Luca
The Dominican Republic, where we finally settled on as a place to disappear for the weekend for Franco’s party, is as hot as New York was still chilly.
We arrive on Friday night, barely a day after my conversation with Sofia over dinner. I left with assurances that Caterina would be at the penthouse within an hour and Ana a little later when her classes were over and that no one else would be there for the weekend. I also left so many men on security detail that an entire floor of apartments in the building is now temporarily devoted to housing them while they take turns watching the cameras inside and out and patrolling the halls.
As promised, I also left two bodyguards—Gio and Raoul-both former fighters and bodybuilders turned professional security who have worked for the family for years. If anyone can keep the women safe, I’m certain it’s them—and this way, there will be securityinsidethe penthouse as well as out.
All of that, coupled with the remarkably peaceful way that Sofia and I left things after our last conversation, should have me feeling good. But instead, as the private jet taxis to the hangar and Franco downs the last of his drink, I still feel as on edge as ever.
This is the last place I want to be. I want to be home, working on a plan to drive the Bratva back for good. I want to figure out what Viktor will accept in order to agree to peace that isn’t a wife and doesn’t come with a human price. And I want—
I want to be in bed with Sofia. It’s been over a week now since that night, and it didn’t get her out of my system the way I’d hoped. It didn’t make me feel any more in control of my lust for her.
And I haven’t been inside a woman since our wedding night. It’s the longest I’ve gone without sex since I lost my virginity at fifteen, and I feel as if I’m going slightly mad. I’ve never been so sexually frustrated in my entire life.
“We’re here!” Franco lifts his empty glass, his freckled face slightly flushed as he grins at me. “I’m ready to get high and fuck as many women as I can fit into a hotel bed all at once. Last single weekend, boys!”
There’s a general cheer, and I join in as well as I can. There are four others here with us—other friends since we were in high school together. Tony, Berto, Adrian, and Max have all been part of Franco’s and my inner circle for more years than I like to count now. They all have positions within the family. Tony is the capo in Chicago. Berto and Adrian are both made men who’ve had my back on many jobs, and Max is the consigliere in Newark. All of them understand the life, the highs and lows, and the responsibilities that come with these positions.
And all of them felt this trip was ill-timed. But the reservations they expressed seem to be falling away with the promise of warm sun, water, drugs, and beautiful women willing to do anything they ask. Money talks here, and there will be plenty of debaucheries this weekend, I have no doubt.
How much of it I’ll be participating in, I’m not sure. There was a time when I’d have been as thrilled as anyone else on this jet about a weekend of no-holds-barred frivolity, in a place where no one will question the legality of any of it so long as we have money to hand over—which none of us have any shortage of. But at this particular moment, it doesn’t seem to hold the same appeal that it used to.
Am I just getting fucking old?
The hotel is tucked several yards away from the beach, rented out in its entirety for our weekend. Just as I’d requested, there’s already a handful of gorgeous, bronzed models waiting in the living room when we walk in, draped over furniture in bikinis.
Franco’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Who wants to make me a drink?” he yells out, waving his hands above his head. “Last weekend of freedom, ladies!”
“He sounds like a broken record,” Tony says with a laugh, heading to the bar as well. Tony has been married for several years, with a toddler-aged son, but I’m sure he’ll avail himself of everything that the weekend has to offer too. Fidelity isn’t a virtue any of us were raised to appreciate. Still, he’s less blatant about it than Franco is, glancing appreciatively over at a dark-haired model who raises one perfect eyebrow and crooks a finger at him.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea,” he says with a grin, crossing the room towards the girl, who reaches up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him down towards her.
It doesn’t take long for everyone to change into swim trunks, the girls all getting up to make drinks as we open the wide doors that lead out to the pool. The sun is beating down already, but it feels good after the mercurial weather of Manhattan in the late spring. I feel myself relax a little as I take the tequila and ginger that a tall blonde girl in an electric green bikini hands me and sit down on the edge of a lounge chair, breathing in the scent of the orange slice on the side of the glass and the salty air blowing in from the beach.
I wonder if Sofia would like it here.The thought startles me because it’s the first time anything like that has ever occurred to me. I’ve never considered taking a woman with me on vacation. These getaways are meant to be exactly what they are to every other man here, a place to escape and lose ourselves in pleasure for a few days, shake off the stresses of home.
I’ve never known any man I’m acquainted with to take his wife on vacation. Mistresses, sometimes, but usually because they’ll be alright with however many other women wind up in that bed, too. Wives go on vacation with other wives or their children. Romancing one’s spouse isn’t exactly something mafia men are known for.
But despite the fact that I’m surrounded by the most beautiful women money could possibly buy, a cold drink in hand, and the promise of as much sex as I can have if I want it, all I can think of is what Sofia might look like in a bikini, standing at the edge of the pool with a glass of wine in hand and her dark hair fluttering in the breeze that occasionally springs up.
I can feel my cock twitch in my swim trunks, hardening just at the thought of a bikini top stretched over her full breasts, the way they would sway as she walked towards me—
Fuck.I’m long past what’s acceptable for any man in terms of sexual frustration. I’ve got to get laid tonight and put all of this behind me. I haven’t fucked another woman since the day I pulled Sofia out of that hotel room, and enough is enough.
I’m a man with wealth and power, the don of the Italian mafia, one of the most powerful men in the world. I can have anyone and anything I want.
So it’s time I make that a reality.
Pushing Sofia firmly out of my head, I glance over at the tanned blonde, who couldn’t be more different from Sofia if I’d planned it. She’s at least five inches taller, thin as a rail with almost non-existent breasts, the ties of her green bikini clinging precariously to sharp hipbones. Her eyes are almost as bright green as the bathing suit. She smiles seductively at me when she sees me looking at her, walking towards me with a lazy, swinging gait that makes her seem curvier than she is.
“Hey, handsome,” she purrs, coming to stand in front of me. I can smell the scent of coconut oil and sunscreen coming off of her skin. She’s so close that I could lean forward and lick her if I wanted to, her pussy inches from my face, and I can see from the flawless skin on either side of her bikini that she’s waxed smooth.
All of these women will be, though. They’re all the highest-priced escorts that could be bought. All of them are in perfect physical shape, groomed to perfection for our pleasure, and paid to do literally anything that the men here tonight ask of them. And none of them will be shy about it.
I loop one arm around her waist, pulling her down into my lap. Her blonde hair swings into my face, scented with something that smells like caramel, and my cock reacts instantly to the feeling of her warm skin pressing against my bare chest, hardening almost to the point of pain and digging into her ass cheek as she squirms in my lap.
“Ohh,” she moans faintly, and I feel my balls tighten as she bends her head into the crook of my neck, wriggling against my hard-on without the slightest subtlety.