Seduction. The art of charming the ladies—and gents. Theyll be in a state of compulsion; unable to help themselves from worshiping me.

Ordinary people need to do several things to seduce others. But me? I simply exist and they fall right at my feet. Call me obnoxious, but Im merely stating facts.

However, theres no ”art ” involved in what happened. I blow out an exhausted sigh as I push myself out of bed, a headache already looming at the base of my skull from the amount of whiskey I inhaled last night, in the hopes of getting past my birthday with the least amount of self-loathing possible.

Needless to say, I didn plan on waking up in bed with my former receptionist at The Manor. Former, as in, her last shift ended last night.

This woman has been forward—too forward—about her attraction to me throughout her employment for the last two years in my club. But Ive made it clear to her that I wasn interested.

With a lapse of judgment and a momentary alcohol-and-cannabis-induced brain, I was too weak to refuse her advancements. Not that I fought hard. She is hot. But shes not my type. Shes too easy.

I love women, but I **ing hate easy.

I grab the striped black pure mulberry silk robe from the nearby chair and put it on me, not caring to tie it close around my waist and letting it flow luxuriously in the air as I move. I walk out of the room, my bare torso and Versace briefs-covered dick on display.

As I make my way to the stairs, I nearly trip over her heels in the hallway. I live in a two-floor penthouse across Central Park. I have the best view in the city. One that makes me smile smugly every time I glance out the window.

Not this morning, though. Groaning, I massage my temple while I head over to the kitchen downstairs. Just how much did I drink last night?

My parched throat is relieved as I guzzle two glasses of icy water, the cold liquid filling the cracks in my dry mouth. I catch sight of the time on the stove. Its almost eleven in the morning. I wonder if my nephew is already up and if he wants to grab some greasy breakfast at the diner with me. He was just as wasted as I was last night. I chuckle at the reminder of the epic party I hosted for my twenty-seventh birthday.

Im a Leo, baby. Not that I give any importance to Zodiacs. I think they
e a bunch of crap for people who want to rely on the stars to appease themselves, stroke their ego, and justify their actions. Its the women who tell me Im very much a Leo. Whatever the ** that means. I once read a site about it out of curiosity and it says all the bullshit any ”Leo ” would want to hear–and describes most of the men I know who aren born under the Leo sign.

The sound of the elevators chime snaps me out of my trance and causes my head to whip in that direction. I wonder who it could be. Perhaps my nephew decided he wants food too. At least I don have to drag his ass out of his place in the next block. Im about to call out to him when I notice something.

There are only a few people Ive given access to my place without ringing me first, so I immediately know whos coming. The sound of familiar footsteps, along with the thump of a cane, make me gulp. That definitely does not sound like him. Two people are coming my way, but only one makes me straighten my spine.

”Giovanni, ” my father calls as he appears in my living room. The great Severino De Luca, Don of New Yorks Italian mafia crime family.

Wearing a dark gray tweed suit, he looks every bit of an Italian gangster, complete with a fedora hat, a clean-shaven jaw, and a cane in his right hand. His eyes are gray, one of the De Luca features that I didn inherit; mine are green. Hes in his late eighties. An old fart, I know. He got my mother pregnant when he was sixty. Go, Dad.

Next to him is my older brother, Alessandro, the heir to my fathers throne in New York. Hes a big man and looks almost like my father, but hes got a full beard. The elders are sticklers to the rules–always keeping their faces shaved. But my brother thinks beards give character. Hes almost as tall as me—though he thinks we
e the same height. Im half an inch taller. Yes, that matters.

”Come stai, papà? ” (How are you, dad?) I kiss both his cheeks.

He merely grunts in response with a serious stare—one that makes all his capos kneel before him in fear. I don show the same reaction despite the slight quivering in my stomach. I greet my brother the same way and he stifles a chuckle. Circling my arm around my fathers shoulder, I guide him toward the armchair across the sectional. He can walk by himself, but with his age, I don want him to stretch a muscle or something.

”You missed the board meeting this morning, Giovanni, ” my father chastises in Italian as he lowers himself on the chair, adding, ”again. ”

I blink, shifting my gaze to my brother, trying to scroll through my memory, and then mumble a curse. SVR Corp is my familys front legitimate business and my father is the chairman. I have a seat on the board, and I just missed this mornings meeting.

”Cazzo. ” (Shit) ”I forgot about it, papa. My apologies. ” I rub my face with both my hands in frustration.

He grunts again. Two grunts today and its only been five minutes since he arrived. Thats not good.

Sandro takes a seat on the sofa across from our father. ”For Christs sake put on some pants. ” He tosses a throw pillow at me and I kick it back to him.

Without shame, I open my arms, causing the robe to open wider in front of my brother—just to ** with him. ”Its my house. And in my house, clothing is optional. ”

He makes a disgusted face and my grin grows wi

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