The Golden Boy

The air in the penthouse was thick with the scent of expensive lilies. I adjusted my tie for the tenth time, staring at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, Boston was filled with so much light. 

“Stop fidgeting, Alessandro. You look like you don’t want to be here."

I didn't turn around. I knew that voice. It was cold and sharp.

“Maybe I am, Father,” I said quietly.

Dante Moretti stepped up beside me, his reflection joining mine. “It’s an engagement party. Smile. The cameras are watching, and those cameras represent three percent of our projected stock growth.”

“Is that all she is to you? A percentage?” I turned to look at my sister, Bianca. She was standing across the room, draped in silk, laughing at something a senator was saying. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. It never did anymore.

“She is a Moretti,” my father snapped. “She knows her duty. Unlike you, who seems to think this family is a buffet where you can pick and choose what you like.”

“I’m doing everything you asked,” I whispered, my chest tightening. “I’ve handled the merger tech. I’m playing the part.”

“Then play it better. Find a girl. Dance. Stop looking like you’re mourning a life you never had.” He patted my shoulder, but there was no warmth in it. It was a warning. “Don’t embarrass the bloodline, Alessandro. I don’t like erasing people, but I will.”

He walked away, leaving me shivering in the heated room.

I felt a hand slip into mine. Bianca was there, her fingers cold. “He’s getting louder,” she murmured, not looking at me.

“He’s getting bolder,” I corrected. “Are you okay? You look like you can’t breathe.”

“I’m fine, Ale. It’s just a dress. It’s just a ring. It’s just a Russian guy I’ve met twice.” She took a deep breath and finally looked at me. "Father just told me the guest list for the rehearsal. He’s... he’s intense, Ale. The man I’m marrying. He’s everything Father wants. Strong, loud, famous. A warrior."

I felt a surge of bitterness. "I don't care who he is. I don't want to hear it."

"Ale, you should at least know his—"

"No," I cut her off, my voice sharper than I intended. "I'm not interested in the name of the man stealing my sister. In my eyes, no man will ever be good enough for you. Certainly not someone hand-picked by a man who treats us like line items in a ledger."

“Go. Get out of here for a few hours.”

I blinked. “What? I can’t leave. The press—”

“The press is focused on me. Father is drunk on his own power. Slip out the back.” She squeezed my hand.

“Bianca…”

“Go,” she hissed, pushing me toward the service exit. 

I squeezed her hand one last time, the coldness of her rings biting into my palm, and slipped away.

I moved quickly, every time a waiter passed me with a tray of champagne, I ducked my head.

I burst through the heavy steel fire door at the back of the building. I tossed my suit jacket into the back of a waiting cab, loosened my silk tie until it dangled, and gave the driver an address that wasn't on any Moretti-approved map.

Thirty minutes later, I stood in front of a heavy iron door in a basement alley. No sign. No lights. Just a small sliding slot that opened when I knocked. I held up the black lace mask I’d kept in my pocket for months—a secret I’d never had the courage to use.

The door groaned open.

The club was a sensory assault. Bass that thrummed in my marrow, the scent of expensive bourbon and sweat, and the glorious, terrifying sight of people who didn't care about anything.

I moved to the bar, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Keep ‘em coming,” a voice growled next to me.

I glanced over. The man was huge. Even sitting down, he took up more space than most people did standing. He wore a simple black mask, but it couldn't hide the sharp line of his jaw or the way his shoulders strained against his shirt. He looked like he wanted to punch the world.

“Rough night?” I asked, the words feeling foreign and bold on my tongue.

The man turned his head. His eyes were a piercing, frozen blue behind the mask. “Rough life. You?”

“I guess the same thing,” I said, surprised by my own honesty. “I’m not even supposed to exist tonight.”

He leaned closer, his body falling over me. He smelled like winter—cold air and something strong. “Like what, huh? You look pretty solid to me.”

“I don't know,” I whispered.

He didn't laugh. He just watched me, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “I don't like tricks. I like things I can feel.”

The air between us changed. The music faded into a dull roar. I’d spent twenty-one years being careful, being perfect, being silent. But tonight, the silence was screaming.

“Then feel me,” I said.

He didn't wait. His hand crashed onto the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. It wasn't gentle. It was a claim. “Upstairs. Now.”

“You don't even know my name,” I breathed as he pulled me up toward the private suites.

“Good,” he rasped, his voice vibrating through my skin. “I don't want your name. I want everything else.”

As we entered the room and the lock clicked into place, I didn't think about my father.

I adjusted my sleeves, focusing on the way the light caught the diamond links. Anything to avoid looking at the room.

"Look at me."

The lock clicked into place, and the muffled thumping of the club downstairs became a distant noise.

He didn't waste time with pleasantries. He turned me around, pinning me against the door. His weight on me made me feel small and, for the first time in my life, safe. He ripped the mask from my face and tossed it aside.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I looked. His blue eyes were like ice on fire. He crashed his mouth against mine, the kiss was filled with so much lust. He tasted like the bourbon we’d just finished.

My mind screamed at me to remember who I was, to think of my father’s face, to think of the family name. But my body was a traitor. I kissed him back, my fingers digging into the hard slabs of his shoulders.

He pulled back, his breathing ragged. He didn't say a word as he stripped me of my shirt, his large hands rough against my skin. When he stepped out of his own clothes, I gasped. He was built like a gladiator, every line of his body honed for power.

He pushed me down onto the edge of the bed and stood between my legs. My hands shook as I reached for his jeans, freeing his dick while guiding him to my lips. He was massive. I took him into my mouth, and the sound he made—a low growl—vibrated through my entire being.

"Yes," he hissed, his hands tangling in my hair, guiding my rhythm. "Just like that. Take it."

I went faster, lost in the friction, He was moaning out loud.

"You've been waiting for this, haven't you? Someone to finally break that pretty little shell of yours."

He wasted no time before he came. I swallowed every drop, my eyes watering, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He didn't give me a second to recover. He flipped me over, pressing my face into the bed. I felt the heat of his dick against me, and then the slow, agonizingly perfect stretch as he pushed inside.

"God," I choked out, my fingers clawing at the sheets.

"Take it all, baby," he whispered against my ear, his teeth grazing my lobe. "Don't you dare close your eyes."

He moved with a brutal, steady pace that shattered whatever was left of my composure.

“Yes. I. Want. You. To. Scream” 

I felt myself tighten around him, and his pace became inhumane. The sound of our skin clapping together echoed through the quiet suite. He pulled my head back, forcing my back to arch and my body to open up completely to him.

“Fuck!” I groaned deeply. “Harder!”

"Fuck," he rasped, his voice turning even darker. "I want you to ask for permission before you come."

He moved his hand on my dick faster, the sound of our bodies filling the air. “Beg me.”

With no shame left in me, fueled by the chemicals and the man devouring me, I cried out, “Please... let me cum!”

My voice was nearly knocked out of me by the sheer force of his next thrust.

“Cum, baby,” he growled.

We broke together, He collapsed on top of me, his heart thundering against my back. For a few minutes, the world was perfect.