She stripped down to nothing before rubbing the lacey fabric across her skin. Mesmerized, I stared as she drew the tiny scrap of fabric along her arms, her spine, her stomach, and her ass. My cock had already grown hard as granite when she brought it to her breasts, dragging the lace across those glorious upturned nipples of hers before pulling it tight as I had with her flannel nightgown.
Lucia had copied my actions, mimicked the sexual caresses I’d given her. It was like watching a cat nuzzling its owner’s ankles but much more provocative. Without thought I palmed my dick, stroking over the material of my suit pants. It’d been an automatic response, a need to release the tension building within me, but the door to the surveillance room had been propped wide open. I stood, saw the man guarding this section of the mansion just outside, and barked at him.
“No one comes into this room while this door is closed.”
“Yes, sir.”
I slammed it shut and returned my hungry gaze to what Lucia was doing. She’d slipped into the teddy, inspecting her luscious body in her mirror from many angles. I was so rigid it hurt, and I unzipped and pulled myself out, eager to give my cock some room. Stroking myself skin to skin now, I scrutinized her as she shifted her form into some sort of dance move.
Raising her arms and one leg, she dipped into what I at last recognized as an arabesque from ballet, then twirled into a pirouette and ending in a plié. Angelo insisted on us attending these higher-ended social pursuits, just like his grandfather had, and his father before him. It’d been part of their plan to distance the Cavettis from our less than illustrious past.
Captivated, I sat there, my hand kneading my cock. She stretched into a move I didn’t know—something where she essentially did the splits from a standing position—she’d faced the mirror and gazed into it carefully. Only then did I comprehend what she was doing. She’d stretched out like that to see her glistening pink folds for herself. I groaned aloud, unable to hold it back. Knowing that she’d extended one long leg in order to examine her core like that…
Fuck.
I felt my body heading toward a peak, and I had to make a decision. Either I could watch her and come, or I could save it, bank my desire and share it with her instead. All the blood rushing to my groin didn’t exactly make the decision easy, but ultimately, I went with delaying my gratification. I’d waited for her this long, I could wait a little longer. I pinched the head of my cock to the point of pain and looked away from the scintillating scene playing out on video. The next time I came, it would need to be inside of her.
And it would need to be soon.
Frustrated now, I tucked myself back into my trousers and went in search of my father. I’d been away from home too much lately to monitor how the Bonifacio sons were being interrogated, and when Vittorio, one of our men who’d been with us for decades, informed me that neither of them had broken yet, I stormed into the dungeons. Both Antonio and Giorgio hung with their arms suspended, their feet chained to the cement floor. I studied them, measuring each one’s endurance, then ascended the stairs in search of my father on the third floor.
“We need to be harsher on our interrogations of the Bonifacio men,” I demanded the second I crashed through his door.
“Watch your tone, boy,” my father snapped, his teeth clenched, and I summoned more of my control. Angelo had been inciting my ire since I’d been a teen but crossing a patriarch could result in more than a reprimand or even a back-handed slap. I had to maintain the proper respect and decorum, despite having recently proven myself worthy of leadership within our organization.
Surreptitiously I took a deep bracing breath as I dropped my head in deference. “My apologies, Father.”
I waited in silence for him to give me permission to speak, something he could deny if he so wished. He sat at his L-shaped mahogany desk, glancing over his desktop at me. I didn’t know what he looked at—it could be anything from a profits spreadsheet to an encrypted file showing which men of power in the city were on our payroll—but I knew he wouldn’t divulge anything unless he chose to. He left me twisting in the wind for a couple more unending minutes before finally deigning to listen to me.
“Fine, then. What is it you wish to request?”
Again, I stifled my resentment. His wording was yet another reminder that I was below him in ranks and that that would never change. Still, I had to abide by his rules. At least until I took on his mantle.
“I would like to request that the methods of interrogation we are currently using be altered. I believe if they are placed under a greater level of duress, one or both of the Bonifacios will give us the information we need.”
My father didn’t make eye contact with me until I finished speaking.
“That was why you barged in here like a raging bull? To tell me something I already know?” he asked, spitefully. This time I had to bite the side of my cheek to keep myself from speaking out of turn.
I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to peer at him while apologizing for a second time. “Again, Father, I am sorry.”
He tapped on the top of his monitor with an ink pen. “The reason I haven’t advanced our methods of interrogation yet, Romeo, is because I am allowing our guests to let down their guard. If they believe the worst has come and gone, it’ll give them hope, and make them more vulnerable when we escalate procedures. More susceptible to our psychological manipulations. Do you understand?” he asked me in the most condescending manner imaginable.
“I believe so,” I said softly to hide my irritation.
“It is a good time to intensify things, however, so I will move forward with the escalation. I’ve put the initial arrangements for your wedding into place. Would you like to have input?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. I couldn’t have cared less, but I liked controlling whatever aspects of my life that I could.
“Very well. The ceremony should take place in two months’ time. Go now and attend to business.”
I nodded, then got out of there as swiftly as I could.
Over the course of the next week, I observed what Angelo termed his “escalation.” Prior to that day, the men had been beaten and threatened as they’d been asked vital information. Now I watched as Giorgio Bonifacio shrieked in agony as we doused his body with a hose and sent an electrical current through him like an outlet.
Electrocutions did damage to the brain that could be permanent if repeated, so care was necessary to keep from going too far. Zapping them into useless braindead blobs wouldn’t prove fruitful. Such a state would mean we wouldn’t have access to those critical internal codes, account numbers of their offshore holdings, and safe houses filled with cash and valuables.
Still, after an hour of electrocution, Giorgio continued to keep his secrets. Either that, or he never held any to begin with. As the second-born son, it was possible that Lorenzo hadn’t shared such information with him in the first place. Bored, I went to the next interrogation cell to see how Antonio fared.
Here, I found a different story. Where Giorgio seemed pissed off, Antonio looked pale and frightened. When the henchman came at him again with the electrical cord, he flinched in his bonds and attempted to skitter away. It was a sign I’d seen before. We were close to breaking him. Antonio had been punished for the same length of time as his younger brother, and since he was the heir, the likelihood of hitting paydirt was much more likely with him. I looked on dispassionately as his shrieks became pleading and his pleading became accompanied by sobs.