The Secret

by Stella Gray

  And then, right as he cut into the drum-like pastry and the scent of Italian spices and sausage rose up into the air, it hit me. “Oh my god! Timpano! It’s the centerpiece of Big Night!”

  Stefan’s face lit up with recognition, and his cutting hand froze. “Stanley Tucci? Mid-90s movie? Two brothers trying to save their failing restaurant?”

  “Yes!” I crowed. “The chef brother was Tony Shalhoub! That dinner party scene is such a revelation. Course after course, and these people are practically swooning with every bite.”

  “You feel like you’re actually sitting at the table with them.” Nodding, he leaned forward in his chair. “And then the scene with them eating their eggs the morning after—that stabbed me right in the heart.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “It’s pretty much the best food movie of all time.”

  “It’s definitely one of the greats,” Stefan agreed. Then he looked at me appraisingly. “I’ve never met anyone else who appreciates that movie as much as I do. It’s so underrated.”

  I shrugged, pleased and surprised that we had this semi-obscure movie love in common.

  Stefan cut two slices of the dish and plated them for us. After pouring a glass of wine for each of us, we took our first bites.

  “Mmm,” I practically moaned. “This must be as good as the one in the movie.”

  “‘To eat good food is to be close to God,’” he said in an Italian accent, holding up his hand, fingers pressed together.

  “I love that quote,” I said, before loading up my fork with another heavenly bite.

  “Words of wisdom,” Stefan said.

  As I chewed, I tried to remember some of my other favorite lines. It had been years since I saw it last, but I’d watched it many times. It was one of my go-to comfort movies.

  “Sometimes spaghetti likes to be alone,” I said, giving my best Stanley Tucci impression and dissolving into giggles.

  “Bite your teeth into the ass of life!” Stefan threw in, and then we were both laughing. “What a great movie.”

  “And this is the star of the show,” I said, pointing my fork at the serving dish. “I’ve never had a timpano before, but I always wondered if it would be as good as it looked in the movie.”

  “Well?” he asked, gesturing. “Is it?”

  I took another bite, closing my eyes as I chewed. “‘People should come just for the food,’” I said, quoting the movie once again.

  “I know,” he quoted right back at me. “But they don’t.”

  I opened my eyes and found that he was looking at me. We both smiled.

  The truth was, I’d loved that movie not just because it was all about food and eating, but because it was about family and connection. Two brothers working together, trying to create a perfect evening, a perfect meal, in hopes that it might save their restaurant and solve all their problems. In the end, they don’t succeed at their original goal—but in the process, they come to realize how important family really is.

  I couldn’t help taking this new, shared connection between me and Stefan as a sign.

  Feeling emboldened by this new common ground, and like I’d finally gotten my husband to let his guard down, I figured this moment was the best opportunity I’d have at getting him to talk to me about what was going on at KZM. It was now or never.

  I took a sip of wine to give myself some courage.

  “I want to talk about the agency,” I told him.

  His easygoing smile and relaxed demeanor instantly vanished, his expression gone wary.

  “I have a few questions,” I went on. “And I hope you’ll answer them, if you can.”

  I held my breath, waiting for Stefan’s response. Finally he nodded—one short, curt nod.

  “Come at me,” he said. “I’ll try my best.”

  Starting slow, I asked, “I want to know how it started. Not just the agency, but everything that goes along with it. The…” I didn’t know how to say it now that we were having a civil conversation. “The illegal aspect of it,” was what I finally settled on.

  Stefan didn’t answer for a long time, taking a slow drink of wine as he considered.

  “Are you sure you want to know about this, kitty cat?” he asked me.

  Even though I got a little thrill at the use of his nickname for me, I knew that it was also a warning. A reminder about curious cats and the dangers that could befall them.

  “Whatever it is, I can handle it,” I said, glad that my voice didn’t waver.

  Stefan nodded. “When my father emigrated here from Serbia, he had a job waiting for him, something to do with importing. He won’t talk about what kind of work it was, so I’m not sure if he was already into shady dealings, but if I had to guess I’d say it was probably illegal.”

  “So when did he start the agency?” I asked.

  “The first job lasted a few years, but he had some kind of “professional disagreement” with his boss—probably over something my father did—and he left to start his own business. You think he talks about the talent like they’re a product, and that’s because—to him—they are. He learned about sales and commissions through that first job. The models are just another version of goods, as far as he’s concerned.”

  He looked up at me to gauge my reaction. I nodded. “I get it. Not that I agree with it.”

  “Yeah. So I have no idea when the agency started offering…additional services. It could have been since day one. Or it could have happened later—I can’t imagine my mother turning a blind eye, and she was smart enough to have figured it out. Maybe it was after she passed.”

  Stefan was quiet for a moment, and I inched my chair closer to him.

  “Either way, I’ve been aware of it since I was old enough to understand such things. Probably around the time I was eleven or twelve.”

  “Wow,” I whispered. That meant KZM had been involved in human trafficking for at least fifteen years. Maybe closer to two decades.

  He paused.

  “To be clear: we are absolutely a full-scale modeling agency,” he said. “That’s the work I’m mostly involved in. Finding talent, booking them modeling jobs, managing them, contracts.”

  I could sense that he was choosing his words carefully, that there were things he still wasn’t saying, but I was grateful (and surprised) that he was being open with me at all. So even though I wanted to know more, I didn’t push. It would only shut him down. I was sure of it.

  Stefan continued talking shop. He seemed to enjoy discussing how the agency worked, and what his job entailed. It was obvious that he took pride in fostering the careers of KZM’s talent and he said nothing about the sex work that went on—almost as if he was willfully pretending it didn’t exist. I’d bet anything that was how he acted at the office, as well.

  But if Stefan was telling me the truth—and KZ Modeling truly was a legitimate operation—then why carry on with the seedy side of the business? It was clear the agency had the potential to run on its own, without Konstantin’s illegal hustling and backdoor dealings. I could really see the company thriving solely as a modeling agency. Especially given the success and industry reputation that KZM had built up over the last few decades.

  And I couldn’t help wondering—why couldn’t Stefan see it, too?

  Stefan

  Chapter 17

  “This conversation is over,” I told Tori, leveling a hot gaze in her direction.

  Our discussion was getting too close to one I couldn’t be having. Tori’s curiosity—her endless need to know the truth—was putting both of us at risk. I couldn’t allow that. Couldn’t allow her to get any closer to my secrets. For her good and for my own as well.

  But I also knew that she was stubborn and persistent. Now that I had agreed to talk about the agency, she was going to keep asking questions until she knew everything. Until she became a liability. Something that would have to be dealt with, and god help her then.

  I had to distract her.

  “But—” she started to protest.
r />   “Go to the bedroom, take off all your clothes, and wait for me,” I commanded.

  I saw her desire warring with her need for answers.

  “Go now and I’ll let you come twice,” I told her, knowing she wanted it. Knowing she craved me. “I won’t say it again.”

  We both knew that she liked it when I talked to her this way—when I ordered her around, when I told her what to do. Still, she hesitated, the wine glass held tightly in her hand.

  “Do we have a deal, kitty cat?” I asked, pitching my voice low.

  I also knew that she loved it when I called her by that pet name. It drove her wild.

  Her face was flushed, and she set her glass back on the table.

  “Deal,” she breathed.

  Without another word, she pushed back her chair and all but ran to the bedroom.

  I downed the rest of my wine, imagining my wife getting more and more turned on as the anticipation built inside of her. I knew that when I went down the hall and walked through that door, she’d be naked and spread across our bed, her pussy wet and more than ready for me.

  The sight of her was even more of a turn-on than I’d imagined. She was staring up at the ceiling, her chest heaving with the rapid breaths she was taking, her pale hair fanned across the bedspread. Her cunt looked like a glistening dessert, waiting for me to wrap my mouth around it.

  “You look good enough to eat,” I told her from the doorway.

  I sauntered over to her, forced her thighs even farther apart, and gave her a long, slow lick. Just to drive her crazy. Just to make her beg. And she did.

  Lapping at her slit with the flat of my tongue, I steadily worked my way into a hard, fast rhythm. When her moans got frantic and high-pitched, I slipped two fingers inside of her, picking up where my tongue had left off. She was close, I could tell by the way her hips were bucking wildly. The way she was thrashing her head back and forth on the bed.

  There was nothing like the feeling of getting her off, knowing I was completely in control. I had all the power. It was my favorite kind of high. Tori was right on the edge, so wet, her breaths harsh and fast. Knowing exactly how to finish her off, I leaned down and sucked her clit into my mouth, still pumping my fingers. I felt her thighs press tight against the sides of my head, her fingers twisting in my hair.

  “Oh my god,” she was saying, over and over again.

  “Come in my mouth,” I said, pausing just long enough to say the words. “Come for me.”

  My wife knew how to follow an order. I smirked to think that some of the neighbors might be able to hear her moans, that they’d know exactly who’d made her scream like that.

  “Please,” she panted after that first orgasm, her nails raking my shoulders. “I need you.”

  I stripped off my clothes and climbed over her on the bed, plunging my cock into her, fucking her hard and steady until she cried out with her release again.

  After that it was my turn.

  “Get on your hands and knees,” I demanded.

  Tori crawled to the center of the bed and did as I asked, her back arching so her ass was in the air, her knees spread as far apart as possible, her perfect tits hanging like round, ripe fruit.

  Taking her from behind, I kept one hand fisted in her hair, tugging her head back, and the other gripped tight on that perfect ass. I could have come in seconds, but instead I slowed my pace. I wanted Tori to feel every inch of me. Gliding back and forth. Deep. Relentless.

  “I’m coming,” she whimpered, as if asking for permission.

  I pushed her face down into the pillow, knowing this new angle would allow me to penetrate even deeper, hitting her G-spot. Then I started thrusting faster, letting the bedspring do half the work, watching her ass bounce as I slammed into her again and again.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she was moaning, the words punctuated by her cries of ecstasy.

  I made her come. I could feel her tighten and release around my cock, her entire body trembling with the orgasm I’d given her. She started to catch her breath, but I didn’t let up.

  Because I was just getting started.

  Pulling her on top of me so she could ride, I took her once more, her legs spread wide as I fucked her. I loved every minute of it. Loved being with her this way. Pushing her body to the limit, watching her eyes glaze with desire, her pupils dilating from pure animal lust. In many ways she was still a virgin, and I was her teacher, opening up a new side of her, a new world.

  My fingers pinched her taut nipples and toyed with her wet, slippery clit. She tilted her head back and murmured my name, getting lost in the sensations as she rocked her hips. Her pussy fit me perfectly, but I had to stay focused. My mission was clear.

  I was going to fuck her until she didn’t know where she ended and I began. Fuck her until she forgot how to speak, let alone ask questions about the dark secrets polluting my business and our lives. I knew she would fall back on the bed once I was done with her, feeling nothing but pure release. Mindless with the pleasure I had given her, she would be exhausted and satisfied and unable to ask any more questions.

  If only it would be the same for me.

  After we were both finished, I lay on my back, the sweat cooling on my body as I listened to Tori’s deep breathing. She always slept like a baby next to me, even when she was stressed. I’d managed to distract us both with a few intense rounds of serious fucking, but now, in the aftermath, I was reminded of all the reasons why I’d had to distract her in the first place.

  She was getting too close to the truth. Too interested. Too curious.

  My secrets needed to remain secrets, especially from someone like her.

  I was a mess of confusion, and furious about it. Logically, I knew that I needed to keep Tori as far away from me and those secrets as possible. That meant pushing her away at every available opportunity. But instead, over the past few weeks, we’d developed a newfound closeness.

  I hated to admit it, but if I was honest with myself, it was comforting.

  Still, I knew it had been foolish on my part, foolish and dangerous—and I’d been making excuses for my actions each step of the way. Telling myself that this intimacy, this connection between us, was just a way to make living together easier. That with less friction at home, I’d be less distracted at work. That Tori would be less likely to try running to the cops. In a sense, the new place that our relationship had gotten to was all my fault.

  I hadn’t been wrong, though. I’d never tell Tori—not that she’d believe me anyway—but the condo had felt cold and sterile when she’d been sleeping in the guest room, when we’d been living like roommates. It hadn’t felt like a home at all.

  Which was ridiculous, because I knew that this marriage was a farce. That our relationship was a consequence of the machinations between our fathers. It wasn’t a marriage at all—it was an arrangement, a chess move. Tori was intended to be my wife in name only.

  But when she was here, eating dinner across from me, studying in her favorite chair while I worked, chatting with Gretna in the kitchen, bringing me snacks, sleeping next to me in bed, it all felt real. It felt like a partnership. Like a marriage.

  Even though it definitely wasn’t.

  I was a lone wolf in this, and I needed to keep it that way. Especially right now. Especially with so much at risk, with all the pieces finally moving into place.

  It was dangerous that I cared about Tori, but even worse that I trusted her. I hadn’t trusted anyone in years. It was what had kept me and my plans intact. It was how I’d survived. Yet somehow, Tori was breaking down each of my carefully constructed walls, one by one.

  Was it possible I was falling for her?

  But no—before I could even seriously entertain the idea, I pushed it away. There was no way I was going to let myself sit here and dwell on it.

  One thing was certain: no matter how much I longed to confide in her, to release some of those pent-up secrets weighing down on me, I knew I couldn’t. There were some secrets that
couldn’t be shared. No matter how badly I wanted a confidante who was on my side. To tell her the truth—to share everything I’d worked so hard and so long to keep under wraps—would spell certain danger for her. And possibly much, much worse for me.

  Because knowing everything that I did about KZM…even a Zoric could end up gone without a trace. Like all the other people my father had made disappear.

  Tori

  Chapter 18

  Balancing a stack of mail and a bag of Chinese take-out in one hand, backpack weighing me down with texts, my purse and keys in the other, I managed to unlock the front door of the condo and burst into the foyer, all but collapsing on the marble tiles. I took a deep breath, smiling with relief at the fact that I was home at last. Then I set the food on the entry table, along with the mail, and bent to unlace my boots, letting the stress of the day roll off of me.

  “Stefan?” I called out. No response.

  I wasn’t sure if he’d be home this early or not, but I was looking forward to a cozy night in together. It had been one disaster after another at school—first I’d struggled with conjugations in Latin (Me! Vice president of my high school Latin club! Official Latin tutor of my study group!), and with my mind still stewing on that failure, I’d confidently given the answer to a verbal pop quiz in my Slavic languages class…in Latin.

  Though my answer had technically been correct, it had taken a few seconds of the class laughing at me before I’d realized my reply had been in the wrong tongue entirely. My professor had smiled and told me to try again, but at that point I could feel my face burning and I knew nobody even heard me correct myself.