Original Sins

Georgiou.

Voyeur: ‘A person who gains sexual pleasure from watching others when they are naked or engaged in sexual activity.’

That definition is undoubtedly me and I never, ever get tired of watching people have sex.

It goes deeper than a mere fetish or being like some of these perverted fucktards that travel in my circles.

There’s something primal and animalistic in it that has called to me for as long as I remember.

It also means I also identify with the other aspects of voyeurism where I take pleasure in seeing the pain or distress of others. Most preferably when my woman is either chained to my bed or a St. Andrews cross with my dick buried deep inside her.

When you’re like me, it’s so much better when you find others who are the same.

That explains my best friend Henry Dubois and why we’re so close, close enough that we like to share everything, even women.

That also explains why I’m closer to my younger cousins, close enough that I’m willing to part with everything in my trust fund to start my own empire with them built on dark fantasies.

It’s Friday night, and Henry and I are doing what we do every week.

We’re at Club Ecstasy watching people fucking on the sidelines while we discuss our business plans for the week ahead.

Club Ecstasy is a sex club that attracts anybody and everybody. The place has been going since the 1960s and is based in one of the warehouses on the other side of the docks.

We’ve been coming here since we were in high school and far too young to even know about places like this. Of course, at the time, we weren’t allowed inside, but that didn’t stop us from climbing the roof and seeing all the action from there.

This year makes fifteen years that the two of us have been patrons to the dark side in one way or another.

The structure of the club isn’t that great, but people aren’t coming here for that.

Like any normal club, there’s a dance floor, a bar, and a seated area at the end of the floor. The sidelines are where all the action is. Right now, there’s every sort of pairing in the open cubicles around us—men with women, men with men, women with women, and then multiples, my personal favorite.

Just in case you can’t see the sidelines, the club has two raised platforms in the center of the dancefloor for those who like the risqué.

One platform has a metal St. Andrews Cross for those who love BDSM, and the other platform has an exhibitionist box. Both have couples you can watch, and this is what I’m currently watching as I sip on my glass of whiskey.

The box has a new couple every night, and people book it in one-hour slots. To keep the fantasy fresh, the rule is no one knows each other.

So the couple in the box now who are fucking like they can’t get enough of each other met fifteen minutes ago.

No one would ever think that from the way the muscular marine-type guy has the petite blonde, who looks like a dainty ballerina, pressed up against the wall of the glass box while he hammers into her from behind.

The art behind not knowing each other is seeing how people react on that first time they take each other.

People like me love anything like that.

I’m sure those like me will miss it too when it’s all gone in a few week. Three weeks to be exact.

The public thinks it’s because the owner died of a heart attack, and the family is selling up because they couldn’t bear to carry on a business dream without him.

We know differently. Or rather, I knew and was able to pass on the intel to Henry.

I’m one of the eldest sons in the Giordano crime family. When you come from a family like mine, you know things others don’t.

Things like the truth.

The truth about this place is the owner, Brian Caruso, got a hit on him after killing the brother of one of Chicago’s nastiest criminals, who also happens to be property hungry.

Brian was shot dead while he had his evening meal with his wife. She, in turn, was forced to give over the business and herself in exchange for her life.

In three weeks the place will be torn down and a new car park built. That will be it for Club Ecstasy, and decades of fantasy gone down the drain.

Tonight is going to be the count down and one of our last nights here.

It will also herald the start of big changes in our lives and put certain plans in motion.

Today was also the last Friday Henry worked at my family’s shipping company, Giordano Inc. Both of us have worked there as accountants. Me for ten years and him for five.

He previously worked for his family’s property development company, but he left after a big bust-up with his father.

A month ago, he was summoned back after his grandfather died. His grandfather left the business to him and his father in equal parts. It was something neither expected.

That same thing pushed me to take a look at my life.

I realized I wanted more than to live the playboy dream in my family’s legacy. I also realized it was time to do something more.

Henry and I are closer than I am to my own brother, but there’s going to be a day when we both have to go with the flow of life. It nearly happened when I almost got married. The second time it could have happened was when he nearly got drafted to the NFL. Neither happened and while the two of us still live in our bachelor pad in the city, it’s time to change things up.

I, for one, can’t live the rest of my life as a tool my father vicariously uses to gain success he can claim because I’m his son.

The idea of my something more hit me with the closure of this place. I want to set up my own empire of dark fantasies, and I want my cousins on board because they are just as sex-crazed as me.

Ricco Santorini is the motherfucker Brian had the unfortunate misfortune of pissing off. He’s a guy I’ll have my very own problems with because I have my eye on a building he wants too. We’re perhaps the only two fuckers in Chicago who want it, and I’m probably an idiot for poking a beast who would go to war with me and mine over a piece of land.

But I’m doing it anyway.

“You’d better do better than this,” Henry smirks, setting his wine glass down as the couple in the exhibitionist box change positions.

“I plan to. I’m meeting with my cousins in a few weeks to take the next step.”

Henry smiles. “Sounds like you actually have a plan in motion.”

“I do.”

When he looks back at me, I note the caution in his eyes. I know just from that, he’s nervous about going back in business with his father.

“Would it be weird if I said I’m not looking forward to next week?” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark blond mane of hair.

“No. I was waiting for you to say that.”

“I haven’t spoken to my father in five years. He didn’t even speak to me at the funeral.”

“You know he’ll speak to you because of the type of money you’ll be bringing in.”

“And that’s what worries me. I never wanted it to come to this, but it has, and now I have to deal with it.”

I bite the inside of my lip. His worries are understandable.

Henry’s family is not like mine. They’re of the vanilla variety with deep-rooted Christian beliefs. So when his father found out Henry was sleeping with his clients and had been doing so well before his intern days, that was an automatic strike for life. When one of their bigger clients got upset about it and took it to the media, it crippled their company.

The only reason his father isn’t disputing his return and hasn’t hired any lawyers who will help him revoke the terms of the will is because Henry secured a multimillion-dollar contract with Donatello Ricci, one of the most powerful and wealthiest men in Chicago. The man owns a private bank we all benefit from and property galore. He’s one of the few mobsters in Illinois who has made it rich by doing legit work to mask his other activities.

Most of us are rich because he uses our services. He’s a massive investor at Giordanos Inc. and a longtime friend of my father and uncle.

When he heard Henry was partnering with his father at their company, he literally handed over the contract to develop some new luxury apartments in Chicago and Italy. He also contracted them to renovate a resort on the east coast of Chicago that has been in his family for a hundred years.

In the same breath, he made me head accountant of the same business venture. Both of us are signing contracts tomorrow at his house. The fact that we’re going to his home symbolizes how much trust and respect the man has for us.

“Henry, you can’t worry about your father. Remember why you’re going back.” He nods. “My grandfather wanted me there, and he didn’t care what I did.”

“Exactly, so your old man will just have to get over his fucking grief. The same as you. I get that he was embarrassed by what you did, but fuck, Henry, it’s not like you didn’t see the error in your ways and apologize for what you did.”

Again he nods because he knows I’m right. “But I was young and dumb and should have kept my dick in my pants.”

“Many of us can say the same thing. At least now you know better.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. I just hate being anywhere I can’t stand. I’ll get over my grief and do it, though.”

He needs to.

The two of us have always had opposite problems with our fathers. While he always had to work overtime to prove himself, mine praised me in excess and cost me my relationship with my younger brother, Christian.

Both are problems that could end in disaster, but both are problems we need to shove to the back of fucking beyond because we’re long past being boys.

I get that Henry wants things to be okay between him and his father. I want the same, too, even though I appear not to care what my father thinks.

I definitely know my father won’t be happy when he finds out about my new business venture.

Henry pulls his phone from his back pocket, and a wicked smile brightens his face. He almost looks like his old self.

He taps the home screen and shows me an email from the Decadent Auction.

I smile when I see it. I would have gotten the same email too. I just haven’t looked in my inbox yet.

The Decadent Auction is where you buy women. This one is the golden one which means you can buy yourself a virgin and own her body for a month.

“Let’s fucking do this. I’ll need it by then. How about we go halves?”

“Buy a girl for a month?”

He nods vigorously.

We haven’t done that in a while. Both of us have been too busy. We also haven’t shared a girl in a while either.

That was both our faults, maybe mostly mine. Part of me was still hung up on Priscilla, and he only broke up with Jenna’s cheating ass three months ago.

Both were women neither of us shared, and it wasn’t because we didn’t want to. I think it was more about the women themselves than anything to do with us.

The dynamics have to be right, and for us, it’s something that naturally happens.

Admittedly, I wouldn’t have wanted Jenna in any shape or form. She was an example of the differences between us. Any woman I’m with would be scared as fuck to cheat on me, and I doubt any guy would be mad enough to think he could take my girl.

Priscilla was an anomaly that I knew wasn’t going to work right off the bat because we both wanted different things, but I pursued her anyway. In the end, it was me who let her go. I wasn’t made to, like in Henry’s situation.

He waves the phone in front of my face and nods again. “Georgiou, why are you even considering it? It’s a virgin auction. You like virgins.”

“I do. It’s just going to be crazy busy for both of us.”

“Which is exactly why we should do it. Fuck knows I’ll need the distraction when the time comes. And you have no excuse.”

A virgin to teach and train how to please us sounds like food for my soul.

“Come on, Georgiou. Don’t fucking leave me in suspense. I’ll sweeten the deal. You get to take her virginity. I took the last two.”

The man knows how to entice me. “Okay, let’s do it.”

As he registers our attendance, I check the date of the auction. It’s in a month's time, and dare I say, I’ll probably need something like that by then too.

Who knows what shit I’ll be stirring by going up against Ricco.

I don’t care, though. I’m a man who always gets what he wants.

This will be no different and the beginning of my journey to create my club.

The Dark Odyssey.

Evie.

It’s my birthday today.

Today I turn eighteen years old. An age of sentiment every woman should remember.

So, I shouldn’t feel like this—unhinged and unbalanced, like every fiber of my being might rip apart and disintegrate.

I always feel this way when something’s about to change in my life.

The ominous feeling started this morning when Dad told me we’d be having dinner with a special guest tonight at eight.

He’d greeted me with a bunch of roses and my birthday present—a beautifully designed handmade dress.

When he handed me the present, a look of sadness flickered in his eyes. That was what piqued my attention.

My father is the type of man who carries himself in a way that renders you unable to see through his thick skin and stony gaze. But he’s different with me. Some might call it gentler in a way and not so abrasive. That's why I can usually figure him out.

It’s when I can’t that I worry.

I’ve been tense all day and even opted out of lunch with my cousin, Cordelia, the one person Dad allows me as much free time with.

Some might call me the worrier, but the last time this feeling came to screw with me, my older brother, Dante, was killed.

The time before that, Mom took her last breath after years of battling leukemia.

At least after Mom’s death, I knew what was coming.

I was twelve years old, and Dad didn’t know what to do with me, so he sent me to Switzerland to that horrible boarding school I christened Hell.

St. Jude’s was run by a convent, but all sorts of debauchery happened there.

Apart from the one friend I had who was from England, no one spoke to me because they were afraid to.

Out of principle and for protection, people in the outside world don’t know my real name, but at school, they knew who I was. They knew I was the daughter of Donatello Ricci. One of the most powerful men in Chicago with near enough the same net worth as the Bransons. The only difference being, my family has ties to the Sicilian mafia.

I left St. Jude’s after my brother’s death.

Or maybe I should say I never went back.

My father kept me in Chicago, opted to send me to a private school, and became more overprotective than he already was.

That's why today my choices of celebration for my eighteenth birthday were lunch with my cousin or staying home.

We don't do parties because Dad's idea of a birthday party for me is inviting my aunts and his guards. They'd be the ones partying, not me. The only person I'd be remotely interested in talking to is Cordelia. That's why we always do our own thing.

Since I declined lunch, I spent the day getting lost in my designs the way my mother used to when she was alive.

Like her, I want to go into fashion design. She had her own label named after her. Since I inherit her company when I turn twenty-one, and I want to make my own success, I'm usually either drawing or sewing. Or both, like I am now.

I graduate from Raventhorne Academy next month and will be starting my fashion degree at the Otis College of Art and Design in September. That's where Mom went too.

The rumble of deep male voices suddenly cut into my thoughts as they waft in through my opened window. It's only because I know who the voices belong to is why I stop drawing and rush over to the window to get one last look at the two hottest guys on the planet before they leave.

I can't see them yet, so they must be standing on the porch talking to Dad.

It's Dad's voice I can mainly hear now, but way up here in my tower, I can’t quite distinguish what he’s saying.

Whatever it is, I have no desire to find out. He could be telling the world a meteor is about to blow up the planet, but in the presence of those two guys, I wouldn’t hear a word.

The tallest, whose Italian like me, is Georgiou Giordano. The one with slightly more muscle is his best friend, Henry Dubois.

Georgiou is a hundred percent sexy Italian stallion with dark tousled hair, bright brown eyes, olive skin, and an athletic frame. He has the build of a football player.

Even though Henry used to be the quarterback for his college team, he looks more like an ex-marine, but his sandy blond hair and turquoise eyes give him that All-American look.

Both have the GQ good looks Hollywood would pay millions for, and I don’t think there’s a girl alive in this hemisphere who wouldn’t swoon over them for their looks and prestige.

The girls who truly know them would die if either showed the slightest interest in them. They wouldn’t care that Georgiou is from one of the most dangerous crime families in Chicago or that Henry works for them.

Although I’m not sure in what capacity, both work for my father, and they've been coming here sometimes twice a month for the last five years.

Prior to that, it was only Georgiou who came. I would catch my usual glimpse of him in the summer when I was home from school.

Apart from seeing them here, I only know what I know because of Cordelia. She’s eight years older than me and makes it her business to know the deets of every single super-hot eligible bachelor that travels in our circles.

I've had the biggest crush on Georgiou and Henry since I first saw them, so I gobbled up everything Cordelia told me.

I did so, knowing there was no chance in hell either would be interested in a girl like me.

Men like them want real women.

Both just turned thirty, and while the two have been in my world for as long as I can remember, neither know I exist.

Besides, in this tower, no one can see me.

My room is positioned in this fortress of a house to hide me away.

It’s just beneath the attic, but it’s tucked in between two other rooms in one of those weird architectural ways that make me think my father had it designed like that.

Even Rapunzel had it better than me because at least people could see her when she went to her window.

No one can see me unless my father wishes it.

Dad thinks it’s best to live like that to keep me safe.

I’ve lived my life through Cordelia for so long sometimes I forget who I am.

As I watch Georgiou and Henry get into their Black Bugatti, I wonder where they’re going and who they’re going to see.

It’s Saturday night. Men like them are bound to be meeting up with women who probably look like Victoria’s Secret Angels.

As soon as their car pulls away, there’s a knock at my door.

The opening of the door robs me of seeing them pull away from the drive.

Dad comes in with a wry smile and looks over my attire. His lips press into a line of displeasure, and I know it’s because I’m still wearing the same clothes from this morning.

“Evie, I told you we’re having a special dinner tonight. I need you to get dressed.”

“Sure.” I straighten up. “Dad, can I just ask who is coming to dinner? You didn't say, and I didn't want a party for my birthday.”

Dad stiffens and lowers his salt and pepper brows.

“This isn’t a party. It's a special dinner, so I’d like you to get ready and wear the dress I got you.”

“But—”

“Enough, Evangeline, just get ready. Okay?”

The use of my full name in that harsh tone shuts me down. Dad is strict and stern at the best of times, but that was a little much even for him.

“Okay.” I nod, and that sad look comes back into his eyes again before he leaves.

It has me worrying all over again.

***

A feast for God himself awaits on the dinner table in the dining room.

Lucia, our head maid, is just doing the finishing touches to the table, and Marcus, Dad’s head of security, stands by the table talking with him in a hushed tone. The conversation dies when they see me, and Dad smiles as he looks at my dress.

Marcus excuses himself, as does Lucia, leaving me with my father.

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Dad nods. “No one can rival my daughter’s beauty.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Sit next to me,” he says, pointing to the chair beside his at the head.

I do as he asks and glance at the clock before I lower to sit.

It’s five to eight. Whoever is coming to dinner will be here soon.

Dad brings his hands together and suddenly looks older than his sixty years when he glances at the clock too. I’ve always marveled at how much younger he seemed because he’s one of those old tough guys. Tonight there’s a shift in his usual overconfident persona that I’m not used to.

He was nearly thirty years older than my mother. Cordelia told me people thought Mom was a gold-digger, but anyone who knew my parents could rule that out completely just from looking at them.

She’s been gone for six years now, but I still remember the way they were.

He hasn’t remarried, and while I know there have been many women eager to be on his arm as much as they’d love to get their hands on his fortune, there hasn’t been another woman that I’ve been aware of.

 “I want you to be on your best behavior, Evie,” he states, holding my gaze. “We will talk after dinner.”

“Dad, you do realize this is very vague, right? We could have talked today.”

“Evie, I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve known you long enough to know what to expect when you’re up against something you might not like.”

I quirk a brow. “So this is something I’m not going to like?”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“I think we both do, or you wouldn’t be so secretive.” I knew something was up. God, I wish I could be wrong just once. “Today’s my birthday, Dad.”

“Time waits for no man, Bellezza. It’s not going to wait for me, and it’s not going to wait for you. That’s why we strike when the iron is hot.”

My lips part to answer him but the doorbell rings, and the words fade from my mind.

I’m about to find out what’s happening and who I’m going to see.

Moments later, my question is answered when Lucia ushers in Peter Marino, a man who makes my skin crawl and my soul quiver.

That smile he gives us might be well versed in charming many women out of their panties, but it won’t work on me.

He is one of my father’s business associates that I have the misfortune of knowing for the simple reason that our families were close. My father kind of took this devil under his wing when his parents died. 

Peter was ten when he came to live with us. Dad then groomed him to be who he is today.

At twenty-eight years old, Peter is my father’s assistant and the vice president of Omicron, the international private bank my father owns. 

Put simply, in the absence of my father, Peter’s in charge, and that makes him a powerful man.

One I don’t think I could dislike any more than I do.

Dad, however, gives him a proud smile and stands to greet him with a hug when Peter walks up to him.

“Wonderful, I’m glad you’re here now,” Dad states and motions for Peter to sit on his other side.

I say nothing.

Peter knows it's no secret I can't stand him.

What he doesn't know is why. If I'm being honest, though, I'd have to admit, I felt this way long before I had a reason to.

Dad gives me an uneasy look for my silence, but I ignore him.

He knows how I feel about Peter too, and that’s probably why he didn’t tell me he was our special dinner guest. What I don’t know is why he's suddenly so special.

“It’s nice for us to gather like this in celebration of my daughter’s birthday,” Dad says.

“Happy birthday, Evangeline. You look beautiful,” Peter tells me, and his dark green eyes take me in with that uncanny fascination I’ve always hated.

“Thank you,” I reply stiffly.

I'm expecting Dad to do some form of explanation, but he doesn’t.

He and Peter start talking about business, then we eat.

I almost, almost believe the worse part of the evening is over with Peter’s presence, but in the breath of finishing dinner and getting dessert, Dad clears his throat. He does it in that suggestive way that says he wants our attention and give it we do.

I also notice Lucia in the passageway signaling to the chefs to hold off bringing out dessert. Fury fills me that she might know what’s going on, and I still don’t.

 “I think it’s time to discuss other matters I wanted us to talk about together,” Dad states. “I’ve had an amazing opportunity to purchase a chateau in Tuscany with a fourhundredyearold vineyard. I’m looking to continue the business previously run as a winery, so that means I’m going to be spending more time in Italy.”

“More time?” I ask. My palms become clammy with sweat as I stare at him.

“Yes, my dear daughter. As in, I might be moving there, or at the very least, I’ll be there more than here. So, the time has come to hand over the bank and the resort to a new leader.”

My eyes dart to Peter, who is already looking at me. He looks too comfortable, and I’m certain he’s well aware of what’s going on. I’m the last to know anything, and for as much as I know my father loves me, I hate the way he treats me. 

He treats me like I’m a thing without feelings and emotions. That’s what happens to you when you have to do as your told.

“When is this happening?”

“Next month, just after you graduate.”

“So I won’t see you before I go to college?”

He presses his lips together, and I already know the answer he’s going to give me is not one I’ll like.

“There’s been a change of plans in regard to college. I was hoping you could still go, but that’s going to depend on what Peter thinks.”

My nerves scatter as my gaze snaps back to Peter. 

“What do you mean, what Peter thinks?” I counter. “I always had plans to go to college. It shouldn’t matter what anybody thinks besides me. What’s going on, Dad?”

“Evie, I’m giving Peter the business. I plan to do the official handover by the end of the year. Part of the terms for his acceptance of my offer is to marry you.”

I bolt up out of my chair, nearly knocking it over. “No. I can’t. I can’t do it.”

Dad stands too, looking as enraged as I expect him to be. He loathes when I try to argue with him in public. Tonight is no different.

However, I can’t worry about how angry he might be with me because he’s talking about signing my life away to this monster.

I have no idea if my father knows just how evil Peter is. I do, so I know my life will be hell if I marry him.

“This is not up for discussion, Evie. It’s happening whether you like it or not. Now sit back down.” Dad points to the chair.

I stand my ground, though, and glare at him. “How could you do this to me? You knew I had plans, and none of them included marriage.”

“But mine did. I never spoke about it before because I knew who I had in mind to marry you.”

All this time, Peter remains silent. It’s not because he’s fazed in any way by my outburst.

He has that cool, calculative presence because he’s an asshole who knows how to choose his battles and when to pipe down and watch. Right now, he’s just choosing the latter because it suits him.

“Sit, Evie, do it now,” Dad orders in that demeaning tone again.

When I look back at him, I see the seriousness in his face, and I remember he’s not a man you defy without consequence.

I can’t fight this because I don’t have the means to, so I sit, and I try not to cry.

Dad returns to his seat and looks from me to Peter.

“The wedding will take place at the end of September. I'll be heading to Italy in a little over a month, but I'll return briefly in mid-July for your engagement party. With the wedding being in September, you'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea of what the future will hold.”

Plenty of time?

That’s four months. No amount of time could make me get used to anything when it comes to Peter.

And...not when I think he had something to do with my brother's murder.

That’s a secret I’ve carried in my heart for the last three and a half years.

I can’t marry Peter, so the only thing I can plan to do in the next four months is leave.

I just don’t know how I’ll be able to pull off something like that when I’m practically locked away in a tower.