by Loki Renard
Angelo
House of Vitali, Book One: Making a Monster
Loki Renard
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
More Vitali!
1
Angelo
“I wish I knew you better,” Bobby murmured. He was naked, curled up against Angelo’s bare chest. They both smelled of sweat and seed, but neither of them were bothered by that. There were far worse scents to be covered in.
Twenty four years old, Bobby Vitali was the poster child for gangster pieces of ass. His dark hair and eyes, pale skin, muscular body all made him an attractive package. He had a certain dark charisma, a recklessness, a coldness which could make the hair rise on the back of your neck, and goosebumps appear on your skin.
Alone, he was an impressive specimen, but compared to Angelo Vitali, he was just a puppy. Angelo was legend, and he looked every inch of it. Salt and pepper hair gave him the gravitas of a silverback, or a Roman senator. That animal power was mixed with intellect and grace which made him all the more dangerous a creature.
Laying utterly spent in post-coital bliss, his elegance was evident even in the way his arm was draped possessively over the younger man’s shoulders. The rest of his tall, muscular frame was draped against the bed, sprawled in post coital satisfaction. The sheets were rumpled around both their legs as they lay in the comfortable intimacy of the very freshly well fucked.
With his fiftieth birthday on the horizon, Angelo was twice Bobby’s age. It was, however, among the least problematic of the many twists of their relationship which had begun as captive and captor and continued much in the same vein, old wounds covered by chaotic passion and a pair bond formed against the aggression of the law.
“You know me better than anyone has ever known me, boy,” Angelo murmured.
“And I don’t know you at all,” Bobby smirked.
Angelo cast his dark eyes downwards. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know,” Bobby shrugged. “I mean, what was it like growing up as a stone cold sociopath?”
Angelo let out a laugh, his chest lifting Bobby’s muscular form in a gentle rolling motion.
“I don’t think I am a sociopath, boy.”
Bobby’s brows lifted. “You’re kidding right? You only make love to people you’ve physically captured.”
“That’s not sociopathy. That’s simple practicality for a man in my position,” Angelo said, running his fingers over Bobby’s back. There were light welts over the younger man’s shoulders, marks from a well deserved punishment yet to fade.
“Well, still, what was it like?”
Angelo pressed his lips together.
“I’ve been your captive for three years,” Bobby pushed. “You really won’t tell me anything about you? Your family?”
“I don’t see the point,” Angelo said. “It’s not terribly interesting, and it won’t be of any use to you.”
“Use,” Bobby pointed out. “Everything is functional for you.”
“It’s been three years, as you say, and you’ve never shown any interest before. Why now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Mark’s rubbing off on me,” Bobby said. “He keeps walking around having feelings about things.”
Angelo chuckled again. “He does, doesn’t he.”
“He’s the only one who isn’t stone cold crazy. You and me, we’re broken.”
“Broken is a better word than crazy,” Angelo mused. “We both have our reasons for being the way we are, boy.”
“I know my reasons. I just don’t know yours.”
Angelo reached down and slapped the hard round curve of Bobby’s perfect naked ass. Each one of his long fingers left a red mark against the flushed skin, but it was too light a slap to function as anything besides a gentle warning.
“That’s enough of the questions, boy.”
“Just one thing,” Bobby insisted, ignoring the mild discomfort of the slap. “Tell me about your father.”
Angelo’s brows quirked. “You are very insistent today. I think you’ve been watching too much television. Too many daytime talk shows.”
“Mhm,” Bobby flashed a grin. “I want to know. You’re scared to tell me?”
Another rumble passed through Angelo. He shook his head, his handsome face a bemused mask as he cupped that same ass he’d just spanked and pulled Bobby closer to his chest.
“I don’t have any nice stories to tell you, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Was he a monster?”
“No,” Angelo said. “He was a good man. A simple man, but a good one.”
“How does a good man…”
“Have a son like me?” Angelo finished the question Bobby couldn’t quite form.
“Well, yeah.”
“Who knows,” Angelo shrugged.
Bobby kept looking up into Angelo’s face, a look of relentless curiosity which Angelo eventually couldn’t ignore.
“He worked on the docks. Unloading and loading containers.”
“Sounds like a shitty job,” Bobby said. “I figured he’d be something smart like you.”
“He was an immigrant. He didn’t speak much English, and he didn’t want much out of life. He wanted to provide for his family and his job allowed him to do that. It was enough for him.”
Bobby failed to hide the look of scorn which rose on his face.
“See, boy, there is nothing of interest to tell you,” Angelo said. “I came from simple people.”
“You’re not telling me something,” Bobby said perceptively. “Did he deal coke on the side or something? Run girls? He must have done something to fuck you up.”
“I suppose he did, in a way.”
“What?”
“He died.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“My father worked every day of his life, Bobby,” Angelo murmured, tracing his fingers through the boy’s hair. “In the end a container pinned him to the bridge of a ship. He was crushed. Like a bug.”
Bobby winced. “That’s fucked up.”
“It was,” Angelo agreed. “My mother had sent me down to take him his lunch. He was working overtime. They were trying to get me into a better school. Instead I saw the chains come loose. The container fell. It was all over in an instant.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I realized later on that he had the best death any man can have. Instant and relatively painless. He wouldn’t have known what happened to him. He didn’t suffer one bit. It was my mother who felt the pain for both of them, and in the end, it was too much for her. She committed suicide three weeks after he died.”
“Shit. How old were you?”
“Old enough to look after myself.”
“So eighteen?”
“A little younger.”
“Sixteen?”
“I was thirteen…. boy, if you dare pity me I will whip you to within an inch of your life, I swear to God,” Angelo growled, slapping Bobby’s ass hard several times, his palm landing on already tenderized skin.
“Ow, fuck! Goddamnit, Angelo! Shit, I’m allowed to have feelings, aren’t I?”
“Not those feelings. Not for me,” Angelo said grimly.
Bobby gritted his teeth and shook his head. “You’re a hard sonofabitch, Angelo.”
&
nbsp; “That’s right,” Angelo smiled. “I am. Are we done with this little walk down memory lane now? Or do you want to hear the tragic story of my pet parakeet too?”
Bobby let out a little growl. “We’re done, for now, I guess, if you’re going to beat me for caring.”
Angelo took Bobby by the chin and directed his head up, brushing a few stray strands of dark hair out of Bobby’s eyes with his other hand as he spoke gently in tones which were more thickly accented than usual.
“Don’t care for me, Bobby. Don’t start to make that mistake. I swear, it will only hurt you in the end - worse than I intend for you to be hurt. I took you against your will. I brought as a prisoner and I have made sure at every turn that you burn with hatred for me. None of that is an accident. Don’t fall in love with me.. It won’t end well.”
Bobby’s gaze started to well. “You’re fucked up, Angelo.”
“Beyond your wildest dreams, boy,” Angelo purred, brushing his lips across Bobby’s mouth. “Now go get cleaned up. You have work to do.”
“I’m going to care about you,” Bobby said as soon as he’d levered himself out of arm’s reach. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
An explosion of motion sent sheets flying as Angelo lunged up, grabbed Bobby by the arm and the back of the neck and pulled him back down on the bed, pinning him prone against the wet spot where their seed had been spilled.
“I can do everything about it, boy,” Angelo growled, his hand tight on the back of Bobby’s neck. “I can make your world so painful you don’t know what love is anymore.”
“You already tried that,” Bobby growled. “Stop being an asshole.”
“No,” Angelo snarled back, his voice holding an intensity which made Bobby tremble. “You will do as you are told, boy. You will manage your emotions. You will understand that this is not a traditional relationship. We are not boyfriends. We are not a couple. You are my prisoner. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Bobby shook his head, insomuch as he could. “You can beat me, Angelo, but what are you going to do to yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what are you going to do about the fact you love me?”
Angelo’s voice became so low and so cold, Bobby nearly felt his marrow freeze.
“You’ve forgotten your place, boy. It’s time you were reminded of it.”
Thirty or so minutes later, Mark strolled into Angelo’s office, his hands in his pockets in an over display of casual non-aggression which Angelo did not buy for a single moment. The handsome ex-soldier’s blond hair had grown out into a shaggy, stylish cut which threatened to fall into his eyes, but did not hide the blue intensity of their gaze.
Mark was the newest member of the house. He was also arguably the most reluctant. From the military to the FBI, he was a golden boy captured by a dark heart and pressed into service on the side of evil. A dramatic way of putting things, perhaps. But an accurate one.
He seemed to have found some kind of salvation in attempting to look after Bobby. Bobby didn’t much care for being looked after, and the relationship was contentious at the best of times. But it was working for Mark. Taking responsibility for someone else had pulled him out of the depression of his captivity. It had given him purpose - and there was nothing more potentially dangerous than a man with a purpose.
Mark no longer had the cowed expression he’d worn for several months after finding himself captive. He stood taller. He looked healthier. There was a necessary defiance in his gaze.
Angelo sat back in his chair as Mark sauntered in, his casual stroll belied by the tension in his jaw and around his eyes. It was perhaps inevitable that the boys would try to reclaim their manhood. Mark was a fine specimen, muscular and younger than he. Perhaps even technically stronger, perhaps even a threat, if one were to fight fair - which Angelo never did.
“Having a bad day?” Mark broke the silence.
Angelo’s eyes darkened a shade at the all too familiar quip. What was innocent, perhaps even charming or tender in other circumstances was not appropriate between the master and his prey. Mark was looking far too peaceful.
“Is there something you need, boy?”
Peace was a stranger in the house of Vitali where every lover was a captive of conscience, circumstance, or crime.
“Why is Bobby chained up outside?”
“He’s learning a lesson.”
“What lesson is that, frostbite?”
Angelo snapped his papers down against the desk. “Did I ask for your opinion?”
Mark looked at Angelo steadily, not reacting to the snide aggression.
“Something wrong?”
“Yes, something is wrong. We’ve lost track of order in this house. You both act like spoiled pets. It’s time you remembered what this place is. Who I am.”
Mark’s brow rose just a fraction. It was enough to make Angelo realize how petulant he sounded. This wasn’t like him. He didn’t like it. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Bobby forgot his place,” he said. “There’s been a lot of forgetting around here lately.”
“There has been a lot of change. What did Bobby do?”
“He tried to love me.”
Mark’s upper lip curled in derision. “And for that, you chain him naked outside like a dog?”
“It’s a lesser punishment than falling in love.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Mark said with a small smile. “I still hate you.”
2
Bobby
Bobby was shivering. It was winter and Angelo had stripped him naked, dragged him outside and chained him to a stake. The cruelty didn’t surprise him, but the method did. Angelo usually chose to exploit sexuality as a means of control. This was just plain fucked up.
It was doing the trick though. It was making Bobby hate Angelo worse than ever, maybe more than he had when Angelo first took him and stripped him of everything he owned. Back then, Angelo had been dominating him for a purpose. Now it just felt like cruelty for cruelty’s sake. It didn’t vibe with what he knew of Angelo.
“Hey puppy.”
He looked up to see that Mark was standing next to him.
“Let me off this chain.”
“Hold on,” Mark said, crouching down. He threw a heavy blanket over Bobby’s shoulders. “What the hell did you do?”
“Something I’m never going to fucking do again,” Bobby growled.
Mark
Everything was turning to hell. And that was saying a lot for this dysfunctional household. Mark crouched down in the snow and started working on the chain while Bobby sat there huddled under the blanket.
Angelo had locked the chain closed with a padlock. He’d given the key up, tossing it at Mark impatiently, but now the lock was jammed near solid with ice.
Bobby waited, patient and shivering, ice around his feet. Fuck. He could actually be really hurt from this. Those toes looked pale. There was no love lost between Bobby and Mark. Bobby’s intention was to kill Mark one day, and Mark knew that well enough. But Bobby was young and had a lot to learn. Angelo wasn’t teaching him anything of value.
It felt like minutes, but it was only a few seconds before Mark scooped Bobby up and into his arms. The younger man was shivering, his teeth chattering loudly. A good thing. It meant he hadn’t gone hypothermic, started to relax into his cold fate.
Mark carried Bobby into the house and upstairs to the bathroom. There, he set the younger man on the side of the bath and rubbed his feet with his hands. His toes were definitely frost nipped, though they weren’t quite at the stage of true frostbite yet. Another few minutes though…
They both knew Angelo was a sadist. They both knew he was unpredictable and couldn’t be trusted. Mark had been trapped in the Vitali household for months now and he was still just starting to come to terms with the twisted bonds which held him here.
But this was wrong.
Mark ran the bath, the sound of the rushing water blocking ou
t the grim silence. When it was ready, Bobby got in without argument. It wasn’t super hot, that would be dangerous too. It was warm enough to help him acclimate back to a normal temperature.
“Tell me how you’re feeling,” Mark said. “Your toes and fingers are probably going to hurt like hell as they warm up. Let me know if it’s too bad. I’m going to call the doctor…”
“Don’t.” A sobbed word broke Bobby’s silence.
Mark realized that he was crying. Silently. Tears were running down his cheeks as he sat in the steaming water, his feet hanging out, slowly acclimating to the warmth.
“Shit, don’t cry,” Mark said, gently wiping away his tears.
“He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Mark murmured.
“He used to hurt me,” Bobby sniffed. “But when he did it then, it was different. Now he hates me.
“He doesn’t hate you,” Mark repeated. “Come on, get in the bath.”
The water wasn’t actually that warm, but it would feel like a sauna to the chilled young man.
Bobby got in, too cold and sad to put up his usual fight. Normally it was a point of pride for Bobby to not accept any kindness from Mark. His disdain for anyone who had ever served the law was deep. But right now, he was just too broken to remember who he hated and why.
Mark knew very well that Angelo didn’t hate Bobby. Bobby was about the most precious thing in the world to Angelo. The two men were cut from the same cloth. Bobby was almost as dark hearted, and as dangerous as Angelo. He was the natural protege, and Mark suspected that was why Angelo was often harsher with him. Not this harsh, though.
Mark was the one on the outside. And that was why Bobby could trust him, and why Angelo let him help in sensitive matters like these. He wasn’t a threat, because he didn’t belong. He wasn’t a criminal. He was an ex-FBI agent fallen from grace, taking refuge in the criminal world.
