Page 62 of Savage Ambition

“If I wasn’t so sure Jace would cut off my dick, I would have tried to hook up with his cute sister, too. But I value my balls too much.” Trent grabbed another beer. “So back to the original issue. What are you going to do about Dante?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. Keep seeing him until I can’t anymore.”

“And then what?”

“Cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“Great plan. Very detailed.” Trent snorted. “Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“If shit gets real, you’ll come to me for help. Even if I have to take on the Gennaro family, I’ll do it to save you.”

The seriousness in his eyes reminded me that my choices affected more than just me. “I promise. And thanks.”

“Good. And Shaw?”

“Yeah?”

“Dante’s lucky to have someone who cares about him that much. I hope he knows that.”

My cousin’s words touched my heart but also filled me with doubts. I wondered if Dante knew or if I was only another client with a wallet full of cash and a heart full of misplaced hope.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DANTE

After purchasing my usual double espresso, I pretended not to notice Natalia. She was impossible to miss, sitting near the rear window in a crimson designer wrap dress that clung to the hourglass of her body like a second skin. The neckline plunged just low enough to be enticing, revealing the soft swell of her breasts and a hint of black lace beneath.

Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves past her shoulders, catching the sunlight streaming through the windows. As I neared her, her signature perfume wrapped her in an aura of warm spices, tobacco, and sweet vanilla.

Around her neck gleamed a diamond pendant gifted to her by a Saudi prince after a memorable weekend in Monaco. Her stiletto heels clicked against the hardwood floor whenever she crossed her legs, the flash of their red soles a perfect match for her dress.

The weekly charade had become our routine, a necessary performance for any of Salvatore’s watchers who might lurk nearby. The coffee shop sat five blocks from Gennaro Corporation, close enough to be convenient but far enough that none of the brothel staff visited.

“Dante, is that you?” Natalia’s honeyed voice called out with feigned surprise when I approached her table. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“What a coincidence,” I replied, sliding into the chair across from her.

Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Huh, what are the odds we’d both crave coffee at the same time on the same day of the week?”

“Almost as astronomical as the chances of you getting here early enough to secure the most private table in the place.” I took a sip of my espresso, scanning the room for familiar faces. A man in a suit typed on his laptop. Two college students spread textbooks across their table as they studied. No one paid us any attention.

“I guess I’m lucky.” She pushed a small plate with a chocolate croissant toward me. “I got your favorite, since I figured you wouldn’t spoil yourself.”

“It probably has more to do with your unhealthy addiction to caramel lattes.” I broke off a piece of the pastry, glancing around the shop again. “Thank you.”

“Please. After all the great orgasms you’ve given me over the years, the least I can do is buy you breakfast.” She stirred her drink, the oversized diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist catching the light. Another gift from a besotted client. “How’s life treating New York’s most expensive piece of ass?”

“Better than it treats New York’s sixty-ninth most expensive piece of ass.” I smirked as I ate the croissant.

She laughed, not bothered in the slightest. “You know you only make more than me because you get to charge the penis tax.”

“The what?”

“The premium clients pay for services involving a dick.” She stirred her latte. “I’ve tracked price differentials across five major competitor brothels in the metropolitan area. For identical services, male sex workers earn twenty-eight percent more than their female counterparts.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Did you make a spreadsheet about it?”