Page 1

CHAPTER 1

Nico loved the dark.

Most people were afraid of it, terrified of the monsters that might be lurking, nervous of the unknown underneath an opaque surface. But Nico Marzano was a monster, a devil descended from generations of devils, a long line of violent men bred to oversee a violent empire. Nico had learned long ago to use the dark to his advantage.

At the moment he was waiting in an uncomfortable armchair in an empty apartment shrouded in shadow. And Nico would wait here as long as was necessary. Before he walked out tonight, he would have a name. A target. A man marked for retribution.

Suddenly, the elevator chimed in the hall. Metal doors slid open. Finalmente. Nico made sure his muscles were loose, mind clear, as the lock on the front door disengaged. He would stay hidden here until he was ready⁠—

Two large figures stumbled over the threshold, their mouths attacking each other as if starving, hands clutching, grabbing everywhere within reach. Nico froze, confusion clouding his thoughts for a half a beat. But he knew he was in the right apartment. This was confirmed when, before the door closed, the light from the hall illuminated their faces, and one of the men was definitely Bennett Verreault, the professional hockey player Nico had been waiting for tonight.

Madre di Dio. Verreault liked men. Hmm. Nico’s mind turned this over as he flexed his fingers slightly, stretching the fine bones as his brain catalogued this new information, filing it with everything else he’d learned about the captain of the Toronto Reign. Six feet two inches tall, French-Canadian, thirty-one years old. Dark hair. Handsome in an annoyingly vanilla way. He’d played in Toronto his entire career, which was apparently a rarity in professional sports, except among the very best players.

But no one in Toronto had hinted that he slept with men. Nico’s information was thorough, his networks unmatched in this city. Yet, there hadn’t been a whiff of this. It had to be a well-guarded secret.

Verreault kicked the door shut behind them, plunging the room into darkness again, but Nico’s eyes had adjusted enough to see most of what was happening. The two men continued kissing while stripping off Verreault’s clothing. It didn’t take long before Verreault was naked, his sculpted athlete’s body on full display. His shirtless partner still wore jeans, like he couldn’t be bothered to remove all his clothing. Rude.

But at least this allowed Nico to take a minute to admire Verreault's long, lean lines, the skin stretched tight over thick bones and muscle. Cazzo, the man looked strong, fit. Leashed power that would tremble under the right fingertips . . .

The stranger sank to his knees and took Verreault’s hard dick in his mouth. He worked him quickly, sucking sloppily, frantically, as if this were a race. Nico hadn’t been with a man in a few years—a dangerous, guilty pleasure he indulged rarely—but he remembered how to give a blowjob. It wasn’t like this. Cocks were meant to be worshipped, enjoyed. This was a crime. And not the fun kind.

Nico wasn’t all that surprised when Verreault pulled the man off seconds later. “Please, fuck me.”

“Needy little slut,” the man murmured between kisses. “Bend over the couch and I’ll rail you.”

Rail you? Slut? Was this what passed for foreplay with Verreault?

Verreault didn’t seem to mind. His elite athletic form, a perfectly tuned machine, was now draped over the arm of the sofa, like a race car waiting for someone to slide behind the wheel. Nico’s tongue swiped along the back of his teeth, while his fingers tightened on the armrests. He shouldn’t get ideas.

“Hurry,” Verreault urged over his shoulder as the other man rolled on a condom.

Lube should have been next, but surprisingly the man spit on Verreault’s hole, then smeared it with his fingers. More spit, then he was lining up and shoving in. Nico couldn’t believe this. Dai, what incompetence. It bordered on cruelty.

Verreault gasped in obvious pain. The other man didn’t notice, or didn’t care, and kept going, ramming his dick into Verreault’s ass. He pumped a few times, seating himself fully, then began fucking Verreault furiously, similar to the blowjob technique. Were these two being timed on a clock?

The other man jackhammered into Verreault, his head thrown back, hands holding those athletic hips. Nico couldn’t tell if Verreault was enjoying it or not, his wordless mouth hanging open as his eyes remained closed. The room seemed to grow still, anticipating a moan or a sigh, anything, but there was only breathing, air punched out of Verreault’s lungs with every strike. It went on like this for quite a while, the man pausing to add more spit every now and again. Nico had never bottomed, but he almost winced in sympathy.

“God, fuck. Yes, I’m . . . ” The man began fucking Verreault harder, his hips churning. Then he lost his rhythm, straining, shaking, before thrusting deep and rising up on his toes, holding there. “Shit, yes!”

Verreault grunted, then reached down to tug on his lonely, ignored dick. With two pulls, he was shooting his load onto the side of the leather sofa. Then it was over.

Mamma mia, what a remarkably sad turn of events.

A pained gasp escaped Verreault’s lips as the other man pulled out. Nico could only imagine the damage done to the sensitive tissues. Unless this was his first time (and Nico sincerely doubted that), why would Verreault allow himself to be used in such a thoughtless manner?

Verreault winced as he stepped into his briefs. A subtle reaction, but obvious to Nico because he was locked on the man’s handsome face. It was a fascinating face—perfectly symmetrical, with strong and elegant features, not a single blemish in sight. The jaw was razor-sharp and the cheekbones pronounced, a man guaranteed to draw attention wherever he went.

Now Verreault stood to the side, polite but distant, and forced a smile. “See you around,” he said, but didn’t draw closer, his mostly naked body untouchable and rigid. If there was any history or feelings between these two, it didn’t show. They could have been strangers on the street for all the aftercare being displayed. “And keep this⁠—”

“Between us.” The other man finished buttoning his jeans and reached for the door. “I know.” Then he was gone.

Verreault held the door open, the silhouette of his body outlined in the hallway light, and watched as the elevator arrived. When it departed, Verreault closed the door softly, locking it again. The stiff set of his shoulders spoke of disappointment, not satisfaction. This was too bad. A decent orgasm would keep Verreault relaxed and make this conversation easier.

None of that mattered now. Time to get started.

Nico flicked on the light beside his chair, casting a soft yellow glow across the room, and Verreault practically jumped, startled. “What the fuck!”

Nico folded his hands, non-threatening until he needed to be. “Sit down, per favore.”