Page 16 of Duke of Ruin

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to make sure Sasha Moretti gets home safely. The shipment won’t arrive until midnight. I’ve assigned you a team to make sure it’s all unloaded quickly,” Gianni continues.

“Why do I need to be there?” I ask. The manual labor is usually handled by the more distant relatives.

“Two reasons,” my father answers for him. “One, we want you to become recognizable to the dockworkers and security, like your cousins are.” My father trains his gaze on me. “And two, some of these shipments have been turning up a little…light, and we want to know why.”

“Do you have an idea of what I should be looking out for?” I ask. Uncle Gianni finally gestures for me to take a seat.

“Maybe,” he says as I sit in a chair identical to the one my father is occupying.

The next half hour is spent covering logistics and theories about who might be stealing our product. The Carbones have figured out a way to smuggle in rare-earth metals so that the Russians can avoid tariffs and customs. Often there are even less legal things in the containers: pharmaceuticals, weapons, occasionally even immigrants. Though I’m told that these women come to the United States by choice, I can’t help but wonder how much of a choice they really have.

When I’m finally able to leave, I can’t get my emotions under control. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to have anything to do with any of this, which is something I’ve never felt before. This feeling is simply not acceptable as a Carbone. I have a hundred cousins and second cousins and other extended relatives who would literally kill to be in my position. So why am I so bent over this? I finally glance at my phone, and my heart sinks even more. Of course the messages weren’t from Noah. It was Reese asking about something for the frat. I shake my head and drive to my secret apartment. It’ll be a good place to hide for a while.

* * *

The next evening I’m clenching my teeth just to get through dinner at Moretti’s. Sasha’s not a horrible person, but she absolutely buys into her lifestyle. She carries herself like she’s some sort of royalty, and I know I’m a giant hypocrite for judging her for it. But I don’t care. She has no right to act like she’s doing me a favor by showing up for this “date” I never wanted.

Apparently, she has plenty of clout among the Morettis. All of the wait staff bend to her demands and treat her with deference. I can’t help but wonder if that’s what Noah sees when he’s with me. If so, it’s not nearly as impressive as I once thought. I check my phone for about the three-thousandth time tonight. I still haven’t heard from him.

As the evening wears on, she finishes a bottle of expensive Merlot, which only makes her even more obnoxious. As ten o’clock approaches, I try to wrap up the night, but she makes it difficult.

“Why don’t we take this back to my apartment?” she asks me as she bats her lashes.

“Sorry, Sasha, I have business to attend to tonight,” I say. She leans against me as we walk toward the door.

“Are you really turning down an overnight invitation from Sasha Moretti?” she asks. I may be an arrogant ass sometimes, but at least I never talk about myself in the third person. I struggle not to roll my eyes.

“Maybe another time, yeah?” I say as I usher her into the passenger seat of my car.

“Well, I might just have to call someone else, then,” she says in a weirdly playful manner. Does she really expect me to be jealous? She pulls out her phone and wags it at me, but I just close her door. Once I reach the other side of the car, she’s pouting in the seat with her arms folded.

“Sasha, I told you, I have family business tonight,” I say, fighting to keep my composure.

“Yeah, whatever, family.” She pouts and looks pointedly out her window. I don’t respond as I start driving toward her apartment. She only lives a couple blocks away from Noah, though the apartment her family rents for her is much bigger. We pull up to her building and I put the Bentley in park.

Being a gentleman is expected of me, and I can’t imagine the repercussions of allowingSasha Morettito walk across the parking lot alone, so I get out and walk around to open her door. She doesn’t look at me as we climb the outside stairs to her apartment.

“Goodnight, Sasha,” I say, and turn away from her.

“Wait,” she says, fumbling with her keys.

I make the mistake of turning back to her. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. It’s wet and drunk and sloppy and it takes all I have not to shove her through the door. She tries to shove her tongue into my mouth, but I manage to disentangle myself before she can take it any further.

“I have to go, Sasha,” I say firmly, pushing her arms back down to her sides.

“Of course you do,” she says, her eyes full of venom. “I’ve heard you’re not even interested in women and nothing I have seen tonight counteracts that rumor.”

My eyes tighten, but I let it slide.

“You probably can’t even get it up for me, anyway,” she says as she leans against her door. I can’t tell if this is supposed to be some sort of challenge or what. Anger mixed with revulsion flares through me, and I press her into her door. Her eyes grow wide for an instant, but then she grabs my coat and pulls me against her. She kisses me again, and before I can react she shoves her hand down the front of my pants. My cock hardens at the touch, but I pull away from her.

She drags her eyes up and down my body and pulls her bottom lip through her teeth as her eyes come to rest on the bulge in my pants. “Maybe I’m wrong,” she says with a grin, and tries to pull me closer to her again. I pull back and press her shoulders against her door.

“I have to go,” I say. My traitorous body responds to the proximity, and I immediately flash back to Noah shoving me against a door like this. I shove the thoughts out of my mind, though my body responds and of course, Sasha notices.

“You’ll be back,” Sasha says with a wink, and turns to open her door. Once it’s shut behind her, I make my way back to my car. My dick is still pressing against my pants because no matter how hard I try to shut it down, I keep thinking about Noah and how he feels when he’s inside me. How it feels to wrap my lips around his cock. How hard he makes me come when he demands I call out his name.

Against my better judgment, I turn toward his apartment. He hasn’t tried to contact me and I have to get to the docks, but I have to see him. I have to talk to him. I pull up to his building and get out of my car. The Bentley is quite conspicuous here, but I don’t care right now. I press the call button for his apartment, but he doesn’t answer. His car, a very dull Toyota Camry, is in its space, which means he must be home. I press the button again. Nothing. I shake my head and take a step back to look up at his window.

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