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Lily

After what can only be described as the most intense and awkward car ride I have ever had, we arrived at what appeared to be a club. Black windows and a giant neon sign, which was currently off, repeated the name spoken earlier. Mirra. The inside was a mess, with a cleaning crew currently sweeping up cigarette butts, broken glass, and even used condoms, which had me gagging at the thought of what actually goes on here. The cleaners don't seem perturbed, though I pity them, having to clean up other people's messes. No one should be picking up another person's used condom. It just seems so degrading.

I follow Dominico and his bodyguard as they walk through the club. The look on the bartender's face turns to shock as he puts down the cloth he is using to shine some glasses. Moving quickly around the bar, he approaches us.

"Mr. Sante, Sir, we weren't expecting you," he whispers, almost bowing as he speaks.

"Where is he?" Dominico asks, his voice dangerously low. He doesn't even look at the trembling man.

"S-Sir, h-he's in the back. But he is busy," the bartender says quietly, bowing even lower if possible. What the fuck was going on here?

Dominico dismisses him with a flick of his hand before proceeding through a door at the back. We enter a long corridor that leads to a closed door at the end, the sound coming from it unmistakable.

I brace myself as loud grunting reaches my ears as the door opens. Whoever is in there must not hear us as the noises continue.

Dominico enters the room, followed by his bodyguard and then myself. It is like watching a horror movie. I used to like horror movies. I should look away, but I can't, the imaginary hand over my eyes leaving two slits between the index and middle fingers for me to see through.

A man about my age is bent over a table, his hands gripping the edges for support. Items that were on the table are scattered over the floor as if tossed there, like you would see in movies when passion overtakes, and an arm sweeps the items clear. Behind the man is another older man, his greying hair and sagging skin indicating his age. His head is thrown back, his hand on the younger man's back as his surprisingly thick cock slams into the younger man's anus. He pulls out nearly all the way before fucking it back in hard, the grunting sound he makes as he does, mixing with the grunts of satisfaction from the younger man. The younger man's eyes meet mine, a mischievous gleam in their depths as his index finger hovers over his lipstick-covered mouth, a sign for me not to make my presence known.

"Harder, fuck yes, that's it!" he shouts as the older man behind him pumps into his rear, the look on both their faces telling me that they are close. I should look away, but I don't. Spasms rock the older man's body as his ass cheeks pull taut, the orgasm ripping through his body in grunts and shudders. At the same time, the younger man strokes his cock, the piercing on the end gleaming as he ejaculates against the side of the table, his shout of approval almost drowning out the sound of a picture being taken.

The older man's eyes fly open at the sound, his now much limper dick popping out of the younger man's rear and releasing a gush of come that drips onto the carpet, adding to the chaos already there. While the older guy is shocked, his hand covering his dick as he stumbles backward, the younger guy leisurely stands upright, his smirking face taking us in.

As naked as the day he was born and as shameless as a man who is completely comfortable with himself and his body, he wanders over to his neatly folded clothes on the couch in the corner. Pulling his leopard skin pants and tight black halter top on, he rummages through the pockets of his black fur jacket, removing from it a manilla envelope. He gives me a wink as he saunters over to Dominico and, with a sweeping bow, gives him the envelope as if he has just played a part and is getting a standing ovation. I suppose he did get a standing ovation in another way.

"Thank you, Jean Pierre," Dominico says, his eyes not leaving the elderly man in the corner who is watching the scene play out while cradling his limp cock in his hand. Anger replaces the shock from before as Jean Pierre approaches him.

"I'm sorry, Lorenzo," Jean Pierre says with a smile. "That was just business, but what we did after that was pleasure. I like you," he says, his index finger dragging down the older man's face before he pulls it away in a flourish. "Perhaps we could do this again once you have forgiven me?" He almost sings as he walks towards the door we entered, his parting words making me pale. "That's if you're still alive, darling!"

Wordlessly, Dominico hands me the brown manilla envelope before walking further into the room, his bodyguard standing by the now-closed door.

"Open it." I know Dominico's order is directed at me, my eyes moving from him to the envelope in my hands. Hands that are slightly trembling at this point. After what I just witnessed, there appears to be a surge of energy and adrenaline buzzing through my body, my heart rate erratic in my chest. He casually sits down on a single padded armchair pushed away from the main table. No doubt to give the couple room, I think, my eyes briefly drifting over to Lorenzo, who now has a terrified look on his face. I think his nakedness puts him at a disadvantage, the vulnerability seeping out of his pores.

Focusing back on the document in my hand, I quickly unwind the little rope wrapped around the fastener, pulling out a wad of papers.

"What does it say?" Dominico asks, a cigar now in one hand while a cigar tip cutter is in the other. He snips the tip off, the sound in the quiet room ominous somehow. My eyes meet Dominicos, the deathly calm of his demeanor and face devoid of emotion not fooling me. Underneath was a whirlwind, a hurricane ready to destroy anything in its path. I knew this look as the bullet I dodged wore this façade as well. Perhaps not as utterly terrifying as Dominico, but no less frightening.

I peruse the papers, my eyebrows catching into a frown as I try to comprehend what I am looking at.

"Bank accounts. Offshore. Two of them. Geezus. The one has a balance of just over fifty million dollars," I say, looking up at Dominico as he puffs on his now lit cigar, his hand flicking in the air as a gesture to continue. "The other has just under twenty million. The first one is made out to," I hesitate, briefly looking over at the naked Lorenzo, the pleading in his eyes not going amiss. He knows what is coming. "Lorenzo Luigi Esposito."

"The other." Dominico doesn't ask. He demands.

"The other is made out to a woman, Amelia Anna Esposito," I say before flicking over to the next page. It seems to be for another company, and the bank statements reflect the corresponding transfers. The references are the same as the deposits made into the two accounts over a period of seven months.

"It's bank statements reflecting the deposits. A holding company made the payments. NextGen Pharma Tech." My frown deepens as I sift through my memories, wondering why that name sounds so familiar.

"Daisy," Dominico says quietly, commanding my attention. His hand is palm up as he flicks his fingers, gesturing for me to hand him the documents. Once I do, he gets up, indicating that I should sit in the chair he has just vacated. I wonder if he planned on getting up or was indeed being a gentleman by giving me the only chair that seemed untainted in the room.

"Mmm, you thought I didn't know. How arrogant. I've been onto you for a while. Now that I have the proof, uncle, I am hurt you have decided to betray me like this. Betray the famiglia. You know what I do with traitors." Dominico's words have the older man stumbling forward, pleas leaving his mouth as he mumbles words in Italian that I don't understand.

"Take him to the warehouse." Dominico's order is immediately followed by his bodyguard escorting Lorenzo out of the room, a trail of urine running down his leg and onto the black carpeted floor. I suppose with everything else on the floor already, this is just par for the course. That reaction stems from fear. I know from personal experience. Even now, when I get anxious or scared, my bladder will react, taunting me with the need to relieve myself.

"Come," Dominico moves to the door, putting his cigar out on the already trashed carpet with the heel of his shoe while I get up from my chair and follow. With the lighting being turned down, I can't see where the wetness on the carpet is. All too late, I feel it seep through the hole on the sole of my shoe, soaking into my sock. The thought of someone's urine on my foot has me hopping back on one foot as I lean against the doorframe. Pulling my foot up, I look at the hole, unsure what to do but sure I don't want my foot squishing around in another human's bodily fluids.

"What is it?" Dominico asks with what almost sounds like genuine concern, the harshness when speaking to Lorenzo gone. Embarrassment floods me as he peers down at my worn sole, thankfully appearing to understand my situation without me having to voice what has happened.

What I don't expect is for strong arms to swoop me up, my legs dangling over his muscular forearm while he cradles my upper body against his chest. Geezus. I can't remember the last time someone held me like this. It feels so...nice.

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