Chapter 6

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DOMINIC•

Despite Teodoro and I owning and running separate businesses although I was to be his heir, he still somehow always found a way to drag me into his.

Looking at the Russian con man disguised as a businessman interested in dealing with Teodoro had me wondering why my father would want to deal with such a sick joke of a man, cracking dry jokes one after the other.

I'd gotten flat-out irritated by him in the first line of our conversation. He'd shoot him dead on the spot with no hesitation.

"Mr. Petrov," I cleared my throat, interrupting his hundredth meaningless gibber, leaning forward with my jaw clenched. "Do I need to remind you of who am I and what I'm capable of doing for every second of my time you've wasted going around in circles?"

The skinny Russian man flashed me a nervous toothy grin, adjusting the watch on his wrist impatiently before lifting his eyes back to me. "Patience, Mr. Bernardi," he beseeched, "just have a little bit more patience while the paperwork is getting finalised."

I was beginning to doubt there was any paperwork or business deal, to begin with. His actions were too suspicious and the way he was beginning to chew on his words and spit them out nervously told me there was more to this fiasco than he was letting on.

"In a fucking club?" I asked, gritting my teeth as I felt every shred of patience within me snap.

The location of the deal itself was odd, but then this was Teodoro's business. Anything was possible and if his deal needed to be closed, it had to be done his style. I just didn't have the patience to keep up with the circus show and he'd have to deal with it himself.

"Where entertainment and refreshments are plenty," the Russian man chortled desperately, clapping his hands enthusiastically as an invitatory gesture to someone downstairs.

With a heavy sigh of irritation, I collapsed back into the couch, leaning my back into it and running my hand through my hair.

I could be doing so many productive things right now mostly to do with this stimulating addition to my daily life.

I had a wife and she was fucking gorgeous, young and innocent. I had no fucking idea how she managed to do it in less than twenty-four hours, but I already felt certain palpable urges pushing my sanity to a dangerously pitched edge.

Fuck.

Just thinking about her reminded me of how every second of my fingertips on her skin had felt, cupping her face, tucking her hair behind her ear, inhaling her sweet feminine scent and breathing onto her skin.

The expansion and constriction in my chest was unfamiliar, blood and adrenaline pumping madly hot into my veins, especially those connected to the hardest parts to tame.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckery.

I grabbed my glass of wine, gulping the rest of the white scorching liquid down my throat with my eyes shut. Even that was a fucking terrible idea because all I could see were those innocent striking green eyes meeting mine every time I stole a glance at her.

I was fucked deeply and the worst part was I was allowing it to happen despite the commendable restraint I'd practised and mastered over the years.

The music downstairs on the dancefloor seemed to grow louder, the cheering wilder. I peeled my eyes open, placing the wine glass back onto the table at the centre.

I could see people begin to climb upstairs to the private floor's main lounging area where we sat, some holding trays of assorted food and some wine. They were all notably women, semi-naked women with an almost obvious intent.

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