Surrendering to the Don's Dark Desires - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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The bass vibrates deep in my bones as I lean against Venom's floor-to-ceiling window. Below, the dance floor pulses with bodies moving in perfect sync—some tangled together, others lost in their own private rhythms. Just another Wednesday night at one of our many Italian clubs.
A throaty moan cuts through the music. I turn to see Lorenzo sprawled across a velvet couch, fingers knotted in a brunette's hair as she works between his thighs. His smirk says he's enjoying every damn second.
Across from him, Alessandro lounges in a leather chair with a blonde draped over his lap. His palm cracks against her ass, making her arch into him. Two other women flank him—one feeding her breast to his hungry mouth while the other nips at his ear. The performance would be convincing if not for the way she throws her head back like a bad porno.
My gaze shifts to Raphael, locked in a sloppy three-way kiss with a barely dressed couple. His hand pumps the man's length while the woman whimpers into their messy embrace. When he grabs her throat and yanks her closer, I look away.
Marco stands rigid by the door, ever the sentinel. I weave through the tangle of limbs to reach him.
"Where's Matteo?"
"Haven't seen him since we got here," Marco says, nodding toward the private rooms below. "Going all out tonight."
I raise a brow. Matteo's exhibitionist streak is no secret, but he's never indulged it in front of family before.
"Still pissed about that rat's accusation?"
"Furious," Marco confirms.
"Make sure his mother wants for nothing."
I turn to leave when Marco clears his throat. "Boss... why do you think he blamed Matteo specifically?"
I shrug. "Doesn't matter. The bastard's dead." I fix him with a look. "Don't waste energy on it."
He nods sharply. "I'll be outside if you need me."
Alone again, I move to the observation window. The glass gives a perfect view of the club—and the private chamber below, where Matteo stands shirtless, leather pants clinging to his frame. A woman hangs suspended from the ceiling, wrists bound, legs forced apart by a steel bar.
The crack of his whip sends a jolt through me. Red blooms across her pale skin as he delivers four precise strikes. When he pauses to knead the abused flesh, whispering something that makes her shiver, I realize this isn't just playacting. The raw intensity between them is... unsettling.
He tosses the whip aside, frees himself, and sheathes inside her with one brutal thrust. My cock twitches—exactly the reaction this display is meant to provoke. But what surprises me is the genuine connection between them.
I knew Matteo played in these circles, but not how deep he was in it.
My little brother has layers I've never peeled back.
When he first joined me in LA after our father's death, he was already changed. That guilt still claws at me—I escaped first, left them to endure Don Vittorio's cruelty. Did those months apart break something in Matteo we can't fix?
He deflects whenever I try to discuss it. Maybe it's time I stopped letting him.
Below, Matteo's hips piston relentlessly. He pinches her nipple, then strokes her clit until she's thrashing against her restraints. When she strains to kiss him, he pulls back just enough to make her chase his lips. The sharp smack he delivers to her sex makes her convulse—and that's my cue to look away.
Christ. Now I'm hard as steel.
The door creaks open. A woman steps in—raven hair cascading past her waist, emerald dress hugging every curve. Our eyes lock as she strides toward me.
A throaty moan cuts through the music. I turn to see Lorenzo sprawled across a velvet couch, fingers knotted in a brunette's hair as she works between his thighs. His smirk says he's enjoying every damn second.
Across from him, Alessandro lounges in a leather chair with a blonde draped over his lap. His palm cracks against her ass, making her arch into him. Two other women flank him—one feeding her breast to his hungry mouth while the other nips at his ear. The performance would be convincing if not for the way she throws her head back like a bad porno.
My gaze shifts to Raphael, locked in a sloppy three-way kiss with a barely dressed couple. His hand pumps the man's length while the woman whimpers into their messy embrace. When he grabs her throat and yanks her closer, I look away.
Marco stands rigid by the door, ever the sentinel. I weave through the tangle of limbs to reach him.
"Where's Matteo?"
"Haven't seen him since we got here," Marco says, nodding toward the private rooms below. "Going all out tonight."
I raise a brow. Matteo's exhibitionist streak is no secret, but he's never indulged it in front of family before.
"Still pissed about that rat's accusation?"
"Furious," Marco confirms.
"Make sure his mother wants for nothing."
I turn to leave when Marco clears his throat. "Boss... why do you think he blamed Matteo specifically?"
I shrug. "Doesn't matter. The bastard's dead." I fix him with a look. "Don't waste energy on it."
He nods sharply. "I'll be outside if you need me."
Alone again, I move to the observation window. The glass gives a perfect view of the club—and the private chamber below, where Matteo stands shirtless, leather pants clinging to his frame. A woman hangs suspended from the ceiling, wrists bound, legs forced apart by a steel bar.
The crack of his whip sends a jolt through me. Red blooms across her pale skin as he delivers four precise strikes. When he pauses to knead the abused flesh, whispering something that makes her shiver, I realize this isn't just playacting. The raw intensity between them is... unsettling.
He tosses the whip aside, frees himself, and sheathes inside her with one brutal thrust. My cock twitches—exactly the reaction this display is meant to provoke. But what surprises me is the genuine connection between them.
I knew Matteo played in these circles, but not how deep he was in it.
My little brother has layers I've never peeled back.
When he first joined me in LA after our father's death, he was already changed. That guilt still claws at me—I escaped first, left them to endure Don Vittorio's cruelty. Did those months apart break something in Matteo we can't fix?
He deflects whenever I try to discuss it. Maybe it's time I stopped letting him.
Below, Matteo's hips piston relentlessly. He pinches her nipple, then strokes her clit until she's thrashing against her restraints. When she strains to kiss him, he pulls back just enough to make her chase his lips. The sharp smack he delivers to her sex makes her convulse—and that's my cue to look away.
Christ. Now I'm hard as steel.
The door creaks open. A woman steps in—raven hair cascading past her waist, emerald dress hugging every curve. Our eyes lock as she strides toward me.
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