He picks something up off the desk.
My phone.
For a second, I let myself hope he doesn’t know the passcode. But of course, he’s got his ways. He taps in a few letters, and the screen lights up.
I stare, stunned.
"If you think anyone’s going to notice you’re gone, think again. I’ve already sent a message to your agent, since he kept asking in your DMs about some new gig. You’re taking a short leave."
I can’t stop it. It bursts out of me.
"My dad will figure something’s wrong, he will! I’m supposed to start college in mid-September, and now that you’ve turned on my phone, it’s pinging from this location, your place! The cops will trace it—"
Anzo actually laughs. For real this time. Like I’ve just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard.
"I think the officers I’ve got on my payroll will handle that tiny complication."
I shut my eyes tight. Clench my fists. And then I snap.
"What the hell do you want from me!? Just tell me already!"
"Oh, I want a lot of things," he says calmly.
"What’s the main one?"
"Obedience."
"Will I survive this?"
"That’s up to you."
"Fine. What’s my first task?" I ask bitterly, my hands on the floor, my head low. "You want me to suck you off? We can start now. Or are you planning to fuck me? I’m ready!"
Anzo sits casually on the edge of the desk and just looks at me.
I lift my head for a second, just to check, then quickly lower it again, staring at my hands resting on the Persian carpet.
Yeah, he has it easy with me. I gave in fast.
"What’s the size of your dick?"
That catches me off guard.
But I answer, because why the fuck not?
"Thought you knew everything about me. It’s almost nine inches. To be precise: eight and three quarters."
"Thick?"
"I’d say so. Why’re you asking? Doubt you’d want me fucking you. Mafia bosses don’t usually swing that way."
That’s when I see it. Anzo’s face shifts, just slightly. Something in his eyes goes dark.
"What do you mean, ‘that way’?"
"You know… stereotypes."
"Enlighten me. What stereotypes are we talking about?"