Read Online Dark Soul Vol. 1 by Aleksandr Voinov - Free Book Online

ground against a killer. “Like I’d make a pass at something that’s owned by Il Gentiluomo .”
    “If you’re not up for it, I’m getting my rocks off elsewhere.” Silvio stood, deliberately showing off his sinuous grace. And the bulge in his jeans. The cocky smile was just the icing.
    Stefano grimaced, paged through several potential responses to this, each one harsh and insulting enough to warn Silvio off despite the images racing through his head: Frantic, then lazy sex on the fine cotton sheets in his suite. Touching that body any way he wanted. Fucking Silvio so hard it would hurt them both. Yeah, there was no way he could get up now. “Sure. Enjoy.”
    Silvio brushed past, rubbing deliberately against his arm, trailing fingertips over his shoulder. But then he walked off, hopefully without spotting the shudder racing through Stefano’s body.
    God, he’d never had sex with somebody like Silvio. Like, male. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. This kind of obsession was embarrassing and downright dangerous, especially when he needed to keep his shit together. He needed a clear head, needed control to deal with the Russians, and Silvio was slowly wrestling both away.
    He sipped water until he felt calmer, taking in the landscape with its hills and trees and the breeze that made the heat bearable. Driving up here from Rome, it had all looked so strangely familiar, until he’d realized this was the landscape painted over and over by Renaissance artists. Hills or mountains in the background; gently curved, open fields dotted with proud cypresses and pines arranged in lines or small clusters; houses built from large stones and topped by flat red brick roofs, perched on ridges or leaning into hills, at once remote and inviting. The Val d’Orcia was the perfect place for Gianbattista Falchi.
    The food had settled, so Stefano returned to the suite to get his workout clothes—which had been washed and dried already. He headed for the gym again. Nothing better to do, and a reasonably solitary pleasure. He sometimes spent hours conditioning, stretching, while somewhere in the back of his mind little wheels clicked and turned, working through whatever it was that needed working through.
    He indulged in a light workout with weights, bracketed by rowing and skipping as warm-up and cool-down, then a long stretching session. It refreshed him like only a night of good sleep after sex did. He texted Donata— Things are going well, still miss you —and she texted back that she was just leaving the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. That conjured up thoughts of Milan’s majestic Piazza del Duomo and its white cathedral, which he remembered from their honeymoon as a squat but graceful building with a million delicate spires reaching to Heaven, drenched in pink morning light.
    He headed for the showers, washed the sweat off and wrapped a towel around his waist. There had to be a sauna somewhere.
    He passed through several frosted glass doors and another changing room, when the air got hotter and more humid.
    When he opened the next door, the first thing he saw was another swimming pool, and beyond that, the sauna. To the side of it, half-shielded by large potted ferns and white marble columns, was a whirlpool. And Falchi. With Silvio.
    Silvio was lying flat on his belly on the marble path around the whirlpool, wriggling out of his black Speedo. He pulled one leg up, revealing just how aroused he was. And opening himself up for Falchi, who draped atop him, covering him.
    Falchi was already naked, and for his age, he’d kept himself exceedingly well. The hair on his chest was graying, but he wasn’t yet sagging much, just not young anymore.
    And what a contrast he was to hairless, pale Silvio, who pushed back against Falchi, inviting him like a cat in heat, black eyes closed, lips open, looking so young and so needy it clenched Stefano’s heart.
    He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t see this, but still he found himself