Page 14 of Dissolving Prejudice

Ignoring my need for a smoke myself, I pulled out my pack of gum.

“Any idea who this fucker could be?” I asked, popping two pieces of gum into my mouth so I’d have something to keep it busy with.

“Gale here thinks it’s one of our field men, but I think it can be anyone.” He grinned and took another huff. “From the cook to the gardener in my mansion. Everyone is a suspect.” He then pointed his thumb at Gale. “Maybe it’s him, who knows.”

The muscles in Gale’s jaw twitched, giving away his annoyance with Dion’s joke.

I snorted because I hated that idiot, then closed the folder and tossed it back on the table. “So what does any of this have to do with me?” I asked while looking at Dion with a raised brow.

“I want you to find that mole.” He leaned forward. “See it as your final job.”

“Me?” I frowned. “What makes you think I’d be good at it?” Usually, I was tasked with fieldwork, such as collecting debts and working the ground on drug shipments. I wasn’t the type to spy.

He smiled from ear to ear. “Because you’re motivated to get out of here as fast as possible, and I want this mole hunted quickly.”

That was valid.

“So once I find him, I’m free?”

Dion leaned back on his sofa and stretched one arm behind it. “As free as a bird.”

“Fine,” I said, then stood up. “But remember what I said. If I find out you’ve tricked me, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Gale clicked his tongue, already taking a step toward me when Dion stopped him by raising his hand.

“Calm down, Gale. Diesel here is just stating his terms of the contract.” The Frenchman smiled, eyes locked with mine.

I grunted.

“Anyway, until we find out who this dirty little rat is, I will hold back all of my drug shipments. This means the clock is ticking, Diesel.” He finally dropped his smile as he pinned me with a harsh look. “Tick-tock, tick-tock.” He mouthed the words in a sickening way.

I hated Dion from the bottom of my heart. Loathed him to my core, but since he was the one with his hand around my neck, I had no choice but to oblige.

With that, our conversation was done, and I was free to leave. Since Dion’s office was currently under repairs in order to install a huge fish tank in it, we held this meeting in one of the Venetian’s lounge rooms. Not wasting time, I got out of there and started walking toward the exit of the club. This place held so many moments, each corner laced with memories of me and Llorón. The stage I used to dance on while he watched me with captivating eyes. The suite that became our hangout place whenever he came here. The bed we lay in and talked for days without knowing who the other was and, above all, the room I just passed by—the Notte Oscura. The lightless room where we saw each other for the first time as I held him in my arms and he gave himself wholly to me. My skin remembered every caress of his fingers, every kiss of his lips, and every touch of his body that pressed against my own. I could still hear the sound of his voice as he whispered my name so beautifully as if he owned it.

He did.

Shay-Lee Rogers owned every bit of me, whether he liked it or not. The fact he ignored me when we met the other day wasn’t about to stop me from getting him back and only encouraged me to move my fucking ass. While I knew I wasn’t completely out of Dion’s grip, I also knew I’d wasted enough time already. And speaking of time, I was currently late, so I’d better hurry the fuck up or—

“Got you!” a cheerful voice said just as someone jumped on my back.

I didn’t need to see him to know who it was, as I easily recognized Oro’s overly perfumed scent.

“Now’s not a good time, Oro,” I said while he only latched on to me harder, wrapping his arms around my neck so tight that it was hard to breathe.

“When is it a good time, then?” He rested his chin on my shoulder. “You’ve been ignoring me for days.”

I sighed, then sent one hand to ruffle his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He finally slipped off my back and moved to stand before me. He’d probably just finished a session with a client because other than the golden Gatto mask he was holding in his hand, he was wearing an open silk robe and a necklace of pearls.

With his rosy complexion and dusting of soft freckles coating his milky skin, Oro looked too damn innocent to be working in this filthy place. He was small yet fit, with brown wavy hair that made him look like a lost Trojan prince and had big eyes the color of teal. He was beautiful, which he knew and used to his benefit. It was how he got Dion’s attention to begin with, back when he offered to sell his body instead of paying back the debt his scum of an aunt left behind her. I was there when it happened. I watched Dion offer Oro a way out of the gutters he grew up in. Replacing one shitty reality with another, Dion gave Oro profanity in the disguise of wealth and money that came in the form of a golden Gatto mask.

Hence his name, Oro. The Italian word for gold.

In a matter of two short years, and at the young age of twenty, Oro became the prince of the Venetian. Enjoying the perks of being Dion’s favorite toy, he practically did whatever he wanted.

There was no arguing about Oro’s beauty, as many clients, both men and women, stood in line to spend a night with him. He was a professional—a true artist in his craft. One glance at the flirtatious way he was looking at me right now would prove that. But despite the temptation in his eyes through which he carefully studied me and the seductive way he just licked his lips, I was oblivious to his look. I was immune to it because what was a prince compared to a god?