Page 3 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

“It was a fucked-up time,” I say defensively. “As for the past. I owe that bitch. Yes, I got over what she did, on the surface. I married Francesca as an alliance with the DeLucas was right for our family. Renata was sent away. I slowly stopped thinking about her, until I saw her again. And fuck me, Clifford, she was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“More beautiful than your Daytona?” Vlad quips from the corner of the room.

I had forgotten he was here listening to me bleeding my guts all over the floor. Marvelous.

I shoot him the finger, and he and Clifford both chuckle.

“More beautiful than anything,” I clarify. “I want her, and if either of you get in my way, we’ll have an issue.”

“Like for a night?” Vlad asks, a frown divot between his heavy brows. “You want to fuck her, yes? Then leave her like the nothing she is?”

Vlad has the forehead and brows of a neanderthal. I swear you could place his face on the body of one of those mockups of caveman in the natural history museum and no one would notice.

“No, not for a night.” I sip at the drink. “I’m not sure for how long yet. I want to own her. The way you like to own fine paintings, Cliff, or you collect extortionate watches, Vlad. What are you wearing today by the way?”

He glances at his wrist and turns it back and forth, as he admires the watch there. He tosses me a brand name I recognize, and I smile. “So what, about twenty thousand dollars’ worth on your wrist today?”

“Yeah.” He strokes the watch. “Not getting what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that you like to own pretty watches, and you put a lot of effort into that. Well, I want to own just one pretty woman. Leave me alone in peace to do that.”

“Jesus Christ,” Clifford mumbles. “Whatever. Do what you want in your personal life, but don’t let her pussy whip you or have access to our business information.”

“Oh, she’s going to get access to it, as will her family, but it will be the wrong information. And she’ll feed it back to her stupid parents and hopefully her brother. Then they’ll act on that information, and we can trap them in their own stupidity.”

“Wait, you want her, or you want to use her to fuck over her family?” Vlad asks. “This is two very different things.”

“Why not both?” I laugh. “You knew I was talking about doing something like this,” I say to Clifford.

“I didn’t think you meant dragging the Andretti girl here and keeping her as your sex slave.” He shrugs. “I thought you just meant feeding her and her family dodgy intel about us.”

“Hardly my sex slave if she comes of her own free will, is she?”

“It’s fucked up,” Vlad says with a shrug. “But it’s your life, boss.”

Yes, it is.

Clifford says nothing. He can’t point out how messed up it is as that would be the pot calling the kettle. Clifford likes his sex kinky and painful. Don't want to think about the time I walked in on my cousin doing extremely kinky shit. I shake my head and sip some more drink.

“So just how hot is this woman?” Vlad asks.

“If you find out, you’ll regret it as I’ll have to kill you,” I inform him, only half joking.

The conversation descends into the usual banter until Vlad checks his watch and decides it is time for him to go home to his girl. A woman he met in Spain two years ago, and whom he loves deeply. Clifford leaves as well.

I fix myself another drink, carry it to the far end of the room, and slide open the doors leading to the pool area. The pool is covered for much of the year, but the sunroom overlooking the pool is always warm and bright. Thanks in part to the underfloor heating system I had put in place and the bright solar lights out on the patio, which always make it seem like a sunny day.

Taking a seat on the huge sectional, I bring up the photos of Renata I have saved on my phone. Most are from her socials. Some are from the investigator I’ve had following her.

There’s one of her on a beach. It’s from when she went on a trip with Cindy Andretti’s godmother. Cindy married Nico, Renata’s brother, and Renata seems to have become friendly with her godmother, Carol.

In the picture, Renata is wearing a red two-piece swimsuit, with gold ties at the ends of the string fastenings at her hips. It’s not a close-up, or a posed, filtered shot. It’s a paparazzi shot of Carol, the godmother, which also happens to include my principessa. Renata is not even mentioned in the caption. Why would she be? She’s not a socialite or a model. She’s way more beautiful than any of the women around her, though, even though many of them make a living from their looks.

I stare at her in her sexy red bikini and trace the curve of her hip. The fullness of her breasts comes next. Then I trace her pouty mouth, enlarging the picture until my finger is running around her lips, and I imagining myself pushing my finger into her mouth and her moaning and sucking on it.

Dropping my phone to the side, I let my head drop back against the couch as fantasies of what would happen next run through my mind.

Soon, if my plans go accordingly, she will be here with me.

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