Page 52 of Unruly Obsession
He throws his hands in the air. “Okay, Daddy, don’t need to get all territorial with me.”
Fuck this.
This is just a game to these people.
I shove past Lorenzo, but he grabs my wrist. “We’re not done here.”
I fling my arm out of his grasp. “No, we’re very done here. It’s funny how you tell me to have some backbone, to stand up against everyone, and yet you’re no different than any of them! If anything, you’re the worst! You can shove your duty right up your ass. Don’t even speak to me. We’re done!”
I walk to the kitchen, my head held high as I reach for the wine.
Fuck this and everyone involved.
I’ll go on this stupid date like a good girl, performing as expected, but I’ll be calling Ara tomorrow. I don’t care about the circumstances anymore. I need Lorenzo gone and to figure out what I want for myself.
Because this is not it.
21
LORENZO
Despite only being eight in the evening, the line to enter Dmitri's club, Lev, is already wrapped around the corner. Most of those lined up are wearing bold outfits and masks. I’m not a fan of wearing the fuckers, but considering it’s a themed club where everyone is expected to do so, I wear a simple black wolf-shaped one.
The bouncer at the front, wearing a bull mask, stops me. “Name?”
“Lorenzo Moretti.”
He doesn’t have a list to look at, but permits me inside.
The heavy beat of music oozes from the esteemed establishment. Stairs trail up three levels on either side, but most who enter never make it past the first floor. Bright lights flash stripes across the dance floor, and the booths along the walls are crammed with people.
Manhattan truly is the place that never sleeps. I wonder at what time some of these people began partying and when they’ll finish. Or maybe this is only a continuation from the night before, since most of them purchase drugs that are being circulated by the staff wearing bunny masks. They offer trays ofalcohol and suspicious bags for sale. This is the place one goes if they never want the party to end; concoctions of drugs and euphoria that will keep them awake, dancing, and fucking for days.
Heading toward the staircase on the right, I don’t need a guided tour of Dmitri’s club. I’ve been here plenty of times before. When I reach the second floor, I briefly scan the lit-up red rooms on either side. Admittance into these rooms is for VIPs who purchase the service of whomever might be inside, depending on their preferred theme. Two of the rooms are already blocked out, meaning they're occupied.
I can’t help but wonder what Lily might think if she knew places like this existed. I wonder if she’s been at Lev herself. If she has, she's certainly not ventured past the ground floor. The upper levels are where temptation and sin are catered to and encouraged.
This club is based on fantasy and animalistic pleasure. However, more often than not, those who enter vaguely know each other. In fact, most of them want to be known, though some prefer to slip under the radar so they can enjoy personal affairs, the mystery, or often the sexual fantasies they might not ordinarily get elsewhere.
The two bouncers who stand at the next staircase size me up but say nothing as I proceed to the third level, where business is conducted or private parties are held.
It’s different from when I first met Dmitri here, and he had women dressed in leather and rabbit masks all over him. Now they fixate on other powerful men partaking in the depravity on offer.
Two men have removed their masks, and I’m not surprised to see they’re well-known businessmen within the wealthy circle of Dmitri’s professional dealings.
Dmitri, however, sits in the center, his legs crossed, his horned skull-like mask resting on a table beside him. The third floor is the only one where masks are permitted to be removed. His blue gaze follows me expectantly as he nurses a drink that won't be finished by the end of the night. I imagine he holds one to feign a recovery he hasn’t yet truly reached since his brain surgery. I’ve heard he’s become less active with regard to his club; however, I think that has more to do with who’s waiting at home for him. It’s strange to know that even a playboy like Dmitri can settle for one woman.
A figure stumbles from the private bathroom on the left, still pulling up his fly, and walks straight into me.
“Sorry, my dude,” Vince says, looking up, his own mask already removed. His eyes are dilated, and he squints, as if trying to make out who I am. I make it easier by removing my mask.
Vince’s eyes widen. “My man!” He jumps joyfully. “I should’ve known you two were friends!” He points at Dmitri, shaking his finger as if he were holding out on some secret. I don’t know what similarities Dmitri and I could possibly have for him to conclude we’re friendly toward one another.
Then again, Vince is also shitfaced on fuck knows what, so in his world, perhaps everyone is good friends.
Vince staggers toward the table, drops to his knees at the edge, and snorts a line of coke. I briefly glance at Dmitri, who says nothing. The other two men cheer Vince on like he’s some kind of legend.
“Come on, do a line with me, man!” Vince looks to me, wide-eyed, his smile just as big.
