Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 101

CALESTINO

"1201 S. Bellmont Avenue. Penthouse 12B."

I read it out loud for the third time, like the words might rearrange themselves if I stared hard enough. My grip tightened around my phone until the screen creaked. My heart was trying to tear its way out of my ribs.

I killed the engine and stepped into the cool night air, pulling my cap low. The building rose in front of me—glass, steel, money. Cold and untouchable. Penthouse level.

Of course.

Lorenzo had always liked height. Liked looking down on people. The devil always did like the top floor.

Six years. That was how long it had been since he’d vanished without a word. No goodbye. No explanation. Just bruises blooming purple along my ribs and a hollow in my chest that never quite healed.

And now he was back—wearing another man’s name, another man’s face, pretending to be Philip White, professor, intellectual, ghost. As if I wouldn’t know him and why he was back.

I knew exactly why he’d come. Because no one knew that bastard than I did.

Revenge.

Against the man who’d erased him. Against Domenico Gravano—his own goddamn father.

The private elevator slid up in silence. Every floor felt like a countdown to my demise. When the doors opened, they opened straight into the penthouse. Without me having to mess with the password.

He was already there.

Lorenzo stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights cutting him into sharp angles. Black shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed like he hadn’t been expecting me for six years—only minutes.

"You took your time," he said mildly.

That voice.

I stayed near the elevator, hands jammed into my pockets so he wouldn’t see them shaking. "Cut the bullshit. Why are you back?"

A slow smile curved his mouth. "No hello?"

"You don’t get one."

He chuckled and turned, walking toward the bar. "Still rude. I always liked that about you."

"You were at Reina’s school today," I said, cutting straight to the point—even though that wasn’t the real reason I was here. I hated myself for hiding behind such a weak excuse.

Coward bastard!

"I know you being in that school wasn’t a coincidence. Why are you with her?"

The glass in his hand paused for half a second before he poured the drink anyway. "Was I?"

"Don’t play coy with me, Enzo." I stepped forward. "Why the fuck were you anywhere near her?"

He lifted the glass. Took a sip. Watched me over the rim like this was a game. Of course, everything was a game to the damn bastard.

"You’re seeing ghosts, Cal." He said with a smirk, stretching the drink in his hand for me to grab. "How about you have a drink and try to remember who you saw?"

I knocked the drink out of his hand. The glass shattered against the marble floor, liquor splashing across his shoes.

"Stop lying to me," I snapped. "I don’t care how many faces you’ve worn since you ran like a fucking pussy. You could come back as a bag of bones and I’d still know you."

His grin widened—pleased. Dangerous. "You always did see through me."

"Why. Reina." I asked, my clenching my jaw way too tightly.

He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His gaze dragged over me slowly, deliberately. "Relax. I was curious."

"About what?"

"About her." A pause. Then, casually cruel: "About whether you were fucking her too. Just like dear old Dad already did. Is her pussy really that good that the whole family are going crazy over her?"

The words hit like a slap. This bastard shouldn’t have known about Reina’s affair with Domenico. Fuck, this is fucking bad.

My jaw locked so hard it ached. "Don’t say shit about her. She’s Paolo’s wife."

"Ah." His head tilted. "Still sacred, then."

"Paolo is my best friend," I said through my teeth. "And Reina is innocent in all of this. Whatever vendetta you’re running, she’s off-limits. Leave her out of your bullshit."

"Innocent?" He laughed softly. "She married into this family. There’s no such thing."

"You nearly got her killed today." I barked! Fuck, I should have known those damn bastards that has been tailing Reina for the past few days were all his doings. He had been putting out a hit on Reina.

"That car was never going to hit her." He pushed off the counter and took a step closer. "I needed to see how fast you’d move."

"For her?"

"For them." His eyes flicked over my face. "You still protect the Gravanòs like they’re yours."

"They are my family."

His smile thinned. "Cute."

"You’re Domenico’s son," I said. "The one he erased. The one he pretends never existed."

"Pretends?" Lorenzo stopped an inch from me. "He paid to make sure I didn’t."

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"He threw me away when I was fourteen," he went on quietly. "Because I was the wrong woman’s son. Because I didn’t fit the picture he wanted." His voice stayed calm, but something vicious curled beneath it. "He made sure I grew up knowing exactly how little I was worth."

My chest tightened. "What did he do to you?"

His eyes flicked up to mine. Cold. Closed. "Does it matter?"

He stepped closer—too close. I could smell his cologne, the same one he used to wear when we’d sneak off to that motel on the edge of town, terrified and desperate and young.

"I’m not asking you to choose sides," he murmured. "Not yet."

His fingers brushed my jaw, light as a threat.

"You still belong to me, Calestino. Even while you play loyal lapdog to Paolo and his perfect little wife."

I caught his wrist before I could stop myself. His pulse jumped under my fingers.

"I’m loyal to Paolo," I said. "And Domenico—"

"—is a wicked bastard," he cut in softly. "And you know it."

His hand slid to the back of my neck, thumb pressing just hard enough to make my breath hitch. My body remembered him instantly. Every touch. Every night we’d spent tangled up and terrified of being found out.

"I’d do anything for you," I admitted, the truth tasting like blood. "But I won’t help you destroy Paolo. You’ve already gotten your revenge on him, once, so leave him and his wife out of it. That boy has had enough."

Lorenzo’s laugh was quiet. Almost sad. "Paolo is soft. He got the name. The wife. The life I was supposed to have."

He leaned in, his mouth brushing the corner of mine—barely there. Ruinous.

"But you," he whispered. "You were always mine. And you will be a good boy and help me out like you have always done because I own you."

I closed my eyes.

Loyalty. Duty. Family. All of it warred with the man in front of me—the boy who’d once looked at me like I was the only safe thing he had.

When I opened them again, he was watching me like he already knew the answer.

"Tell me what you need," I said, my voice breaking.

His smile was slow. Victorious. Heartbreaking.

"First," he murmured, fingers tightening at my neck, "kiss me like you missed me."

I hesitated one last second.

Then I gave in.

I always did. Because fuck, I missed him so much. I fucking do.