Surviving the Mafia's Wrath

CARLO ANTONELLO LEANED in close, his musky scent saturating the air as his fingers lightly tickled the collar of his shirt. It had been nearly six years since they'd last seen each other and he had grown up a lot during that period. He was no longer the spoiled chubby boy from Sicily fawning after his father's long-time business partner, shadowing his every step, begging to be played with. Now he was a man, twenty-two years old, and in his prime. The sexual allure he had was exotic and every time he caught people looking at him, he would smile graciously, but indifferently; he only had eyes for one person. Carlo could recall his youth, out of all of his father's business partners, only Lucian Botticelli would make time to play with him.