For the first time in Antonio 'Tony' Santa De Leones' life—he had found himself in a real crisis.
Bigger than anything he had ever known.
The clock struck three in the morning.
And he was now sitting at the edge of the guest room's bed.
He refused to sleep in his old room.
Not because he was afraid of its ghost—
No.
He just didn't want to remember anything.
The good memories and the bad.
And yet here he is, thinking of another memory.
Something more urgent.
A half empty wine bottle rested on his right thigh.
His fingers were loosely wrapped around the neck of it.
In his left hand—a half burnt-cigarette.
Its ash was dangerously long.
Like it was waiting to drop but never did.
A proof that Tony hadn't moved an inch ever since he lit it—and he had been like this, frozen, even after throwing the woman out.
That same hand was pressed against his temple.
Gripping his skull as if to stop his thoughts from leaking out.
It's a real goddamn crisis!
The temperature inside the room was just the right coldness but—a bead of sweat was rolling down his neck.
One by one.
'Is this what they called a midlife crisis?'
The smoke from the cigarette was assaulting his senses—hurting his eyes—but he neither smelled nor felt it.
His mind had been too preoccupied for those things to register.
'I'm only 34! Turning 35! How can it be?'
He was getting anxious every minute.
'What kind of fuckery is this?'
He replayed the scene in his head—over and over—of what happened earlier after the dinner from hell.
**
Earlier after dinner….
The old man—The Don—and his father—Leandro—had called him into the study room.
'The smell of Cuban tobacco is too strong here.'
Tony sniffed.
Sweet, musky and smoky.
'The old lion must have spent all of his time here.'
The wide window was open—letting the night air intrude.
Dark curtains were slightly dancing.
It had the view of the gate in the front, and on both sides, one can see the entire property with just a glance.
He didn't need to look at his back.
It has a wide lake and has no port.
A crazy assassin that wasn't a certified swimmer would need to swim a mile and a half—and would have drowned already before reaching the back of the mansion.
And this crazy family had employed people to ban any kind of transportation near the property's rear.
They were armed and serious.
Making a wannabe boat sailor forget their dreams immediately.
The study was the perfect room for the Don, who had a lot of enemies.
It had no blind spots.
"What do you want?" the Don asked without any preamble—halting Tony's observations of the study.
The study that he never had the chance to enter seventeen years ago, even though he was the young master.
The Don proceeded to sit behind his shiny and massive desk.
While Leandro had automatically stood behind his father's seat like a good lion protecting its king.
Tony smirked.
And it wasn't a front.
He was already back to his usual self.
He lazily stepped inside the study and closed the door behind him.
"What? No tearful reunion? How about a hug?" Tony was sarcastic.
Refusing to stand—a basic courtesy when given an invitation to talk with the family head—
Because he was built like that—with no manners—
And without asking—
He reclined himself on the brown couch—in front of the Don's desk—like he owned the place.
Forgetting his own fear of his grandfather.
If only for a moment.
'He's just an old man. What's he gonna do? Spank me?'
But his hands shook a bit, betraying the confidence that he was showing.
It's like a reflex.
"What do I want?" Tony echoed like a parrot, dragging their attention away from his trembling hands.
He reached for the bottle of liquor on the coffee table.
Uncapped it, then sniffed.
"Vodka?" he muttered to no one in particular.
He poured a glass.
Then he lifted his legs, resting his feet on the edge of the coffee table like a spoiled prince.
He brought the drink to his nose.
Breathed it in, but did not sip.
He locked eyes with the Don's.
The lampshade on the table is giving an interrogation vibe.
Especially with their positions.
'They are the interrogators and I'm the interrogatee.'
Tony finds it funny.
"Nothing really.. I just miss the family," he said flatly.
His voice said one thing.
His tone another.
"Non dire cazzate! (Don't say bullshit!)," his father snapped.
Tony threw a nonchalant glance to his father who started to pace behind the Don.
Leandro's face was hard—no trace of the misty eyes from earlier.
But his body's actions say otherwise.
"You are my first born grandchild," the Don said next, his eyes narrowing.
Tony couldn't help but twitch a bit.
Then the Don raises his brows.
"You think I wouldn't know you? From the inside out?"
He stomped his cane on the carpeted floor.
"You have come crawling back here on your own? You won't do that. No. Not you. You've got the kind of pride that was as high as the Eiffel tower."
The Don sneered.
"Unless…you want something."
Leandro had stopped pacing behind the Don's chair.
"Is it my riches?"
The Don leaned forward slightly to his cane.
"Is your business failing?"
Leandro scoffed.
"Did you come sniffing around to see if I'm still breathing so you could get your inheritance?"
The Don laughed.
Cold and bitter.
"You won't get a single penny."
The Don looked him straight in the eyes.
Gray ones piercing through silver ones.
"It's always about the money."
Tony did not say anything.
He just kept on listening but his eyes were starting to brew a storm.
"Now get out. Leave. We have no need for outsiders.:"
Tony didn't flinch.
"I'm not your first born grandchild," Tony's voice was serious.
Low and cold.
"That's all that you heard, huh? With your pea sized brain." Leandro insulted Tony.
"I said I'm 'not' your first born grandchild."
'It was Antonia,' the words hung in the air.
But nobody dared to utter.
Silence.
You could hear a pin drop.
Then Tony sipped on the vodka.
Loudly.
Obnoxiously.
Trying to drown out the silence.
"Antonia's long dead." Leandro muttered.
And he whispered only to himself:
"And you are the one alive."
But Tony did not hear it.
They spoke at the same time.
"You don't have the right to say her name," Tony spat, full of venom
"She was my daughter, before she was your sister," Leandro bit back.
Tony bared his teeth.
"You lost that right a long time ago," they can hear his teeth gritting.
"The day you let her walk into that party."
"That's—"
"Leandro." The Don cut in, shaking his head slightly.
Tony's brows furrowed.
"Is that why you sold our family's information to the dogs?"
The Don always called Interpol 'dogs'.
"And you—" Tony turned to Don Leon..
"You were the one that sell that gun that killed her.."
Tony can feel himself losing his cool.
"Her blood was both in your hands."
A beat.
Then came a whisper.
"And in my hands too…" he can feel his chest tightening.
"For failing to look after her."
Tony's heart thudded, and he's growing sick and tired of it.
The ghost from the past.
"What do I want?" Tony asked, then downing his drink.
He stood up.
Adjusted his suit jacket.
"I want this family's downfall.." his voice was low, then he whispered.
"Your payment for an innocent life."
He walked towards the door then paused.
"I'm using the guest room."
Then he left.
Leaving the room that smelled of tobacco smoke and regret.
Tony tried to calm himself.
'Merda!" he cursed.
Tony wanted to bump his head on the wall until it cracked open.
He could not believe that he let himself get emotional after hearing the word—first born grandchild.
It was what they knew him as when he was declared heir of the Don.
He was still young and naive back then.
Proud to be called like that.
Now it was his faded stain.
He stayed like that for a short while, trying to control his breathing.
'Shit."
"I need a drink.'
And when he decided to walk away from the goddamn study, he stopped.
He spotted Alessandro hanging on the corridor near the staircase, his back turned, and on the phone.
"The Luchese's Don is arriving tomorrow?"
'God, his voice was so annoying.'
But Tony decided to listen in, anyway.
Hearing the word 'Luchese'.
The whole reason he was here—having a fun reunion with his family.
"Oh? A dinner party for his successful operation?"
He rested half of his body on the wall and crossed his feet.
"Yeah yeah, we'll be there. I doubt the old coot will show. He's already been told. Hm-mm. But father and I, we'll be there at eight pm. Yeah. Which hotel? Okay. Goodbye."
Then Alessandro went down the stairs, unaware of Tony's presence leaning on the wall—in the shadows.
'Luchese.. Hmm.. Tomorrow at eight pm..'
Then a door swung open and a hand yanked him inside.
He smelled the floral scent before he saw the face.
'Ah my goddamn distraction, you came at the right time..'
The scent hits his nose.
'Too strong.' he scrunched his nose.
'Disgusting.'
It's the blue eyed woman from earlier.
Tony smirked, hiding his distaste.
'Gotta play before work.'
"Hey," the woman panted.
"Hey," Tony replied lazily.
"You're that pretty one who served me a French baguette earlier.."
"Yeah…" the woman said, biting her lips. "And I have brought wine.."
"Hmm, perfect…" his mouth twisting a smile in the corner.
He looked the woman up and down.
'Well, she still has something where I can stick my little 'Antonio' into.'
'And two at that.'
"Want to taste an Italian baguette?" Tony whispered suggestively.
Low and dirty.
She laughed—a sweet, filthy sound.
"I'd love to get a taste of that.."
Her hands shamelessly slid down to his front.
Eyes widening to what she felt.
Seemingly liking it.
"Hmmm…" the girl moaned.
Already working on him.
"We don't have all night, sweetheart.." Tony said, unzipping his pants.
"Kneel."
The woman's face became excited.
She gets down.
On her knees.
She took him in hand first.
Stroking with confidence.
Her eyes are full of lust.
Looking straight at Tony's silver eyes.
But something is wrong.
He wasn't getting hard.
"Hm-mm haha.." the woman laughed it off—thinking that Tony was just controlling his lust and was teasing her.
Then she started using her tongue.
She licked once, testing the taste.
Then she smiled.
Tony runs his hands through the woman's hair.
'Rough..'
And like a cat that got petted—thinking it was an encouragement—her tongue started flicking against his skin.
Nothing.
Seeing a pink tongue licking his length should have already turned Tony on, but it didn't.
It stayed limped.
Then she started sucking.
Harder.
Still soft.
"What the hell?"
"I can fix it!" the woman started panicking.
She unbuttoned her uniform, letting her breasts spill out—soft and full.
The kind Tony likes.
Saliva was flowing down her chin.
Tony's member was soaking wet, its glistening under the light.
But it stayed dead like a possum.
It's not getting hard and Tony started to get hurt.
He pulled away from the woman that's trying to please him.
"Stop.."
"What's going on?" she asked, confused.
Even Tony started to get worried..
"I think I'm just tired.." he muttered, trying to play it cool, zipping his pants up.
Then he shoved the woman out into the hallway.
"It's been fun, but goodnight!"
Then he slammed the door shut to her red flustered face.
**
And now back to the present...
Tony do not smoke.
No.
He could but he's not a fan.
Sometimes it was needed for his roles.
During infiltration.
If he had to play an addict, a gambler and a chain smoker—he could.
And the cigarette wasn't even his.
It was courtesy of the blue eyed woman earlier, along with the bottle of wine.
Now, he didn't know what the fuck was going on with his body.
'Maybe because I'm not that drunk?'
Or maybe it's just the woman.
She's not really that pretty..
The thief from his last one night stand.
Was more pretty.
And hotter.
He was the last one night stand—and the one he could not forget.
And it had been a month.
A whole month—thanks to Beth constantly hounding him.
He closed his eyes.
He imagined those fucking pretty violet eyes.
That stranger.
The beautiful thief—with his fragrant and soft curly brown hair.
He imagined how he slid inside of him.
Hot.
Tight.
Soft.
And the way he moans.
The way he cried.
How his smooth body moved, arching backward, begging for more..
That cute pink little thing between the thief's legs.
And his flat chest.
A face twisted in pleasure and pain.
Those perked nipples.
His round ass.
And the way his entrance clenched around Tony's massive thing.
And then..
A miracle happened.
Pulling him back from his memories of that night.
The thing between his legs stood like a fucking pole.
Rock hard.
"Fuck."
He dropped the open wine bottle on the carpeted floor—spilling the contents—staining the gray carpet red.
The cigarette ash falling down on his suit pants.
Then he froze.
He just realized he might have screwed something up.
**