Dark Soul Vol. 5 Read Online Free Page B

No flowers and medical bills paid without a way to launder it first.
    Time to lean on Marino’s accountant.
    For the first time in weeks, Sebastiano didn’t mind the hard work, the exhaustion and the tension. It all bled away now that he’d begun the hunt, and while no game had broken cover yet, he looked forward to it happening like a boy in a sane family looked forward to his birthday or Christmas.
    Maybe he had spent thousands of dol ars on the wrong thing: therapy that involved outsiders, that involved play-acting, hundreds of hours of talking, drawing, writing, hypnosis. Maybe finally getting even with the Cosa Nostra was really the only therapy he needed. And it was completely free.
    Dark Frost
    ilvio watched as Stefano groaned and leaned back from his laptop. He hadn’t even touched his food. That was a constant Sthese days. Considering that he expended a lot of energy in bed, his features looked a bit sharper. Or was it the tension? Silvio waited for Stefano to share whatever email he’d received.
    “Got a message from Augusto. Viero, he’s my underboss. You ever met him?”
    “Once.” Stefano had introduced Viero very briefly a while ago, but they hadn’t spoken much beyond that.
    “Yeah, well, he says he found something that requires my urgent attention.”
    “Something an underboss can’t deal with?”
    “Apparently a dead body.”
    “So?”
    Stefano smirked and nodded toward his laptop. “Made man. We made him a year ago.”
    That did change things; not just a dead associate, but an actual made man. Most bosses would get involved at this stage. Battista would already be making phone calls and pul ing strings. “You going?”
    “No. I have . . . I’m meeting Donata in an hour.”
    Oh really. “You going back to her?”
    “I . . . I just want to talk to her. She is my wife.” Stefano stood and crossed the room, took him by the shoulders. Silvio let him. “And you’re . . . you’re my lover.”
    Big word.
    “Aren’t you, Silvio? It’s not just fucking for you, either. Is it?”
    Stefano kissed him, seeking a response from his body he didn’t get otherwise. The kiss was harsh and needy and domineering. Easy to forget everything else and just fall back into bed.
    “What kind of question is that?”
    “Silvio, before . . . I do things I might regret, I need to know where we stand. I mean, I don’t know. What do you feel for me?
    Anything?”
    What was that supposed to mean? Why was that important all of a sudden? He couldn’t read the expression on Stefano’s face; it was intense, passionate, but about what? About him? Donata? “What are you looking for?”
    “Commitment. How did you end up in a relationship with Falchi?”
    Step by step, but inevitable. Battista had slowly prepared him for the role—to be his lover, his protégé and protector. It had taken years and hard work, but it had been perfect while it lasted. Love as inevitable as death. Somehow, he couldn’t admit that, though. It still hurt when he thought about it too much. “Battista’s gay. And we weren’t exclusive.”
    “But it was a relationship. Enough of one for him to make you his heir and for you to be heartbroken when he ended it. I want to . .
    . have that with you. I want to be your lover rather than the guy who fucks you.” Stefano’s light eyes were almost feverish with intensity.
    He seemed to have some odd ideas about “commitment.” Next thing he’d do was pop a ring out.
    “How’s that different?”
    “I care about you, Silvio.” Stefano lifted his brows, as if to prompt him for a response.
    But what kind of response? He was already living in Stefano’s house, protected him, had killed for him, had sex with him. What else did he want? “You can fuck me and care about me. It’s not contradictory.”
    Stefano sighed. “Then why are you doing what you’re doing?
    Looking after me? Fighting my wars? Standing by my side? I’m not even paying you. You’re not part of my organization.