Read Dark Soul Vol. 1 for Free Online

most aggressive fantasy he’d ever had? He couldn’t flaunt it like Silvio and Falchi did, but he could—and did—imagine those lips around him as he jerked off.
    It wasn’t satisfaction; it actually felt pretty fucking miserable just after the spray had washed the semen away. Silvio at least could lose himself in all that degradation and discomfort, could embrace what Stefano had forced him to accept.
    Lesson learned.
    Whatever Silvio had meant by that, Stefano knew it’d really been himself who’d learned the lesson tonight.
     

 
     
     
    “It’s just a social call, Donata,” Stefano lied, hoping his wife would join him. Whatever he’d encounter once he left the car and entered the villa beyond the gate, he might want to have her around. But whether to protect or distract him, he didn’t know. Nothing about the family was purely social. Or about the killer with the black eyes.
    She finished pouring her Perrier from the minibar and leaned back in the leather seat, crossing her legs. “I’m meeting a friend in Milan. I can’t cancel on her now, much as I’d prefer to be with you.”
    Stefano glanced out the window at the wrought-iron gates. Vince had buzzed in, but so far, the gates hadn’t opened, nor had anybody shown up to grant access. Whoever was admitting guests was taking his sweet time.
    “You’ll be all right?”
    “Don’t worry about me, baby; Vince’ll take good care of me.” She leaned in close and kissed him. He breathed deep as he kissed her back; he’d miss the scents of her makeup, her perfume, her hair the moment he stepped outside.
    “All right. Just leave enough room in the car to pick me up again?”
    “If I buy too much, I’ll have it couriered.” She sounded a little mocking, playful. Nothing like a little teasing to get him worked up, get him rough and possessive with her.
    He stroked her cheek and pulled back, glancing at the gate again. “I might end up having to climb this.”
    “Just don’t break your neck,” she said.
    “Never.” He nodded to Vince, who got out of the car and opened the door for him, then fetched his small suitcase from the trunk. Vince met his eyes for a long moment, and Stefano smiled. “You take care of my wife.”
    “Nobody’s going to get close enough to touch her.”
    Stefano patted Vince’s shoulder and dismissed him with a nod. “Go. The gates are bound to open at some point.”
    Vince got back in the car and reversed out of the private street back to the main road, leaving Stefano standing outside a big locked gate somewhere in godforsaken Tuscany, armed only with a cell phone and a suitcase, waiting for someone to let him in.
    He turned toward the gate at the sound of a motorcycle, one of those Japanese engines that emitted nothing more than an aggressive buzz. Moments later, the motorcycle rolled into view at an easy pace. Familiar. Mostly black with white highlights. It gave the rider away: young, black hair, black eyes. Silvio Spadaro. No biking leathers this time, just a light shirt with a pair of sunglasses tucked into the collar; tight, well-cut jeans; and leather slippers on his feet. Shit. Not unexpected, but he wasn’t quite ready to face the sicario again so soon.
    Not after what he’d done to him.
    The gate opened and swung inward just as Spadaro stopped and set his feet down on the gravel.
    “ Buon pomeriggio .”
    What, no anger, mocking, or, worst of all, flirting ? “Good afternoon.” Stefano stepped through the gates and walked up the gravel path, passing Spadaro. He wasn’t in the mood to stand around in the heat exchanging dubious pleasantries.
    Spadaro accelerated again and turned the motorcycle on the loose gravel with a noise like ripping paper. “Get on, I’ll drive you.”
    Stefano glanced at Spadaro, then up the sloping drive. The house wasn’t visible from here, but he still said, “It’s not that far.”
    “It’s hot.” Spadaro rolled the bike beside him, so slow he had to keep one leg