Page 59 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
It's the kind of place built to drown noise, not amplify it.
The girl they send to me is beautiful.
Pale skin, soft mouth, long legs that swing over my lap like she’s done this a hundred times.
She presses against me with an eager rhythm, her hands sliding under my shirt, her voice a whisper in my ear as she offers comfort I’m supposed to want.
But I don’t feel anything.
Not the tight dress she shrugs off, not the perfume she’s bathed in, not the way her hands explore my chest like she’s trying to unlock something.
I close my eyes and try to summon desire the way I used to.
There’s only static.
It’s not her fault.
She’s doing everything right.
But I feel like I’ve been gutted, like whatever part of me used to enjoy this kind of night has dried up into ash.
I shove away from the couch and reach for my shirt.
She tries to follow me, confused, embarrassed, maybe.
"Don’t take it personally," I say, while waving her off.
I toss her more cash than she deserves and walk out before I start questioning what the hell is wrong with me.
Of course, I know what’s wrong.
I told the mother of my girls to get an abortion, and she got upset and ran.
And I’m actually mad about it.
It makes no sense, because she was well within her rights to do what she did.
But here I am, wishing she’d have tried me anyway.
Wishing she’d have realized that maybe I said what I did because I was afraid of the fallout.
How could someone like me ever raise sane kids?
The drive back to the estate is quiet.
No music.
No calls.
The sun has barely slipped beneath the horizon when I step out of the car.
Evening stretches long across the estate, soft and burnished gold, the air still warm from the heat that baked the grounds all day.
The guards at the gate let me in with a nod, and I pass through the marble halls without saying a word to anyone.
The corridor leading to the south wing is unfamiliar.
I have never had reason to come this way before.
