Page 3 of Assassin Daddy

‘That was…wow,’Kyan mumbled, his head still spinning from the orgasm as he took a moment to let the shower water wash over him as his still hard cock wobbled and twitched.

However as he got out of the shower, Kyan knew that no matter how good his self-pleasure had been, it could never really compare with what a real-life Daddy could give him.

I wish…

If only…

Sigh. I don’t think many Daddies want a gambler for their special boy…

With a rueful smile on his face, Kyan shut the shower off and grabbed himself a towel. It was time to get changed and thenhead a few blocks over to the Bubble Palace club and have a playdate with his friends.

The Bubble Palace was a fun-filled Little club by day, and club by night. And it served the tastiest drinks and snacks in the whole city, which was even better considering that they specialized in the kind of sweet treats that Littles simply loved.

And with a poker tournament on the horizon, the need to relax now was greater than ever. After all, next year’s rent wasn’t going to pay itself…

Chapter 2

Matteo

20 YEARS AGO

‘Fuck, this wasn’t the plan…’ Matteo said, grimacing as he looked down toward his leg and saw the blood stain spreading across his cream-colored trousers.

It was close to midnight, and Matteo was aware that time was running out.

The stab wound in his thigh might have been non-fatal, but Matteo knew that the sooner he could wrap things up and find himself a backstreet doctor, the better.

With one mob boss needing to be killed, Matteo took a brief moment to compose himself as he rested up against the villa’s marble walls.

I’ve fucking got this.

I’ve taken down the henchmen.

Now it’s time to bring it home…

Matteo had been on plenty of assassination missions before. In fact, Matteo could barely remember a time when he wasn’t involved in the murder business. He might only have been in his early twenties, but Matteo Fendi had been killing gangsters since his teenage years. Death was the family business, and Matteo was determined to climb to the very top of the trade – no matter what it took.

The fact that he was far away from home in a multi-million dollar Miami residence made little difference to Matteo. He knew that a kill was a kill. It would make no difference to his bosses that he was injured either. There was only one acceptable result, and Matteo knew that he wouldn’t be able to return to the city he called home unless he was bringing good news of a completed job.

Matteo might have been a Fendi by birth, but he knew that in the ruthless world of the Fendi clan, family ties meant little if an individual wasn’t up to the job. Matteo had worked his way up the ranks quickly, and despite his youth he was already being earmarked for a prominent role in the future.

The senior powers in the Fendi crime family may technically have been related to Matteo, but to him they felt so distant. Matteo’s parents were never close to the upper echelons of the family, and while they always provided well enough for him, it was clear that as far as any hierarchies went, they were nowhere to be seen. Matteo knew that no favors would be done if he failed, and fellow family members had been killed – or ‘disappeared’ – for what had seemed like minor offences. This was just the way that it worked in the Fendi empire, and Matteo never allowed this reality to drift too far out of his thoughts either when it came to his work.

Three…

Two…

One… go time.

Matteo took a deep breath and forced the pain in this thigh to the back of his mind. With an eerie silence having descended on the villa, Matteo knew that the mob boss would be in his study, quite possibly expecting to see him.

There was no guarantee that when Matteo stepped into the study he wouldn’t be greeted by machine gun fire, shotgun bucks, or just about any kind of automatic fire imaginable. All Matteo could do was trust the intel that had been passed to him and also trust his own ability with a gun.

‘Time’s up,’ Matteo growled as he burst into the study and saw the mob boss, unarmed, and cowering behind his large, red-leather desk. ‘It’s the way it is. Nothing personal.’

‘I’ll pay you,’ the mob boss said, clearly out of his mind on illegal substances and ready to make any deal in order to get his neck out of the hangman’s noose. ‘Name your price. I’ve got millions. I can make you the richest killer on the West Coast.’

‘Quiet,’ Matteo said, aiming his gun, taking his time, ensuring that it would only take one precise shot. ‘Close your eyes. Think of something nice.’

---