Page 25 of Malevolent Secrets

It’s dangerous and it’s probably wrong to be so obsessed with the man who might have killed Jeremy, but God help me, I can’t force myself to stop now.

Chapter Seven

Daniella

Back in my apartment, I settle on the couch with my laptop, pulling up every article and piece of information I can find on the Duretti family.

Every link I find to any news article mentioning the Durettis involved in anything even remotely illegal shows me that the article has been taken down. But still, I’m able to find some articles by small-name nobodies who have somehow been allowed to keep their content live.

It's clear that the Duretti’s have their hands in everything from drug trafficking to money laundering, but the specifics are elusive, hidden behind layers of secrecy and fear.

Every piece of information I uncover only raises more questions. It feels like an onion with endless layers. I peel one layer and then there’s another waiting for me. I peel that back and there’s yet another layer waiting for me. It is both frustrating and riveting.

The authorities have tried for years to get something to stick, but nothing ever does. Probably because they have some high officials on the family payroll. Their businesses have to be worth billions of dollars.

They are clearly using the legal businesses to hide whatever nefarious work is going on behind the scenes. They produce rum and whiskey, they have a clothing brand and they also have a private security company.

I note as well that they own a variety of smaller companies, probably for laundering their money.

One of the only news articles that has been allowed to stay up is one about their numerous charities. These are legal businesses run by women within the family. Most of them seem to be aunts, cousins, and other close family members.

Late into the night, my eyes burning from staring at the screen, I find a lead. It’s a journalist named Mark Evans who has been investigating the Duretti family for years. His articles are detailed and unflinching.

It's clear he knows more than he's been able to publish. It occurs to me how brave he has to be to publicly go after them like this.

I jot down his contact information, deciding to reach out in the morning. Exhausted, I close my laptop and try to get some sleep, though my mind continues to race with thoughts of Lorenzo and Jeremy.

The next morning, I send Mark an email, explaining my situation and asking if we can meet.

Lorenzo and I are scheduled to meet tomorrow. I would be a lying piece of shit if I said that I’m not nervous. I’m actually scared out of my mind. This man is the Godfather brought to life. He is everybody’s worst nightmare. And I slept with him. I think about the things that he did to me and shiver, but not from fear.

It’s funny that knowing how vile he is and about the things he has done doesn’t dull my attraction to him. I have found myself thinking about that night so many times, I probably have the entire experience ingrained in my head, well, maybe also another part of my anatomy.

The way his calloused fingers felt trailing against my skin, his kisses, the way he slid inside of me painfully slowly, causing me delicious pleasure. I realize I’m trembling and I bite my lower lip.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

“Not unless you agree to sit on my face,”

“I think you could ask me anything…and I would say yes.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

My thighs clench before I can stop them and when I look down at my hands, they are trailing toward my center almost unconsciously.

And his accent, his delectable accent and the way he muttered words into my ears. Words I’m pretty sure weren’t English, except maybe in my sexed-up haze, I had forgotten what English sounded like.

My fingers disappear under the waistband of my yoga pants and I feel the dampness of my underwear. I touch myself and imagine that it isn’t my small fingers doing the exploring but rather his larger, longer, more skillful ones.

I close my eyes and arched my back, and I imagined how he would part my flesh down there. How he would lean into me and kiss me just below my jaw as he whispers.

“Open your eyes Tesoro. I need to see you.”

His fingers would curve inside me, hitting the right spot. The one that takes me to cloud nine and leaves me there.

He will drag my orgasm out of me and allow me to ride his fingers like a pony. Maybe he’d use two of them…or three, if I’m lucky. The orgasm would explode out of me like a rocket, leaving me panting and struggling to catch my breath.

When I open my eyes, my apartment is empty. There’s no Lorenzo with his expert fingers and wandering tongue. All I feel is emptiness. Stomach curling and paralyzing loneliness.

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