Page 1 of Christmas Mafia Prince
Chapter 1
Damen
“Theruleshavebeenthe same for five generations now. If you want to participate in the Christmas hunt, you need to be married or at the least engaged. The world isn’t always going to bend to your whims.”
This is hardly the first time I’ve heard a similar sentence, but what makes this different is the fact I’m discussing this ina gay club, hoping no drunk stranger decides to prank me by screaming lewd shit into my phone.
I borderline came out during my cousin’s wedding three years back, when I insisted referring to my then-boyfriend as mypartnerinstead of pretending that the person I was dating was female. I’m certain the gossip about that heated conversation reached my father’s ears too, yet here he is, insisting I can only be treated as an adult if I marry. It must be an open secret that I’m gay, surely.
I want to answer, but I’ve taken too long, so the tirade continues as I walk down the quiet corridor where only the faint pulsing of music can be heard. I admire the penis graffiti someone decided to draw on the wall next to a poster of a buff guy in a leather harness. What can I say? My taste in clubs isn’t as classy as my taste in suits, but it does match the guys I go for. Crude, inked, and a little feral.
I walk outside to hear my father better.
“Uncle Roger is bringing this nice girl for you to meet, Samantha. She knows about the business. If you hit it off, maybe by next year, you will be able to join us for the hunt. Who knows, maybe you’ll even have a kid in your arms by then. You’re almost thirty, Damen. It’s time to become a responsible family man. You know I’m proud of how you handle work, but life can’t be about just that.”
I scowl, and some poor guy, who happens to glance my way at the same time scurries off, heading for the safety of the dancefloor inside. If my family does know I fuck guys, are they coping by assuming I’m bi and will eventually settle down with a partner of the opposite sex?
That is not happening, because there‘s never been a woman I wanted to kiss, and I’m positive that won’t change. That very thing is on the tip of my tongue, yet when I open my mouth,eager to fill the silence when Father takes a break for air, words thicken in my throat and remain unspoken.
Why is this happening? I never have any qualms stating my opinions, no matter how harsh, but this particular topic always ends up feeling like glass so thin it might break if I look at it the wrong way.
I’m not ashamed of who I am.
I’ve had boyfriends, I vacation on Fire Island, and I even donate to gay rights organizations every year, yet here I am, silent when faced with my father’s demands.
“Just look how well your brother has done for himself. Bree is the most wonderful wife to him, and now they have Art to take care of, but it’s not taken away his edge if that’s what you’re worried about. Last year, he brought in four of the five trophies at the hunt.”
Yes. I know. No need to rub it in. And if I had the chance to take part, I would have done just as well, if not better than Titus. I’m the hitman for the Van der Horns. The one sent to take care of the toughest jobs. Given half the chance, I would be the one presenting my father with the heads of our enemies and then placing their skulls in our trophy room.
Do I really need to havea wifefor that?
Is that really the thing that would prove my worth to everyone?
“Food for thought,” Father says as two guys wearing jeans and nothing else step outside, laughing in response to the cold that has their nips perking up.
“You’re the patriarch now. You can change the rules,” I say, leaning against the wall while the men chuckle, drinking beer as they whisper to each other.
Father laughs. “So everyone says I’m coddling my son? Not a chance, Damen. We’ll see each other in two days. Your mother is preparing a welcome feast for the ages, so don’t be late.”
I exhale, squeezing the phone almost too firmly, but moments later, the call ends, and I’m left with a bucketful of things I want to growl straight in my father’s face yet somehow never do.
Maybe because I know he just wouldn’t treat any of it seriously.
I consider smoking to gather my thoughts, but the guys nearby seem to be looking my way as if they’re about to attempt some small talk. I’m not in the mood for what will surely end up as an offer to take part in a threesome, so I walk back inside.
The club’s interior is rough around the edges and looks more like a place for connoisseurs of alternative music than your typical gay venue, but it doesn’t make any attempts to hide what it is. I like that about Thirteen. It’s raw. Real. With a mix of unhinged pop-metal and indie band songs, depending on the DJ. Though ‘DJ’ is a bit of a stretch, as the music is controlled by the bartender, and you can tell. It’s always too loud, and the heavy beat is only good for fucking and dancing drunk, but I appreciate the clientele it draws in.
I shouldn’t feel at ease here in the immaculate suit I had made to measure out of smooth midnight blue wool, but with this place being so very at odds with the life I live in daylight, it’s become my refuge. All the staff know me, and my order, and at this point they’ve even resorted to keeping my favorite brand of bourbon, to ensure I don’t stray.
I wouldn't be caught dead in ripped jeans just to fit in, but I rather like them on the kind of men I enjoy spending time with, both in and out of bed. Though after my last boyfriend fiasco I usually don’t look for more than a fuck.
It’s hard to keep a partner when I can’t disclose much about my job or family. Sooner or later, the questions that come up force me to either lie or admit to keeping secrets. It’s what I tried last time with Henry. Told him I work for a detective agency andtherefore can’t tell him much, but he wasn’t having it, and we needed to split up.
Tonight, I just want to fuck some anger out of my veins.
The farther I walk down the narrow corridor wallpapered with various posters and stickers, the denser the air gets, and by the time I reach the main room, I’m breathing in sweat, booze, cheap cologne, and the fumes of someone’s fruity vape. Most of the surfaces are black, and I imagine the interior must look drab in daylight, but the colorful lighting effects transform this cave of contemporary mating rituals into something that brings me peace despite all the chaos and noise. Maybe it’s because Thirteen is as far removed from my family home as humanly possible.
My unresolved family issues might also be the reason for the men I choose.
