“Come in.”
“Sir, one of the Bastone brothers is here to see you.”
“Very well, let him in.”
I hear the office door shut again as Valentine sits, blocking me from escape with both the chair and his massive body as he manspreads.
“You’ll stay there, quietly, and think about what you’ve done,” he hisses, his eyes dropping to meet mine. “Not a sound is to come out of you while I attend to business, or there will be terrible consequences for you. Is that understood?”
I nod, and Valentine leans forward to unlock a drawer. He pulls out a handgun. I watch in horror as he checks to make sure it’s loaded before tucking it into his belt and covering it with the edge of his jacket.
Pulling my legs to my chest, I tuck the robe in around me as Valentine leans back in his chair again to feign looking over some paperwork. I bury my face in my arms, but can’t help peeking up at him through my lashes, unwilling to let him out of my sight for too long.
From this angle, he looks even more terrifying than usual. Even more unrealistically larger than life, like some cruel god sitting upon his throne.
I don’t even want to imagine what kind of hormone-infused milk they all grew up on.
Thank God he’s wearing real clothes, even if they still leave very little to the imagination from this vantage point.
Suddenly, the doors burst open, banging against the walls, and Valentine unhurriedly looks up from his papers and across the room. Obviously, I can’t see who’s entered his office, but from the look on Valentine’s face, he’s not all too thrilled.
“Valentine,” comes the deep rumbling of a man’s voice, “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. Finally decided I had to make my way over in person if I was ever going to catch you.”
“Julius, to what do I owe this … pleasure,” Valentine says, the words edged with disgust.
“The new club opens a fortnight from now,” Julius says, apparently dropping down heavily onto one of the armchairs from the way the leather groans and the wood creaks beneath his weight.
“And?”
“Ah, come on, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten! You swore you’d be our guest of … well, for lack of a better word, honor. How else am I supposed to make it seem like a reputable place if I can’t even get you to show up?”
“Somehow, I highly doubt even my presence could make any establishments with you working behind the scenesreputable.”
Julius laughs at this, the sound rumbling from his belly before all too abruptly stopping.
“You always were good for a laugh,” Julius says, clearing his throat just as I hear him strike a match, and Valentine grimaces.
The heavy perfume of a cigar suddenly fills my nose and mouth, and I start to choke on the strange smoke that’s begun wafting under the desk toward me as it rolls across the floor instead of rising into the air.
My lungs and throat constrict, begging me to clear them, just as Valentine’s eyes dip to meet mine. His expression is cold as he gives me the slightest shake of his head.
The urge to cough is becoming unbearable as my chest tightens, my eyes burning with the need to clear the smoke from my lungs.
“Put it out,” Valentine growls, leaning forward in his chair.
“Ah, come on, Val. I just got these; can’t a guy have a little fu—"
Valentine reaches for me beneath the desk, yanking me toward him and between his legs. I try to pull back, but my strength is no match for his.
He presses my face firmly to his inner thigh, his fingers gripping the hair at the back of my head to keep me in place.
I can’t hold it in any longer, I have to cough.
There’s little relief to be found with my nose and mouth pressed to his leg, and I’m unable to release the smoke from my lungs … but there’s no sound either.
“Put. It. Out,” Valentine reiterates, his voice hard, “and never call me that again or I’ll rip your throat out myself.”
“Alright, alright, have it your way, but only if you agree to show up on opening night. I think you owe me that much.”