Page 71 of The Toy Collector

I sweep a slow glance across the room. A blonde in nothing but stilettos tries to catch my eye. I ignore her. Another girl on the far end of the floor bends over deliberately, ass in the air like it’s a goddamn offering.

Shaking my head, I turn away from them. I won’t offend my toy by even looking. She might not be here, but that doesn’t mean I’ll disrespect her.

Remus finally sets his phone down and lifts his eyes to mine. “You look like someone who’s about five seconds from shutting this shit down.”

“I’m considering it,” I admit, stripping off my coat and tossing it over the back of a leather chair. “What the fuck is this?”

“Post-dinner entertainment,” Matteo offers cheerfully. “Blame Rafe. He said it was starting to feel too civilized.”

Rafe shrugs. “Didn’t say hire a fucking harem.”

“Semantics,” Matteo smirks, stroking a hand down the head of the girl still bobbing between his thighs.

I sink into the armchair across from them, one ankle resting casually over my knee, watching without blinking. “This is how you celebrate family?”

“It’s how we celebratesurvival,” Remus says evenly. “Besides, we knew you weren’t interested. Not anymore.”

I raise a brow. “Is that so?”

Matteo’s grin grows. “We’re not blind, cousin. You’ve gone full Enzo mode. Still, can’t hurt to try.” He waves vaguely at the girls. “Pick one. Or five. Might help loosen you up.”

“I’m plenty loose,” I murmur, lifting a glass from the table and inspecting the color. “Just not stupid.”

Remus exhales a breath, something almost like a laugh. “You used to be more fun.”

“No,” I correct, sipping the whiskey. “I used to be more bored.” And bored men are dangerous. Butobsessedones? We build empires—or burn them to ash just to watch our woman rise from it.

While Rafe and Remus throw themselves into a discussion about some jobs, I empty my drink, contemplating if I should just head back home. It’s not like it’s a long flight from Cleveland, Ohio, to Washington D.C. So I could get there before…

A brunette with honey-glossed lips who approaches from my left interrupts my thoughts. “Lorenzoooo,” she purrs, her hips swaying exaggeratedly. She perches herself next to me. “How have you been?”

I arch an eyebrow, unimpressed with her performance. “Do I know you?” I ask coldly.

Her answering laugh grates on my nerves. “Don’t you recognize me?” she pouts. When I shake my head, she bats her lashes. “Maybe this will jog your memory.”

Leaning closer, she reaches for my cock. I catch her wrist mid-air and squeeze. Not enough to bruise, but enough to get her to back the fuck off.

“Never touch what doesn’t belong to you,” I snarl. “Get the fuck out of my sight. Now!”

She gasps, breath hitching more from surprise than pain. Then she tries to pull away, but I don’t let her. Not yet. I want her to remember this moment so she never makes that mistake again with me.

I hold her wrist for several moments, finally letting go when she lets out a pathetic whimper.

“Dick,” she mutters as she scurries away.

Matteo lets out a low whistle. “Christ, Enzo. You’re going to make the poor girl cry.”

“She should be more careful with her hands,” I say, reaching for the whiskey.

Her mistake wasn’t wanting some action. It was believing she had the right to touch me when I already belong to someone else.

Rafe raises his glass. “And now the room’s officially back to normal.”

“She’s lucky,” Remus chuckles, reclining back in his seat. “Five years ago, that would’ve ended differently.”

Matteo barks a laugh. “Three years ago, he wouldn’t have waited for her to touch him.”

“And just months ago,” Rafe adds, “he’d have let her.”

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