Out of the Darkness

by J. C. Owens

  Enzo curved his lips into a grim smile. “That one will never learn.” He reached out to shake Joe’s hand. “I owe you, Joe, for not killing him.”

  “And bring your uncles down on your head?” Joe snorted, his fingers closing around Enzo’s for a firm shake, confirming their continued alliance. “I know all too well how they wait like sharks for their chance.”

  Enzo could only nod. His uncles, both of them, had criticized his leadership of the family since his father’s death, but he was too strong for them to be blatant in their disapproval. It was words only, for the moment, though Enzo trusted them not at all. They wanted power, and they desired it so greatly that family loyalty was bound to collapse at some point. They were the ones who had demanded Kirith’s execution after he had killed his father, Enzo’s father. It was well they had backed down, accepted Kirith’s exile instead, because he would not have hesitated to have them killed. If it came down to them, or his brother, there would be no contest of loyalty.

  For now, they all played the part of close family, of unity and strength to display to the cutthroat world they lived in.

  He watched his back.

  That it had become common knowledge that there were divisions was never a good thing. Outsiders would love to see the Martinelli empire crumble. If they could kill him.

  He smiled to himself. Live by the gun, die by the gun. He was surprised he had lived this long, but he was cautious, and without trust, and perhaps that had served him well. He considered things once more, deciding that perhaps it would be good if Stacey was moved elsewhere for her pregnancy. She could be protected, and his uncles did not need to know of his child. It would keep things calm for longer. Something, some long-honed instinct, told him that his uncles were growing impatient, that they were maneuvering in some fashion that would be dangerous for him. He kept spies on them, but they were true Martinellis, secretive and brutal.

  And now this. Ilario almost deliberately acting out against a valuable ally.

  He waved a hand, and Raymond appeared by his side, lips tight and thin. If Enzo had given the least signal, Raymond would have slid one of his ever-present daggers between Ilario’s ribs without the least hesitation.

  “He was deliberate about it, waiting until I was on the far side of the room, apparently.” Raymond’s smooth voice held distaste. “If you want…”

  Enzo shook his head, laid a hand upon his assistant’s tense shoulder. “Not yet. Perhaps in the future though, I might set you loose.”

  Raymond nodded, then drifted away from him, seeing to his duties.

  Enzo spent time with the guests, seeing everything settled once more, soothing ruffled feathers and reassuring. When the relaxed atmosphere he desired for the party finally returned, he turned back to the house. A flicker of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned his head, meeting Stacey’s uncertain expression as she began to approach him. He stared at her silently for long moments, before pointedly ignoring her. She veered off to the left, wisely. Her earlier attitude still grated on his nerves.

  Chase looked up as he entered, the young man’s expression anxious, body held tensely. He laid a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder before seating himself once more.

  Chase watched him for long moments, but soon returned to eating, his trust in Enzo obvious.

  Enzo could not settle though, his mind far from this room.

  It would be interesting to see how this played out. He could not wait to pit himself against his kin in blatant warfare. They had tried to harm his brother. So like his father, Enzo would not forgive or forget.

  * * *

  Daniel scowled as he spotted the school secretary hurrying his way, her face creased in lines of worry. The damned woman was always fussing about something, and she seemed to think that he cared what others thought. He would have to set her straight soon enough, but for now…

  “I am so glad I caught you, Mr. Wayson. A parent has come to speak to you, and I—”

  Daniel Wayson arched a haughty eyebrow. “A parent? Without contacting me first? I do not have time to see them. Tell them—”

  The secretary grasped his arm and began to tow him behind her in a forceful manner unlike anything she had displayed before. “I am not telling him anything, sir. If you want him to leave, you are going to have to tell him yourself. He is not going to leave on my say-so, and he is truly scary.”

  Daniel sighed, rolling his eyes. The pitiful little female obviously needed his strength of manner to rout this no doubt blustering parent. He frowned, wondering which student had complained. Normally they were all too cowed even to think of crossing him, but there were a few. He would have to put this parent in his place with all speed. Showing up without an appointment. Who in hell did this father think he was?

  His outrage grew the more he thought of it. He was too important to be treated in this manner, and he could well see the student removed from class if his pride demanded it. They would see how foolish it was to lock horns with Daniel Wayson.

  He shook off the annoying grip on his arm as they reached his office, watching the secretary scurry off. Growling under his breath, he opened the door with some force, stalking into the room, ignoring the figure seated before his huge desk as he slammed down the books on its gleaming surface as a testament to his temper.

  He took his time seating himself, then steepled his hands and peered over them, ready to put this intruder in his place.

  Daniel froze.

  There was not one man, but three.

  The man seated before him looked more as if he had stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine than any parent Daniel could remember, even though the children who attended the school were all wealthy. His suit was crisp and perfect, screaming money, his posture languid, and yet with something that was more predatory than relaxed.

  The two men behind him, next to the door, stood in silence, hands clasped before them, eyes trained on nothing. Obviously bodyguards. Daniel’s mind scrambled over his students, desperately trying to ascertain who on earth this man could be. His feeling of superiority was fading under the atmosphere that seemed to permeate the very air of his office.

  The parent stared at him in potent silence, dark eyes half-lidded. There was no impatience in that look—nothing much at all to glean from it. It was eerily neutral, and yet Daniel sensed threat of a sort that made him swallow hard.

  “So, Mr.…you are here to talk about which student? Since you did not make an appointment, I have nothing ready to discuss with you.” He was proud of the steadiness of his tone, even though his hands, safely out of sight beneath the desk, were beginning to shake despite his best efforts.

  The man raised an eyebrow in silent mockery, retaining his silence for a few more moments. When he did speak, it had been made very evident that he chose to, not because Daniel intimidated him in the least.

  “My name is Enzo Martinelli.”

  Daniel’s hands spasmed into fists, his eyes widening. That name was all too familiar in upper echelons, whispered more than spoken out loud. Daniel had heard every lurid tale, every bit of gossip that circled through his family and friends.

  This was not a man to cross. Ever.

  He realized the silence had gone on too long and cleared his throat, trying to control the tremor that wanted to take his voice.

  “Mr. Martinelli, I am honored to have you here.” He reached across the desk with one hand, praying his fingers would not tremble.

  The Martinelli looked at his hand for long moments, then leaned back in his chair, loose and relaxed, but his eyes… He resembled a dragon viewing its prey with lazy interest all too much.

  “I have come on behalf of my ward.” The words held a bite to them, an indication of trouble. Pulling his hand back, Daniel wracked his brains, stunned. He had had no idea that the Martinelli even had a ward, much less that the ward had come to this school.

  “I am afraid I have no knowledge of which student…” Daniel hoped he had injected
the right amount of dignified apology in his tone.

  Dark eyes narrowed for a moment, then a faint smile tilted those generous lips.

  “Chase Connors. He is in your English class.”

  Daniel froze, breath suspended for long moments. Dear God.

  He struggled for composure, feeling danger slide into the room like a physical presence.

  “Chase, yes. Talented boy.”

  “Your marks do not reflect that, Mr. Wayson. It seems from what I finally managed to get out of Chase, that you have an issue with him. Or perhaps more rightly, with his sexual orientation. I had thought such things to be quite illegal, Mr. Wayson. It seems I was wrong to assume such a thing is a deterrent to you.”

  Clammy sweat broke out on Daniel’s forehead, and he had to wipe his palms on his pant legs. “No, certainly not, Mr. Martinelli. I just have found Chase’s writing to be gradually becoming less—cohesive. I have no choice but to…”

  The Martinelli leaned forward, hands clasped together, eyes clear and cold.

  “Do go on. But do so knowing that I have read each of Chase’s essays. English may not be my first language, Mr. Wayson, but I know good writing when I read it. I have noticed no perceivable difference between what he wrote before you discovered his sexuality and afterward. It seems to me that the difference was you. Are you discriminating against my ward because of his gender preference?” The question was quiet, but the weight of it hung like a sword over Daniel’s head.

  “Certainly not, Mr. Martinelli.” Daniel managed to inject just the right amount of outraged righteousness into his tone. “Chase has the same privileges of every other of my students. I can assure you—”

  The Martinelli leaned further forward, and a trick of the light seemed to make his eyes gleam eerily in the stark lighting of Daniel’s office. “No, Mr. Wayson, I can assure you that if I hear the faintest whisper of sexual bias regarding Chase, or for that matter any of your students, I will not hesitate to display to all and sundry your penchant for sadism clubs. I think that the prim and proper faculty you hold so dear would be most interested in your doings.”

  Daniel froze, his eyes fairly bugging from his head. He had been so very careful, so very discreet. It was not possible for this man to know…

  Enzo leaned back again, the faintest hint of a feral smile tugging the edge of his mouth. “I know a great deal about you, Daniel Wayson. Those who bring themselves to my attention often find themselves in—shall we say—difficult situations. Sometimes career-changing situations. Be thankful you have gone no further than you have. You would not like to know what happens to my enemies.” The voice was so perfectly smooth, so utterly cold, that Daniel could not help but shiver, his eyes fixed upon this predator that had, within moments, turned his life on end. He could not speak, could not even rise politely to his feet when the Martinelli rose and bestowed a terrifyingly gentle smile upon him as he turned to go.

  “You will be watched now, Daniel, at all times. I expect your behavior to be impeccable in all ways. If it is not…” Enzo shrugged. “We will have to have another—talk. I sincerely doubt it would be a pleasant time for you. I suggest you mend your ways, hmm?” That stare turned utterly cold, all signs of amusement disappearing.

  Daniel could only nod, like a puppet, his body strangely numb, his thoughts fragmented and frantic.

  “I am glad we understand each other. I hope I shall not have to encounter you or your sordid little life again.” As if on cue, one bodyguard opened the door and the three men disappeared without another word.

  Daniel leaned forward and buried his face in shaking hands.

  Chase slammed his car door and practically ran into the house.

  Sergei was closest to the door, and he instinctively reached for his gun at Chase’s abrupt arrival.

  “Where’s Enzo?” Chase blurted.

  The security chief relaxed into his usual expressionless calm.

  “The boss is in his office.”

  Chase nodded and sprinted up the stairs.

  For once, Raymond was not at his post in the outer office.

  Chase paused at the double doors, uncertain for a moment. It was not wise to beard the dragon in his den, but… He could not help it. He raised his left hand and knocked lightly upon the ornate wood.

  “Sì?” The tone held irritation. “What is it now, Sergei?”

  “It’s me, Enzo. Please can I talk to you for just a minute? I won’t take long. I just can’t wait…” He looked up in surprise as the door swung open and Enzo stood there, looking unbearably handsome in charcoal pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show muscled forearms. His face was blank for long moments, and Chase could not tell if he was annoyed or not, then he turned away and gestured him into the sanctum, one hand running through thick black hair with a certain amount of exasperation evident. Obviously things were not going smoothly in whatever business he was currently dealing with.

  “Could this not have waited until supper?” The growl in the tone made Chase shiver pleasurably, and he had to bite his lip to bring himself back to the moment—and the reason for his presence.

  He waved the paper triumphantly before his mentor.

  “I did it! I passed with damn honors. Can you believe that? Me—with honors.” Disbelief lingered in his thoughts but he could not stop the stupid grin that seemed to have settled onto his features permanently.

  Enzo turned, the annoyance passing away, his face softening ever so slightly, a smile tilting those generous lips.

  “Honors? Congratulations, Chase! You have worked damn hard for this. You deserve every mark.”

  He laughed and twirled in a circle, uncaring of how childish he might look.

  “Even Mr. Wayson changed his mind, seemed to mark me better these last two months and that brought my overall mark back up. Honors!” He twirled again and did a little happy dance that had Enzo laughing.

  “Come here, my boy.” He was swept into a hug. He almost froze, then slid his arms around Enzo’s muscled torso, his smile fading. He wanted to weep for the force of the emotions he felt then, the touch of this beloved body, a gesture that was usually extended only to the Martinelli’s brother and niece. He breathed deeply, inhaling every nuance of scent that he could. If only he had the right…

  Enzo stepped back, releasing him, pride evident in his expression.

  “You well deserve this. Now you are free to choose your college. I do not want you working, despite your pride. I want you to focus on your studies, sì?” He tousled Chase’s hair with one hand, then put a hand on his shoulder, steering him toward the door. “I wish I could speak of this more, but I have a phone call coming in and I must take it. We will talk more piu tardi.”

  He nodded, smiled up at him in what he hoped was a normal manner, then exited the office, hearing the door close quietly behind him. He sagged against the wall, trying not to hyperventilate. Oh God. He held me. I held him. The smile returned but for a much different reason than the first time.

  He pumped a fist in the air and danced down the hall, off to tell Ms. Granger and the guards of his honor standing.

  Chapter Four

  The Martinelli had abandoned the gloom of his office, and lay on one of the chaises, wearing only shorts, savoring the sun. Chase sat nearby, sensibly in the shade of an umbrella, drying himself off after swimming. He admired the lines of Enzo’s body, the muscles evident even in relaxation. Such beautifully dark skin. He looked down at himself ruefully at the pale skin that burned more than tanned. His body was lean to the point of being skinny despite the fact he ate like a horse. He just never managed to put on any weight, and his muscles were lean, not sculpted, like Enzo’s. Scars littered his skin from his ordeal. It was hard to see anything attractive in himself against the backdrop of such raw, masculine beauty. He rubbed his wet hair, feeling his spirits sink. What chance did he possibly have ever to gain Enzo’s attention? The man was surrounded by beautiful people—rich, accomplished, worldly people.
What did he possibly have to offer?

  He scrubbed his hair harshly, as though driving away his own thoughts.

  He was enjoying his break from school, but found himself reluctant to turn his attention to choosing a college. The reason for that reluctance was all too obvious, even to himself. To leave Enzo…

  So he lazed about, swam in the pool, tried to spend as much time with his mentor as possible.

  Enzo on the other hand, was in a foul mood, and people trod softly around him. Whatever the issue was, it continued for some time, and Chase did his best to act as an intermediary so that others did not bear the brunt of his temper.

  Today seemed a little better. Hopefully the Martinelli’s softer mood would last the day.

  Their solitude was broken by the sound of brisk footsteps, and Chase looked up to see Sergei approaching, professional mask in place as usual. Honestly the man looked as though he might crack if he smiled. He shook his head at the thought.

  “Sir.” Sergei stood at Enzo’s side, his head bowed slightly. “Ren Sylvesta is at the door, requesting your time.”

  Enzo raised his eyebrows sharply and opened his eyes, a hint of curiosity in their depths. It was obvious he knew who Sergei was referring to, though Chase had never heard the name before.

  The Martinelli was silent for long moments, his gaze on Chase, before he nodded.

  “Let him in. Bring him here.”

  Sergei nodded respectfully and turned away, leaving Chase staring after him in confusion.

  His attention returned to Enzo, his silent question hanging between them.

  Enzo waved a hand lazily. “An old friend. Have not seen him for…” He wrinkled his brow for a moment, a hint of surprise in the expression. “Mamma mia, could it be eight years already?” He shook his head in apparent shock, then rose to his feet, tousling Chase’s hair affectionately as he passed.

  Chase watched with a frown. Enzo claimed few as friends.

  A man strolled through the double doors with an edge of familiarity—and Chase hated him on sight.