Page 47 of Prince of Vice

I grit my teeth, determined to follow his command. But as I continue to circle my slick fingertips around my nipples, the pleasure becomes unbearable. My inner muscles clench and unclench, aching for release. In a moment of rebellion – or perhaps simply weakness – I plunge my fingers deep inside myself, riding the wave of ecstasy that threatens to consume me.

"Primo," I gasp, filming my disobedience for him to see. "I can't... I can't hold back any longer."

And then, with a shuddering moan, I allow myself to come, my fingers coated in the evidence of my betrayal. I'm panting and my mind is reeling with the fact that I've just disobeyed him, but I send him the video still. Perhaps I still have a bit of fight left within me that is begging to be tamed.

Isabella. You have defied my orders, and you will be punished for your disobedience. Prepare yourself for tomorrow evening.

His words are dark and full of promise.

I read his message over and over, a thrill of anticipation zipping through me. I should be frightened, or at least apprehensive about what he might do to me as punishment. But instead, a wicked smile curls my lips, and I can't help but feel aroused by this dangerous game we're playing.

I'll be ready.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Isabella

The steam dissipates, leaving a faint haze in the bathroom. I step out of the shower, feeling renewed. The warm water droplets embrace every curve of my body, making me shiver with delight. My release and Primo's words have left me invigorated, ready to tackle the challenges that his case presents.

"Isabella, focus," I whisper, gathering my thoughts that are still swirling around. A vivid memory of Primo's voice plays back in my mind, "It's the Irish and my own brothers who I fear may betray me." The words feel ominous, their weight bearing down on me. It's time to unravel this tangled web of deception.

I wrap myself in a plush towel and make my way to my desk. Documents are strewn about, a testament to my relentless pursuit of the truth. I begin to sift through the words on the pages, desperate to find something that might help point me in the right direction.

"Let's see what we have here," I murmur, poring over the documents in front of me. Accounts of the night in question are inconsistent, timelines are muddled. I can feel it in my bones – someone somewhere is hiding something. But what?

And, it’s all mixed up with the situation in Miami. Why were the feds there in the first place? Someone tipped them off and they were clearly after Primo.

“Alright, according to Axe’s deposition testimony, he was at the warehouse by 11:45 PM and he claims that Primo shot Beau just before midnight.”

I turn to the coroner’s report. “Beau Bennett was found dead from a gunshot wound to the head at a close distance through the left temple.”

I recreate how something like that could happen, pretending to hold a gun up to my left temple.

“Someone was able to get right up next to him to shoot him. It had to be someone he trusted,” I realize. “Otherwise it’s unlikely that he would have allowed anyone that close.”

Primo said that Teddy was there at the safehouse with them, but that he stepped outside and didn’t see Beau leave.

I try and put the doubt out of my mind and trust Primo. He told me that he was innocent and I need to believe him, even if everything is pointing against it.

As I dig deeper into the documents, Primo's words about being set up ring in my ears. He claimed he was trying to take care of Axe that night, but instead found himself arrested and accused of a murder he didn’t commit the next day. The injustice fuels my determination, and I feel a fire ignite within me.

The room feels colder, the air heavy with revelations yet to be uncovered. My fingers tremble as I turn the pages, my mind racing, hungry for the truth.

The testimony of one witness seizes my attention – he claims to have spoken with a "CM" the night of the crime.

"Constantino," I murmur, the letters forming his name like a bitter taste on my tongue. His deposition sits before me, a cleverly crafted alibi nestled among the sea of documents. He says he was visiting their father at the prison at the time, but my gut twists and turns, urging me to look closer.

"Could it really be him?" I wonder aloud, my voice barely a whisper, swallowed by the darkness of my apartment.

I start taking a closer look at his alibi. “Visiting the prison,” I say to myself, running my fingers through the logs that support his statement. I look at the time stamps and suddenly, things aren’t adding up right.

“Fifteen minutes, twenty-three minutes, seventeen minutes, 4 hours,” I say to myself, looking at the time stamps of his various visits.

"Primo, I think you were right," I say, as if he could somehow hear me through the walls that separate us. "Your brother...he set you up."

As I pore over the evidence, the pieces fall into place. Constantino's plan had been to frame Primo for the murder of Axe in Miami, but when things went awry, he had to readjust. The incident at the safehouse was arranged, but even still that went poorly, with Axe escaping with his life.

That left Constantino with the need for a dead body that he could pin on Primo. Who better than Beau, who continuously failed to set things up correctly so that Constantino could be rid of his brother and take control of the family.

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