Page 78 of Use Me, Daddy

“Interesting,” I said, my jaw tightening. “What else?”

“His cash flow is impressive, but the source is questionable. Some of it comes from legitimate dealings, but there’s a chunk that’s… untraceable. Likely laundering through his art purchases.”

Of course. Santini was a player. A careful one, but a player, nonetheless.

“Do you have his contact details?” I asked.

Ivan hesitated. “I do, but Aleksei, this isn’t someone you approach without a plan. If he’s working with the Orlovs, even indirectly?—”

“I’m aware,” I cut him off. “Send me the information.”

Moments later, my phone buzzed with a message from Ivan, containing everything I needed to reach Santini. I stared at the screen, my mind already working through the angles.

I typed the number into the phone and hit send, pressing it to my ear as I listened to it ring. When the line finally clicked, a smooth, accented voice greeted me.

“Santini.”

“Leonardo,” I said, my tone measured and calm. “This is Aleksei Morozov. I believe you know who I am.”

There was a brief pause, and I could almost hear the smirk forming on the other end of the line. “Ah, Morozov. Yes, your reputation precedes you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I understand you have an eye for art,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Particularly pieces with… certain histories.”

“You understand correctly,” he replied. “Though I’m curious as to why a man like you would contact me directly.”

“I like to keep my business personal, especially when it involves high-value clients,” I said, keeping my tone polite but firm. “I have a few pieces that might interest you. Rare, exclusive, and available only to those who appreciate their true worth.”

“Interesting,” Santini said thoughtfully. “And what makes you think I’d be inclined to do business with you?”

I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “Because we both know the value of discretion, Mr. Santini. And because I don’t believe you’d pass up an opportunity to acquire something truly one of a kind.”

There was a long silence, and then a low chuckle. “You’re bold, Morozov. I like that. Very well. Send me the details, and I’ll consider it.”

“I’ll have them to you within the hour,” I said. “But understand this—if we’re to do business, it will be on my terms. No middlemen. No interference.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I look forward to seeing what you have to offer.”

The line went dead, and I set the phone down, my jaw tightening as I considered the conversation. Santini was as intelligent as I expected—charming, calculated, and dangerous. But I wasn’t a man who played games without knowing how to win.

I rose from my chair, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as I headed back to the bedroom.

Amy was exactly where I’d left her, stretched out on the bed, her wrists and ankles bound with silk rope. Her head lolled toward me as I entered, her blue-gray eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and defiance. She was breathtaking, her skin flushed, and her lips parted slightly as if she’d been holding her breath.

“You didn’t forget about me, did you?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm, though I could hear the slight tremor beneath it. Her desperation was written all over her face.

She was ready for her first punishment fucking.

“Not for a second,” I replied, my voice low as I approached the bed.

Her gaze flickered to my hands, searching for something—another punishment, perhaps—but I kept them by my sides as I stood over her. The sight of her, tied and vulnerable, stirred something deep inside me, something possessive and primal.

“How long was I gone?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, my fingers trailing lightly along her thigh.

“Too long,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

“I spoke to Santini,” I said, leaning down so my face was inches from hers. “Do you want to know what I learned?”

Her eyes searched mine. “What?”

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