harder, faster. Her breasts bounced with each slam, ass jiggling under my grips. I flipped her, took her from behind, hand between her legs circling her clit. "You're mine tonight," I growled."Yes... yours..." Her moans filled the room raw, desperate, the kind that echoed in your soul.We came together, her pulsing around me, milking every drop as I filled her. Collapsed, tangled, breathing heavy. I held her close, masks still on, bodies wet.Morning light woke me. She was gone. Sheets were bloodied with virgin blood and the Tightness was explained. The crescent moon birthmark the only clue she left me ,I'd been searching ever since. Hired investigators. Haunted clubs. Couldn't forget her moans. Her scent. The way she felt like fate.

 

Current day

 

Back in the car, the memory faded. My dick was hard now, straining.Whoever this thief was, she'd just awakened something dangerous.And if she was her?I wouldn't let her go again.