Gilded Agony

by K. A. Merikan

  He tried to avoid thinking too much, since this kind of thing was exactly what he’d asked of Dom when they took over. He had no reasons to complain. He didn’t have to observe or participate in any of Toro’s blood-fueled business, and he didn’t have to deal with the stress of being a member of a cartel. He could just be, the way he used to in New York, even if the situation now forced him to live a more secluded lifestyle. Even if he wasn’t the man he used to be back then.

  Seth cut the sponge cake, the panettone, placed the tarts on platters, and approached the fridge to take out some of the chantilly cream. He’d attempted making a real cassata cake, the kind his mother used to prepare on special occasions, but the ingredients just weren’t right. At least with his own culinary inventions he didn’t have to worry if they were ‘authentic’. He’d happily settle for ‘delicious’.

  He wished the kitchen didn’t feel so lonely. He grabbed the glass container full of homemade cream and shut the fridge, revealing a sight so shocking he stepped back, unable to breathe.

  Diego winked at him, his eyes the color of soil right after a warm rain. How he’d managed to creep up on Seth was much more concerning than the fact Seth’s safe space had been invaded.

  “Er… Do you need anything? I’m pretty sure there’s still lots of drinks in the dining room.” But being alone with this stranger who’d just fucking winked at him was so unfathomable Seth wasn’t sure what he should do about it.

  Diego stuffed his large hands, veiny and dusted by dark hair, into the front pockets of his jeans, which inevitably drew Seth’s eyes to that area before he could stop himself. “It’s a nice place you have here.”

  Okay. So Diego eased off with the flirting. That was progress. That leftover glass of wine had Seth’s name on it, so he quickly downed all it contained. “Are you from around here?”

  Diego smirked. “Ah, you need a guide, don’t you? There’s something very romantic about the magnificence of the jungle in this region,” he said, following Seth to the kitchen island.

  “The jungle’s full of shit that can kill you, so I don’t really venture out there much.” Seth watched Diego’s every move as he pulled an icing tube out of a drawer and started decorating the tarts as soon as he’d filled it with cream.

  They were talking about the jungle, but right now he was being followed by one of those hungry wild dogs that ventured into the city at night. He could only hope this one wasn’t rabid. Did Diego actually think he could have a bite out of him?

  His skin felt raw where Diego’s gaze touched it, even if no skin-to-skin contact happened yet. He shouldn’t be thinking of yet at all.

  Diego reached over and helped himself to one of the finished tarts, bringing it to his lips and biting the little dessert with such ferocity that crumbs trailed down his scruffy chin. “This is fantastic. You must be baking all day.”

  Seth met Diego’s gaze, smiling at the compliment. The fucker had reason to be so confident. His size was one thing, but the dimples in his cheeks gave him that roguish charm.

  “It’s my passion. It’s rewarding to make delicious stuff and feed those important to me.” Watching Diego eat so voraciously was definitely rewarding. There was something wild in his movements, the thirsty glances he kept sending Seth’s way, even though he was far from being a nut job like Nero. At least he didn’t speak filth to Seth, which made the conversation much more pleasant, even if there was a strange tension in the room.

  “Hm, maybe I could come by another time. You know, when we won’t be disturbed? I can hardly boil water, so maybe a few cooking lessons would be in order?” Diego asked, chewing the food without ever looking away from Seth. The cream clung to his lips and the tip of his nose, making the severely handsome face appear less like a threat.

  Seth smirked as he decorated one tart after another with chantilly cream, but the conversation gave him a bit of an adrenaline rush—something his life severely lacked—so he wasn’t really in a hurry to finish the job. “The kind of cooking lessons you’re after could land you in a lot of trouble.”

  “What do you mean?” Diego asked, suddenly leaning close and resting his elbow on the counter, right next to Seth’s hand. His scent was intense and deep, but with an overtone of hay.

  “You know exactly what I mean.” Seth laughed and pushed on Diego’s arm, but if he was to be honest with himself, it was an excuse to touch this handsome stranger. Not because he wanted whatever was going on to move any further, but just for the fun of it. To see more lust reflected at him and to once more sense the echo of the kind of excitement that only came with fresh conquest.

  Diego grabbed Seth’s arm and kissed him. Their lips touched only briefly, but the fleeting moment when Seth was too shocked to defend himself against Diego’s tongue left the sweet flavor of chantilly cream in his mouth.

  Seth dropped the icing tube, stunned into a prolonged silence, even though he did have enough sense to take a step back. This wasn’t happening. All of a sudden, the kitchen felt stuffy instead of cozy and the man in front of him not a roguish yet handsome stray but a wolf cornering Seth in the woods.

  Seth took in the self-satisfied smirk on Diego’s face, and once initial shock wore off, the rational part of his brain finally kicked in. He pushed at Diego’s chest, wary of not being grabbed again. “Do you have a death wish? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he whispered while his heart beat like mad, his hands got sweaty, and his brain boiled in his skull.

  Seth couldn’t compute the suave smile that bloomed on Diego’s face in answer. Instead of apologizing, giving some stupid reason for his behavior that Seth would have accepted to get this over with and forget it ever happened, Diego followed Seth as if he were a predator stalking prey.

  “I’ve made a move.”

  Heat flooded Seth’s face to the point when every pore, every cell of his skin throbbed. He hated the comparison, but it was impossible to avoid. Diego’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude reminded him of Domenico. Of how Domenico took what he wanted and made no apologies. It was something Seth resented at times yet also something that worked on him like an aphrodisiac. It didn’t matter that Seth was adept at fighting, or that he knew where guns were hidden in their house. This was a very different kind of confrontation.

  Seth made sure not to flinch from Diego’s piercing gaze. “And now you can move away. I wouldn’t want to be in your skin if my husband ever finds out what you did here.” Only once he said that, a strange sensation curled up in Seth’s stomach. Was it him who brought on Diego’s actions? What if Domenico did find out and thought Seth was complicit?

  Diego shrugged, watching him with a provocative smile, like a cat assessing which limb of the captured mouse to eat first. “I don’t see you running.”

  Seth cringed over how true that was. “Because I wanted to make sure we understand each other.” His heart wouldn’t stop racing, mind overactive with visions of Domenico finding out about this conversation. Was it so bad that the adrenaline coursing through his veins excited him the same way wild motorcycle rides and guns did? The thrill of being on the edge of life and death was there, a tangible threat that made him feel alive. Maybe ‘Villani blood’ really was a thing, and no matter how much his mother had tried to shelter Seth, his nature would always win?

  He remembered the day Domenico offered him the ear he’d cut off the waiter Seth had had a fling with. Would Domenico had done the same to Diego? Would he have beaten Diego into a pulp? Scarred that handsome face? Killed him?

  “We do understand each other. Care to meet me once this party is over? I will tire you out, though,” Diego said, and his grin widened in a picture of insolent fearlessness.

  The danger of the tightrope they were walking made Seth breathless. He couldn’t account for his imagination anymore, and the blend of images depicting Diego’s dick and Domenico beating the shit out of Diego was actually making him horny. He was so messed up.

  “Not enough men in El Encanto?” He shouldn’t even be allowi
ng this conversation continue. He should have taken the desserts out and sat by his husband’s side long ago. Yet the harmless teasing was too exciting to pass on.

  Diego smirked, once again approaching him along the counter. “I doubt any of them are the kind of forbidden fruit you are. And even fewer bake so well.”

  Seth shook his head and picked up a leftover candied lemon slice. “That’s all the fruit you’ll have to settle on,” he said and pressed the sweet against Diego’s lips.

  He moved away when Diego tried to grab him, and he circled the kitchen island with the tray of desserts. His skin was buzzing with shock and excitement all at once as if his body had become a hive for a swarm of bees producing the sweetest honey. Seth didn’t turn around, but he was sure Diego watched his ass sway away from him.

  Domenico was so engrossed in some kind of chart Nero had opened on one end of the table that he barely noticed Seth’s entry, his forehead wrinkled in concentration, eyes cast down and ignorant to how good Seth looked tonight. Because that didn’t matter, did it?

  Domenico only briefly smiled when Seth pushed the plate with a tart right under his nose, but Seth still sat close and stroked Domenico’s spine through the shirt. With whatever trouble was going on right now, the last thing Domenico needed was a new associate hitting on Seth. That problem would go away when Diego left the villa, so there was no need to alarm Dom about him being a shit.

  With all the talking conducted in Spanish, Seth leaned his head against Domenico’s shoulder, ate his tart and fantasized of the strength in Domenico’s fists, of his nails clawing at eyes that dared to cling to Seth’s body too long. Seth’s heart wouldn’t stop rattling with a forbidden thrill every time Diego attempted to catch his gaze, but there was only one man Seth wanted attention from and if he wasn’t getting it now, he would later tonight.

  They were all about to open a bottle of champagne when Diego’s phone rang.

  Chapter 7 - Domenico

  Never before had Domenico been perpetually on call like some kind of prostitute. Even in his times as a low-ranking mafia soldier, Christmas time was not meant for business. As an assassin he would sometimes be away from home during this time of year, but nobody had expected him to mar his conscience before midnight mass. Today, however, Domenico was reduced to doing things because they were time-sensitive. No one might be dying just yet, but if the issue of the stolen shipment couldn’t be resolved soon enough, Raul Moreno might want to make heads roll.

  So when Diego’s contact informed him of the location of the Lungs camp an hour away by river, Domenico kissed Seth goodbye and left the party, along with most of the guests. At least the disappointment on Seth’s face meant his husband really did care and wasn’t sulking over their earlier argument anymore. Dom wasn’t exactly proud of how he’d handled the situation in the afternoon, but he had far too much on his plate already to think of feelings and how they could become bruised.

  “They’re not a trained militia, so it shouldn’t be too hard to track them,” Diego said from the front of their small boat.

  Domenico wasn’t averse to putting labels on people after meeting them for the first time. In fact, he found that most days his intuition didn’t fool him, so he paid close attention to the newbie in his crew. Diego’s surface glinted with handsome smiles, but if his instincts told him to confront the local boss upon their first meeting, there were likely predators hiding beyond the depths of Diego’s eyes. The kind of animal he was could get some misguided ideas about throwing Domenico into the river in the middle of the night. Mark and Miguel would be there to back him up, and Nero obviously appreciated the open atmosphere of Toro’s home, but sometimes a split second’s lapse of attention cost a man his life.

  “That guy who messaged you, who is he?” Domenico asked, lowering his eyelids when the wind became a bit too strong.

  “Can’t risk my contact’s identity. I wouldn’t have them if I blurted out their names to anyone who asked.”

  The smell of the water was so intense Domenico could hardly sense anything else, but it was all the glinting dots of eyes of animals watching them from the shore that put him on edge. Somewhere out there, a jaguar knew Domenico’s scent.

  He breathed in the damp air, in the vain hope that it would carry any clues, but found none. The scent of cooking food, detergent, smoke—while all proof of a human presence ahead—didn’t necessarily originate in the Lungs camp. They were in an area with plenty of small townships and villages, all of which clung to the lifeblood of the river for survival.

  If Diego couldn't track down their enemies, if no one responded to promises of rewards for information, Domenico would be fucked, even if this was the very first time something in his career had gone this wrong. It was a slimy stain on his honor, and stuck to his lungs as he breathed.

  If he couldn’t sort this out, he’d face having his reputation ruined.

  “You look like you’re gonna puke,” Nero said, distracting Dom from the grim thoughts.

  “I’m fine,” Mark answered with a bit of a slur.

  Just what they needed. Domenico had told Mark that he didn’t need to come, but the kid insisted and now they were on this boat with not one but two very drunk men, because his intoxication levels must have risen since they left. It was hard to say who was worse. Nero, who’d drank more, or Mark, who was physically smaller.

  “Oh, I dunno. Wouldn’t risk kissing you now,” Nero said, moving along the side of the boat with his hands clinging to the railing. Unlike Mark, his speech sounded perfectly fine, yet the amount of alcohol he’d had affected his motor skills.

  “You’re not kissing him. My son. Off-limits,” Domenico said sharply and glanced at Miguel, wordlessly begging him to make sure neither of those clowns ended up in the water in the middle of the fucking night. He’d offered that the two of them stay, but no, Nero insisted on going, and that in turn had meant Mark wouldn’t let it go either. Domenico couldn’t just tell Moreno’s son to go to bed and let sober-ish men do their job, so now they were stuck with two liabilities.

  “I like my tongue where it is.” Mark laughed so loudly Domenico cringed at how the sound carried.

  “I don’t bite that hard,” Nero said, leaning out of the boat so rapidly Domenico already saw himself having to report to Raul Moreno his remaining son died on Toro’s territory. Like the first one had.

  Miguel was there to grab Nero by the collar and push him all the way to the wooden deck. Nero cackled like a hyena, spreading out at Miguel’s feet as soon as he was down. “My savior! Come on, now you get to sample the spoils of your efforts!”.

  “The ‘spoils’ have been sampled so many times there’s barely anything left,” Miguel snarled when Nero curled around his feet. He tried to walk away now that Nero was no longer in danger of falling from the moving boat, but when Nero hugged his shin, he stood there, staring at Domenico with a question in his dark eyes. Whether the question was: ‘Should I just let him?’ or ‘Would it really kill the mood if I tossed him overboard?’, Domenico couldn’t tell.

  Nero groaned and let his head fall back. “I always keep some for you, Miguel. Hey, psst! Did you fuck him?” he asked Mark.

  Mark stalled for a moment, but then laughed again. “God knows I’ve tried.”

  Miguel pulled his feet out of Nero’s embrace, and stood aside. “That’s it! If either of you fall off, it’s on you.”

  Mark spread his arms. “Just saying! I’ve given up long ago. No need to get angry. I’ve got other fish to fry anyway.”

  Nero snorted. “In this dump? How many fish can this pond have in the first place? Not exactly a gay oasis if you’re not Mr. Toro.”

  Domenico tensed in anticipation of dumb comments he’d need to quash.

  “Oh, there’s loads if you play for both teams. And then there’s tourists. I’m not complaining,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, but I travel. Bet I’m getting more than you, even if I just fuck men,” Nero boasted.

  Miguel’s groan was
loud even with the noise of the boat buzzing in the background. “What is this? A competition of who collects more dirt in their bodies?”

  Nero’s face was contemplative in the bright glow of the stars. He frowned. “If this were a competition, Miguel, who would you bet on?”

  Miguel adjusted his rifle and took his time with the answer. “You. You let a guy stick needles into you. I don’t even wanna know what else—”

  “Hey!” Mark raised his arms. “I get lots of action!”

  Domenico groaned. “This is not a competition.”

  “It is now! Whatever you do, you can’t catch up with me. I’m older.” called out Nero, once again letting his laugh turn into an animalistic cackle.

  Before things could have turned even more grotesque, Diego leaned forward and tapped Domenico’s shoulder, looking at the geolocator in his hand. “We’re getting close.”

  It was as if his words injected Domenico’s muscles with adrenaline.

  “Shut the fuck up. All of you,” he said in a low voice. He was surprised it actually worked the first time, but both Nero and Mark went quiet behind him.

  Diego pointed to a large tree leaning over the water. “We can moor here. The camp’s not far.”

  It took them several moments to establish if the shore was safe, but eventually they made the final approach using paddles. Domenico left Nero and Mark by the river, under the pretense of manning the boat, and was glad neither of them argued with his reasoning.

  The night was deathly quiet. Apart from the scents and sounds of the jungle, Domenico sensed nothing, as if the Lungs had dispersed and hid the moment they’d heard a motorboat approach. While that wasn’t impossible, he was positive they’d hear people scattering into the depths of the forest if that were the case. Yet the closer they were to the suspected campsite, the more unconvinced Domenico was.

  The Lungs were not people who’d grown up learning the art of covertness along with other basic skills like eating, dressing themselves, and landing punches. There was no way for them to be as stealthy as cats. For all Domenico’s knew, those people were not experienced guerilla fighters. Just a bunch of city rats who’d decided to fight for the planet.