Just a Bit Bossy (Straight Guys 12)

The asshole caught his fist in a tight grip. “You’re forgetting yourself,” he said, his voice very soft. “I’m still your boss.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “I’ll start treating you like my boss when you stop putting your body parts in my mouth.” He huffed. “I’m serious, Raffaele. I didn’t sign up for this. You may not be scared, but I am, okay?”

The mocking glint was gone from Ferrara’s eyes, his expression becoming serious. He held Nate’s gaze steadily as he said, “I brought you here. I will not let anything happen to you.”

Nate should have laughed. Ferrara couldn’t guarantee that at all. But there was something about this man, about his confidence, his arrogance, that was so damn reassuring. Fuck, he found his horrible boss’s arrogance reassuring. He needed help, pronto.

“Good,” Nate said, trying to shake off the feeling. “Because if I get a bullet in my gut because of you, I’m going to turn into a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life. Sir.”

Ferrara’s lips twitched. “That would be dreadful,” he said, before closing the distance between them and fitting their mouths together.

Ugh, not this again.

Nate absolutely detested the way his brain instantly became fuzzy and disoriented, his world narrowing to Ferrara’s hot, domineering mouth that seemed to suck out all of his willpower. He made a feeble attempt to tear his mouth away, but his lips didn’t listen to the command from his brain at all, clinging to Ferrara’s and parting for his tongue. It was fucking horrible.

He whined when Ferrara finally released his mouth. He glared at him dazedly, rubbing his sensitive lips with the back of his hand. “What was that for?” he hissed. “There’s no one here.”

The bastard didn’t look fazed at all. “Demidov and Whitford will expect you to look well kissed.” And then he laid his hand on Nate’s nape and steered him back to the breakfast room.

And Nate went.

Chapter 18

As he sat across from Roman Demidov in the man’s office, Raffaele felt more annoyed than anything else. He’d left his old life behind for a reason. He didn’t enjoy negotiations like this.

He’d always been a good negotiator. He was good at making people bend to his will. It was a quality that made him a good businessman. But these weren’t just business negotiations. The stakes were much higher here.

It had been over a decade since he’d had to deal with men like Demidov—dangerous, unbending, and unpredictable.

It didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to.

Raffaele let the silence fall, watching Demidov patiently and keeping his expression neutral. The Russian had the reputation of a ruthless man, but that didn’t worry him. He’d been surrounded by men like this since before he could walk. In many ways, their backgrounds were similar, and if it was true that Demidov wanted to leave that part of his life behind, then they really had a lot more in common with each other. But a leopard never changed its spots, even if it wanted to pretend to be a harmless cat. Raffaele didn’t delude himself into thinking that this man wasn’t dangerous or wouldn’t use him for his own gain if he let him.

The silence stretched.

Finally, Demidov sighed, his blue eyes steady on him. “I think it’s time we speak candidly,” he said.

Raffaele just gave a nod. They had been skirting around the subject for the past few days, conversing only in the presence of others about the business deal Demidov was suggesting—one that had nothing to do with the real reason he was here. It was well past time for them to speak candidly. Raffaele had had the time to evaluate Demidov, and Demidov had likely done the same.

“I want you to convince your father to leave me alone,” Demidov finally said, his tone as cold as his gaze. “I have made it clear to him that I’m done doing that sort of business, but he’s—dissatisfied and insists that I’m breaking our deal, leaving him without networks in Russia, Eastern Europe, and Central Asia.”

“And he can’t let it go if he doesn’t want to look weak,” Raffaele said, suppressing a sigh. Marco’s pride had always been one of his greatest flaws.

Demidov nodded, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Frankly, it’s something I can handle myself if push comes to shove, but I’ve been careful to keep my hands clean while I dealt with my other associates, and this is the last one. I’d like to wrap it up without unnecessary… complications. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

Raffaele did, somewhat surprised but careful not to show it. So it was true that Demidov wanted to distance himself from his criminal roots. This issue with the Sicilian Mafia was something that could be resolved by hiring a few talented hitmen, but Demidov was clearly unwilling to risk it, since he wanted to become an upstanding citizen. Raffaele idly wondered what had motivated this man to do it. He doubted Demidov had had a sudden change of heart. Men like him generally didn’t. Whatever his motives were, they were likely selfish. Just like his own had been.