𝒮𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

And if you did, Idolatry was a fortress you could run to.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of place in which you imagined yourself working. All that black glass and neon light with the constant thrum of loud music and even louder patrons absolutely losing their minds over topless women wasn’t really your scene. But you had bills to pay just like everyone else. When Mr. Emeritus’s assistant, Mary Goore, fired off that email asking about your financial services, you were all too happy to give them a quote. When you saw the salary Mr. Emeritus offered you in return, you had to sit down.

Once you saw the state of things, you understood the numbers. The last accountant had mysteriously disappeared, but unlike the others in the city, he had done so after skimming millions of dollars from the club. He made sure to trash years’ worth of records while trying poorly to cover his tracks, leaving the accounts in a pitiful state for you to clean up. You hoped wherever he was, he was getting sand in his margaritas.

Still, Idolatry was turning a substantial profit and it wasn’t hard to see why.  An exclusive, members only Gentlemen’s Club with dues as high as they were had to deliver on everything. And Mr. Emeritus spared no expense when it came to the expectations of his guests. He didn’t hold back when it came to his employees either—you’d seen the payroll.

Mr. Emeritus also didn’t seem to deny himself, dressing exclusively in suits that were tailored to his tall frame with coordinating shoes and expensive watches. He was big, not only physically, but his presence commanded attention every time he entered a room. It was alarming at first, how this well-dressed man could take the air out a space without even trying. You had credited it to the black and white face paint he always wore, the skull shaped mask that failed to disguise his expressions. The harsh lines of it made him appear stoic and serious, no matter the situation, but the longer you were employed the less noticeable the paint became. It was a part of him he put on, like those plush green velvet blazers he loved, but it wasn’t the only thing he was. You suspected without the mask people would still stop and notice him.

And you, you couldn’t help but notice him. He wasn’t the type of man who usually caught your eye—that honor was mainly reserved for scrawny dudes in bands who needed someone to take care of them and pay their rent. A miserable list of complete losers who drained your patience and, thanks to the last asshole, your bank accounts. Mr. Emeritus didn’t need to be reminded to shower and he’d never steal your car to cheat on you with some girl in Florida.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own quirks and faults. There were times you’d seen him in the middle of some impossible feat, like moving full kegs on his own, acts that when caught prompted Mary to nudge him and point out that you were there. Secondo never seemed to pay much attention to the warnings, carrying on with whatever he was doing. It was clear he was strong, probably stronger than you thought, but he also had an odd way of addressing things. When word got around you had just been through a particularly nasty break up, he stopped by your office and casually offered to kill your ex. You laughed nervously at the joke, but he’d delivered it so flatly you almost thought he wasn’t kidding.

Your boss was a little strange, sure, but so was everyone else in the city. If the man wanted to paint a skull on his face every day, who were you to judge? That certainly wasn’t what he was paying you for. You started to like the intimidating air surrounding him and how his gaze often matched his nature, as though he was never solving only one problem at a time. You quickly learned his wit was as sharp as his suits, but he tended to remain soft-spoken while the two of you slowly got to know each other.

Over time you learned he didn’t like to show it, but he cared deeply for the people who worked for him. He’d affectionately named the dancers “the Dolls” and made sure they wanted for nothing while they worked for him. In return, they all called him Bone Daddy, partially in reference to his odd makeup, but mostly because of his constant need to make sure they were all ok. As far as you could tell he wasn’t actually a Daddy to any of them in a sexual or relationship sense. He always arrived and left alone, never spending much time with anyone, not even Mary. None of the Dolls had ever seen his home.

You found it easy to settle in when you started, making fast friends with the Dolls and the bartenders. You mostly saw them in passing, everyone arriving for their shifts by the time you left until you began to realize it was almost impossible to reach Mr. Emeritus during the day. It made sense for him to keep the same odd hours as everyone else, but the state of his finances left you with questions only he could answer. Eventually, you found it easier to shift your own hours to match everyone else in the hopes that you could finally catch him and get the information you needed.

That led to those tiny little moments where you began to hope you’d see him.

A lifetime (or more accurately several lifetimes) living amongst humans, blending seamlessly into their limited little world had made Secondo blind to their odd intricacies. Still, he largely found the people around him endearing and he much preferred this life to the endless solitude his brothers had chosen. Though he guessed Copia had someone now at least. And maybe the Countess could drag his old, dramatic cape-wearing ass into the 21st century.

Secondo had grown used to being surrounded by beautiful, half-naked women. It was a necessary part of the job, to the point he no longer noticed if one of the Dolls was topless while talking to him. It was out of respect, more than anything. The Dolls were people, good people with big hearts and families of their own. Just like with his own brothers, he felt a need to protect the girls from the nasty things in the world, even if it meant he had to become one.

So, when you breezed in wearing jeans and a t-shirt for the first time, his mind went completely blank. It was such a stark contrast to the stuffy 9-to-5 business causal uniform you’d worn in the past. But now you were comfortable enough to dress a little more like yourself, to relax a little. You were still all business of course, asking him something he’d completely missed while you waited for an answer with your hands on your hips.

“Sorry?” he asked, blinking up at you from his desk in a daze.

“The 1099s? Where are your 1099s?” you asked with a nervous smile.

“Oh.” He gestured vaguely to the banged-up filing cabinet in the corner of the office.

You huffed at him, shooting an annoyed glance over your shoulder as you turned away. He pretended not to see the soft smile that graced your face when you thought he wasn’t looking. He couldn’t help but wonder what you looked like when you woke up next to a lover, messy hair and half-smiles hidden behind a pillow or pressed into a bare shoulder. Maybe someday his shoulder. But that would be ridiculous because a delicate little thing like you would be ruined if you got too close to someone him.

It didn’t stop him from noticing things about you, slowly at first as you settled into your role at the club. It wasn’t that you were a messy person. You kept your office in an order that made sense to you, but your desk was often cluttered at the edges with to-go coffees or cheap food that came in plastic wrappers. At first, he thought maybe you were just too busy to get yourself groceries, skating by on whatever until you had the time. It wasn’t the kind of thing he had to concern himself with much; he could eat like a human if he wanted to, but for years now he preferred the simplicity of the kill instead. It never struck him as odd, just increasingly interesting to see what you might do next.

It’s these things he picked up on, elements that made you more of a mystery to him than anyone had ever been. He couldn’t help but watch you, fascinated by any tiny thing you did.

The first time he saw you blush, he felt something he’d been chasing ever since. He hadn’t even meant to, but you were standing outside your office looking up at him, some unanswered question hanging between the two of you. But there, just on the corner of your mouth was the tiniest bit of jam left behind from one of those awful convenience store donuts. You turned seven shades of pink as his thumb gently swiped over your face. He worried he had embarrassed you, but it was the act itself that left you too warm all over.

You weren’t even sure when the crush on your boss started, but you knew it got a million times worse after he wiped that jam from your face. He was tall and handsome, but most of all he was kind to you. Really, you never stood a fucking chance against that combination. But after that day he seemed to pay just a little more attention to you or at least you were more aware of whatever attention he gave you. He liked to tease you, throwing out the occasional odd comment or quip about your habits or coffee intake. It was lighthearted in a way you never expected him to be, not with that emotionless mask he painted on every day.

He would drop into your office from time to time, never saying more than a few words at first. But it began to happen often enough that you were putting more thought into your wardrobe. Nothing too drastic, you weren’t trying to get him to look at you, you just wanted to present a somewhat professional version of yourself who wasn’t intimidated by him or the girls downstairs. The version of you who didn’t have fucking crumbs on her face. It was bullshit of course. All he had to do was lean against your desk with his sleeves rolled up over his forearms and you’d forget every number you’d ever learned.

You wanted to write a love letter to whoever produced his favorite cologne, that slightly sweet yet smoky scent that stayed in your office long after he left. Your last boss smelled like mustard, but Mr. Emeritus smelled expensive and always in the right amount, as though he’d spent a lifetime perfecting his routine. You wondered how long it took him to get dressed every day, how much effort it took to make sure the waistcoat went with the shoes and the watch added to the outfit without distracting. Maybe it was effortless for him, the way some things just seemed to come easily to certain people.

You didn’t assume things were actually easy for him. You saw the hours he put in at the club. You saw the investment he’d made in his business. He knew everything that was going on at any given time. It seemed he was the same way with every facet of his life, picking up on the little details of the world and people around him. He made this wildly obvious the day he stopped by your office with a bag from some fancy bakery and set it in front of you.

“What’s that?” you asked, confused.

“It’s a raspberry chocolate croissant,” he stated flatly.

“Oh, uh, I’m fine. I have a bagel around here somewhere.”

“Now you don’t have to eat that stale bagel from yesterday,” he pointed out and tapped the bag. “They’re good. Trust me.”

“How—thank you.”

He shrugged. “You should have something better than old bread.”

“Like… fresh bread?”

He snorted and quickly covered his mouth, his eyes wide.

“Did you…did you just laugh?”

He shook his head. “That was so bad, tesorino.”

It started well before your stupid joke, but that day he learned just how easy it was to make your face flare pink. A couple of innocent yet slightly suggestive words and you’d be hiding your face behind your hands, complaining with an adorable little groan. But you’d bite back with a comment of your own, never letting him fully get away with it. And he liked that about you. He liked that you weren’t afraid of him like so many others were, even when you probably should have been. Even the Dolls had taken to their silly nickname to make him seem less intimidating, but he knew there was still that underlying fear, that completely human response to being near someone like him.

Apparently, it didn’t bother you at all. The fact was made so clear when you showed up at the annual Idolatry Halloween party with your face painted to match his. It was embarrassing that he didn’t know where to look, but you were barely wearing more than a blazer that was just long enough. But it was so much worse when you walked over to happily show off your costume.

“Look! I’m you!” you yelled over the music, doing a little spin as you presented yourself under the neon green glow of the club.

“Very funny,” he replied, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.

You didn’t seem to notice as you sucked your drink into your straw and grinned at him. “What are you? Some kind of Dracula?”

He never should have taken Copia’s advice on a fucking costume. He looked down at his own ridiculous outfit, some silly Victorian era get-up his brother had talked him into buying years ago. At the time it seemed like it would make a hilarious costume, but maybe a vampire was a little too on the nose.

“Something like that, yeah,” he said and adjusted the frilly cuff of his sleeve.

“Sweet cape,” you added with a smug grin, reaching up to adjust the way it fell over his shoulders.

“Nice dress.”

You smiled up at him. “Thanks! The Dolls helped me.”

“So, this was their idea?”

“No,” you laughed and shook your head. “This seemed like the best way to try to get you to blush. Well, this or showing up naked but let’s be honest, you see naked women all the time.”

He blinked hard at you, that horrible sensation of his face growing warm washing over him. “Y-you—”

“Hey, look at that! It worked,” you cheered and ran off, joining a group of Dolls seated at a nearby table.

Secondo stood there speechless, watching as you shared the tale of your victory with the others. He pretended not to see their heads turn toward him. Pretended he couldn’t see the Dolls whispering behind their hands or flagging Mary down to include them in whatever was happening. He was way too old for this and far too sober.

He crossed the room, stopping momentarily at the bar to request an old fashioned to nurse as the DJ slipped into some bass heavy song. It appeared to please the Dolls and the patrons, several of them climbing to their feet and crowding the makeshift dance floor in front of the main stage. The drink was bitter on his tongue, but the bourbon warmed him despite the ice. He might be dressed like an asshole, but he knew how to throw a good party. Or at least throw one arguably better than Copia and his nuns. He tensed slightly, the glass cracking under the pressure of his grip. He’d let himself get too wrapped up, too distracted by Copia’s nonsense and you, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. What a ridiculous idea it was to even think of you at all. You weren’t afraid of him, but you should have been. It would have been so much easier if you were. He never should have let you get as close as you did.

He looked around the club, noting any unfamiliar faces. It was dangerous for him to get distracted, especially now. Primo still hadn’t said anything about the abbey, but he knew his brother’s recklessness would cause problems for all of them. It was just a matter of when.

It didn’t ease his anxiety to find that Mary was still floating around, whispering with the Dolls instead of checking in with security. That paranoia set in, scratching away at the reasonable parts of himself until only the predator remained. He moved through the club, concentrating hard on appearing calm as he caught Mary by the elbow.

“What’s going on, Mary? Is there something I should know about?” Secondo asked, keeping his voice as low as possible under the music.

Mary raised an eyebrow. “I think you already do, Boss.”

“I don’t have time for games today.”

“The accountant,” Mary said knowingly and downed the rest of their drink.

“What?”

 “Ok, maybe you don’t know,” they managed through a dry laugh. “You and the accountant.”

He didn’t mean to. He really, really didn’t mean to, but he scanned the crowd at the mere mention of you, trying to find you in the sea of people moving about. You were easy enough to spot, relaxing against the bar with some ridiculous cocktail and your face made up like his. A smile threatened to tug at the corner of his mouth, quickly replaced by his usual scowl as some idiot dressed like a doctor approached you.

“Uh oh,” Mary sang, staring off in your direction.

“Leave it alone, Mary,” he warned.

“Look Boss, if you ask me—”

“I didn’t,” he snapped.

“Ok then, unsolicited advice: talk to her. If that’s going well, maybe try giving her a gift. Girls like that shit.”

“I’m beginning to understand how you’re still single.”

“Oh yeah, because that couldn’t have anything to do with being blood-bound to a fucking vampire.”

Secondo shot Mary a stern look.

“Relax, old man. No one can hear us. And for the record? My sex life is way more active than yours.”

“How would you even know?”

“I make all your appointments, Boss. Outside of your brothers, you’ve got a pretty small social circle. So maybe you should go talk to her. But if I gotta stand here and keep doing this with you, I’m gonna need another drink.”

Mary kicked off the wall and crossed the room. Sliding a little too easily between you and the idiot, they expertly derailed whatever conversation the guy was trying make. Secondo was all too happy to watch the relief wash over your face, but you turned to look back at him instead. There was a ghost of a smile barely visible under your paint. He couldn’t tell what Mary had said to you, but it couldn’t have been good if you were looking at him like that.  

He didn’t stick around to find out.

It wasn’t one of his greatest ideas, but the 25 year old scotch in his office was half empty before he could think of a better one. The cape had shifted to one shoulder, draping him dramatically as he lounged on the velvet chaise. What did Mary even mean anyway? There was no him and anybody, let alone him and the accountant. Maybe he liked your jokes, maybe he liked that perfect shade of pink that washed over your face.  And he liked your hair. And your perfume. And that little groan you always made. And your stupid laugh.

But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. You were this soft, delicate little thing and he was the stuff of nightmares.

He swore loudly as he dug his phone out of his pocket and hit call before he could change his mind. There was someone he could talk to, the one person who might be able to give him some kind of unbiased answer or advice. He scrubbed at his face as the line rang out, wondering if he really wanted to pay the price for this.

“Fratello!” Copia slurred loudly, the broken sounds of some party happening on the other end. “Mi scusi,” he shouted as the sound fell away.

“Hi Secondo,” the Countess sang into the phone.

Secondo swallowed hard. “Hi. Copia, can I talk to the Countess?”

“You are talking to the Countess,” he replied, followed by an uncontrollable burst of laughter.

Dread started to mix with the scotch in Secondo’s stomach.

“Amore, give me the phone,” the Countess ordered. He could hear Copia trying to argue in the background as the phone rustled between them. After a firmly shouted “no” the Countess returned. “I’m so sorry about him.”

“Is he on something?”

She giggled. “No, no. It’s just someone he ate.”

He sighed heavily. “You two were supposed to behave.”

“Ugh, if this is why you called you can go back to talking to him.”

“Wait, no. I—” Secondo swallowed every ounce of pride he’d ever had. “I think I need your help.”

“Mine? Why?” The sounds drifted further behind her as she moved away from the party. “Are you in trouble, Twos?”

He felt his teeth grind at her stupid nickname. “Everything’s fine. I just have…a human problem.”

“Oh. Kill them. Problem solved.”

“It’s not like that. Why would I need your help with that?”

“What else could it—oh. A human problem,” she repeated sadly. “Do they know about you?”

Secondo sat up and tugged the fastening to the cape apart, letting it fall from his shoulders as he stood. He began to place the length of his office, tracing his unbalanced steps repeatedly as the scotch began to wear him down. “I don’t think she does,” he admitted after a beat. “I mean, generally I try not to make it obvious.”

“She,” she confirmed with a smile in her voice. “You called because you have a crush.”

“I don’t. I just—”

“Copia, get down from there!” the Countess screamed. “I’m so sorry Secondo. I swear I’m never taking him anywhere ever again.”

“Eh, he needs to get out more. He can’t just sit in that castle for the rest of his eternal life.”

“He’s about to make it a lot fucking shorter if he falls off the roof of this frat house.”

“Dolce, look! I’m a gargoyle.”

“Yes, my love. The most handsome gargoyle there ever was. Will you please come down and help me? Twos has a problem.”

Secondo cringed at their conversation, waiting as they went back and forth with each other. He couldn’t comprehend the amount of love the Countess must have had for Copia. To be patient with him even when he was at his worst must have been some superhuman feat. It didn’t make any sense for her to baby the man who killed an entire abbey full of people because they said she couldn’t see him. But what did Secondo know? Maybe that was love.

“Fratello who hurt you?” There was an edge to his brother’s voice, something angry, protective.

“No one hurt him, amore,” the Countess said, trying to soothe him. “So, you don’t have feelings for this girl, and she doesn’t know you’re a vampire, but you still have a problem?”

“Yes?” Secondo confirmed, slightly confused.

“Hmm, is she pretty?”

“What?”

“The girl. Do you find her attractive?”

“Um, I—yeah, I guess I do?”

“And not just, like, her looks, but is she smart? Is she funny?”

“Yes.”

“Do you find yourself going out of your way to see her sometimes?”

His mouth went dry. “Yes.”

“Do you…look forward to seeing her?” she asked gently.

“Yes.”

“Well do you think if you…you know, got it out of your system so to speak—”

“I don’t follow.”

The Countess sighed. “Do you just want to fuck her?”

“No, that’s—no.”

“Secondo, it sounds like you do have a crush on this girl.”

“No, no, no. That can’t be it—”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Twos.”

“It doesn’t matter if there’s something wrong with it or not. That’s not what’s happening. And even if it was, even if there was a snowballs chance in hell, it would mean nothing, because it’s not happening. It can’t happen.” He was almost yelling now, trying to get the Countess to understand that things between the two of you simply would not work.

“Well, why not?”

“I—look, it just wouldn’t. We’re…different.”

“Uh, I was a fucking nun when I met your brother.”

“Fine. I’m different and she’s…”

“She’s what?”

“An accountant.”

He didn’t hear you come up the hallway in your search for him. He didn’t know that you were just outside his office as he admitted to the Countess exactly who you were. You could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was enough.

“I thought you ate your accountant?” the Countess asked, confused.

“No, that was the last one.”

“Oh. So, you have a new accountant who you don’t have a crush on because if you did it wouldn’t mean anything. And yet you still called me to ask about her? Please tell me you’re connecting the dots here, Twos.”

“Fuck,” he whispered harshly. “Oh, fuck.”

“So, what is it, Twos? What is it about this girl that’s got you all wound up?”

“She’s just…” he trailed off and sighed, a fond smile spreading across his face. “She’s kind of hopeless.”

“Excuse me?” you asked loudly behind him.

Secondo whipped around so fast he nearly fell over. “Countess, I’ll call you back.”

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you spat angrily.

“Wait, tesorino—” he called out, drunkenly tripping over his own feet. He had never seen you so upset, so hurt, not even when told him about the guy who broke your heart. Your words dripped with venom, but you had stayed calm, your pulse steady. Now he could hear it pounding in his ears like an entire drum corps as you stumbled away from him.

“Why? So, you can tell me more about how you really feel about me? Fuck, I came up here to make sure you were ok.” You laughed angrily. “Turns out you’re fine, you’re always fine aren’t you? God, what is it like to be so much better than the rest of us, huh?”

“I-I’m not. I am so much worse than you—”

“Wow. Fuck you.” The curse was barely a whisper, that last little bit of control you had snapping under the weight of it. Tears streamed wet trails down your face, washing away the face paint as it went and dripped black and white splotches onto your chest. It was stupid of you to entertain the idea that he could ever have feelings for you, that maybe tonight you could have told him how you felt and it would be ok. It never occurred to you that there could be someone else—a fucking Countess no less. Some beautiful woman somewhere who understood him better than you ever could and had never once gotten powdered sugar on her clothes.

“No, no, no, wait,” he begged as he chased after you. “That’s not what I meant. I—I’m just…I’m drunk, and you’re drunk, and this is—”

“I’m gonna go. You should call your girlfriend back.”

Secondo felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest. He didn’t know what else to do, couldn’t do anything except watch you leave. He heard the door to the club open, music spilling in as you slipped away. It drifted back out just as quickly, the silence only broken by the sound of his phone smashing against the wall.

You told yourself you weren’t thinking about kissing your boss before, but now you definitely weren’t thinking about it. There was no way to tell what his actual problem was last night, and you weren’t going out of your way to find out. Maybe he was in a bad mood, maybe he was just that drunk. Maybe he was the kind of guy who gets a little rude when he’s hungry—either way it wasn’t your problem. He didn’t get to make it your problem. And bad mood or not, he didn’t get to talk to you like that—about you like that.

It wasn’t the most mature thing you’d ever done, but you made sure to come to the office later than usual to avoid running into him. When you made it upstairs and found the door to his office closed, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You stopped to make sure he wasn’t waiting in your office before you closed the door behind you and settled in.

It didn’t make any sense to you when Mr. Emeritus knocked and entered without your permission anyway. He waltzed into your office and placed a large stoneware dish in the middle of your desk like it was the most natural action in the world. Like the two of you hadn’t been screaming at each other a handful of hours ago. The dish was the same deep green he always seemed to accessorize everything with, from the face on his watch to the velvet chaise in his office. It was probably just as expensive as everything else he owned, but it didn’t explain why it was on your desk.

But whatever was inside smelled amazing.

“What is this?” you asked, gesturing toward the dish in confusion when he failed to speak up.

“It’s lasagna,” he replied quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

“Do you think I’m completely incapable of taking care of myself?” You were not prepared to have this conversation with him again.                                                                                                                               

“No, it’s not—I owe you an apology.”

“Ok. But this is an entire lasagna.”

“You deserve a better apology than just one piece. Everything’s made from scratch, except the cheese. And I’m sorry.”

You raised an eyebrow and poked at the dish. “So, who made it?”

“I did,” he admitted softly.

“You,” you confirmed with an air of disbelief. “You made lasagna from scratch. Like what…like the…ok I’m going to be honest with you I don’t even know what the fuck is in lasagna. What is happening right now?”

“What you heard—what I said last night, it was out of context, but that doesn’t make it right. That’s not what I think of you. That’s not how I see you.”

Even with the paint you could tell he was tired. You wondered if he got any sleep at all or if he’d simply sacrificed it to make you an apology lasagna. “I…um…”

“It’s ok. You don’t have to forgive me or anything. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry and I respect you…a lot honestly. You’re kind of…I don’t know—”

“I’m gonna stop you there because we definitely don’t have an HR department,” you interrupted with a nervous smile. “You’re sorry. I’m sorry. It’s ok, it’s done. And I got dinner out of it.”

“It’s vegetarian,” he offered as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “Seemed like the safest bet.”

“That is really thoughtful of you.”

He nodded and let a shy smile form on his face before heading for the door. “She’s not my girlfriend, by the way,” he called over his shoulder.

“What?”

“The Countess,” he answered and leaned against the doorframe. “She’s not my girlfriend. I mean, if you really wanted to know you could have just asked me if I was single.”

His smile grew as your entire face turned pink before you hid behind your hands. “Oh my god you are actually the worst,” you groaned between your fingers. “Get out of my office.”

“Enjoy the lasagna,” he said with a little laugh and disappeared out the door.

Your boss was confusing and infuriating, but underneath it all he meant well. You still weren’t sure what kind of conversation you had overheard, maybe you’d never know. Maybe it wasn’t for you to know. But the big, intimidating man who painted a skull on his face every day had bent over backwards to try to make it up to you. A man who owed you absolutely nothing wanted things between the two of you to go back to normal. He wasted no time with his stupid jokes—they might have even gotten worse. But he smiled a little easier around you after that, a flash of sharp white teeth you found yourself hoping you’d see more often. He began to find more reasons to visit your office, sometimes saying nothing as he sat on the worn out sofa in the corner and tossed your stuffed Baphomet from one hand to the other.

You did the same in turn, spending more and more time in his office. The rumor mill turned downstairs, the Dolls creating reasons and scenarios amongst themselves that Mary refused to confirm or deny. Things only escalated after the day you were too busy compiling tax forms to remember to eat and fainted, falling right into Secondo’s arms. Two of the Dolls, Mina and Lucy, had been in his office updating their paperwork and watched the entire thing unfold. Everyone at the club had already heard by the time you woke up, though no one seemed especially surprised no matter how many times you told them nothing was going on.

It was true. There was nothing going on between you and your boss aside from a couple of lighthearted conversations and unexpected deliveries from that fancy bakery he liked. But you didn’t mind. You didn’t need more than that from him. Truth be told, it was probably better that nothing happened at all. You couldn’t handle another heartbreak anyway.

Secondo frowned at the sight of your empty office. He wasn’t even sure why he was so disappointed not to find you, but he was slowly beginning to grasp that whatever he felt about you wasn’t going away any time soon. He kept it to himself, of course, never wanting to admit to you or anyone that he could care about you. But there was a part of him that was invested completely, a part that wanted—needed to know that you were safe and happy. If he knew that much, he could handle anything else.

There were only so many places in the building you could be. It didn’t take long for him to hear your laugh ringing through the hallway outside the Dolls’ dressing room. He leaned against the doorway, watching as you leaned over and pointed at something in the massive stack of paper you’d handed to Mina.

“High heeled?” Mina asked, her head tilting as she stared at you in confusion.

“High yield,” you corrected with a light laugh.

“Oh! Yeah, that makes way more sense.” She shook her hair away from her face as she laughed, the glitter around her eyes catching the light as she moved. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Enough for what?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest in mock disappointment.

“Hey Bone Daddy,” Mina called with a wave. She clutched the packet you gave her to her chest as she stood. “I should get back out there.”

Secondo waited until she was gone to speak again. “Are you planning on stealing my Dolls?”

“Hardly,” you shot back quickly. “I’m helping her set up a retirement fund. Did you know Mina cleared six figures last year?”

“Is that a lot?” he teased.

“You not knowing that would explain a lot about your financial records.”

“I know what Mina makes. I know what all the girls make. Even you,” he added, letting his voice drop low.

“I’m not one of your girls, Secondo,” you reminded him playfully. You knew better, but your face felt hot anyway.

“Is that judgement?”

“Of course not!”

“I’m just teasing you, tesorino. You’re wound so tight for someone who works in a place like this.”

“I am not.”

He shrugged. “I appreciate you helping the Dolls. It’s…kind of you.”

“Just doing my job.”

“No, you’re not.”

You sighed. “They’re good people. I just want to help.”

“I know. It’s quite noble of you, good quality for a person to have. Maybe you should focus that energy on yourself sometime.”

“Hey I—”

“Did you eat today? Or did you think three iced coffees was enough to sustain you?”

“What are you, my dad?”

He smiled. “Oh, you can call me daddy if you’d like.”

“I hate you so much,” you groaned as your face turned from pink to red.

“I guess I can live with that,” he said with a shrug, knowing neither one of you really meant what you said.

You rolled your eyes and slipped past him, darting through the door that led back out to the club. You could have taken the back hallway to head back up to your office; it was the faster, quieter path. But occasionally, you liked to be reminded of how successful the club was on more than paper. There was something magical about the glitz and glamor of the place, about the noise and the lights. Secondo had created something truly special with his club and you could only hope he let himself be proud of it.

You weaved through the crowd, trying to make your way to the other end when an arm locked around your waist. Some stranger was pawing at you, breathing in your ear as they requested a private dance. You shook your head, frantically trying to explain to the man that you weren’t one of the Dolls and even if you were he wasn’t allowed to touch you. Whatever argument you tried to make fell flat as the man restrained you, pulling you by your wrists toward the private rooms. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to do anything to help yourself out of this situation, but your body had gone numb.

The sickening sound of the man’s bones snapping seemed to drown out the music, followed shortly by his shouts of pain. Secondo had somehow put himself between you and the man, breaking both of the man’s hands in the process. The last thing you saw was the man brandishing something metal. It caught the light as he held it up, its sharp edge reflecting neon.

“C’mon, we gotta go,” Mary said, but they had already pulled you from the room as security poured in behind you.

“No, Mary, he has a fucking knife!”

“The Boss will be fine, trust me. I can’t say the same for you and me if we don’t get upstairs now.”

Your body gave up, your resolve snapping cleanly in half as tears fell from your eyes. You had never been so scared in your entire life. This was supposed to be your fortress, the place where these things couldn’t happen. You let out another round of sobs as Mary hoisted you over their shoulder and carried you upstairs.

You collapsed on the chaise, wrapping your arms around your knees as Mary slammed the door to Secondo’s office closed with a force you couldn’t quite comprehend. There were locks sliding into place, things you had never bothered to notice as chaos rained downstairs. Mary ran back and forth, pulling up camera feeds on any and every available screen, their bottom lip pulled nervously between their teeth.

As quickly as it started, it was over. You blinked hard through your tears as Mary pulled the locks back and Secondo burst through the door. His suit was soaked with blood.

“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?” Secondo asked as he pulled you up from the chaise and tugged at your arms, inspecting them as he went. He brought his hands to your face as he searched you for injuries. His eyes, usually so hard and still, were full of fear, softened by his concern for you.

You shook your head frantically once his words really sunk in. You weren’t hurt, but you were worried by the amount of blood around his mouth and down the front of his suit. “That man—”

“Will never touch you again,” he swore. “I can promise you that.”

“Did he hurt you?” you asked in a tiny voice. It seemed like such a stupid question, as though anyone remotely like Secondo could be hurt in a fight, but there was so much blood. The adrenaline in your body was rapidly wearing off, your limbs getting heavier as the seconds ticked by.

“No. I’m fine, tesorino.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

He quickly brought the back of his hand to his mouth, swiping at the red stain. Instead of pulling his hand away, his tongue darted out. His eyes rolled back at the taste, out of disgust or arousal you weren’t sure. Your vision was fuzzy enough at the edges, that tunnel closing in. Maybe you hadn’t seen what you thought you’d seen?

“Sec—” was all you managed before he caught you in his arms.

“I do not understand,” he says, taking your hand in his, running his thumb over your wrist, “Have I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “No.”

“You are feeling unwell?” he places the back of his hand on your forehead and slides it down to your cheek. You lean into his touch.

“No, Papa.”

“Tell me.”

Your eyes meet his and you’re suddenly nervous, “I should just go,” you say, trying to slide off the bed but Secondo catches you. He cocks his head to the side and you swallow, “Not getting off that easy, am I?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“Talk.”

“We’ve been doing this for awhile,” you say, sounding meeker than you’d like, “The tying up and the spanking and then,” you wait for him to interrupt and defend himself but he just listens and it makes you hopeful, “I know it’s your thing. All of it.”

“But?”

You chew your lip and feel tears prick your eyes, “I… want you.”

“You have me.”

“I want you as Secondo.”

“You have me as Secondo.”

“I have you as Papa. I have you as Sir. You don’t even kiss me. I don’t spend the night.”

It comes out too fast and the Secondo squares his shoulders, “That is not part of the arrangement.”

“Then I think the arrangement should be over.”

You make it off the bed this time, Secondo is too confused to stop you. You pull on your sweater and have your skirt halfway up your thighs when he appears in front of you, “Stop.”

“I need to go.”

“Sorella,” Secondo says and you do your best to ignore him. You know he won’t make you stay, he would never force you but, you want him to take your hands, want him to hold you still for just one moment. He doesn’t touch you.

He watches; a shadow of a grimace flickers on his face when your tears finally spill over. You gather your things and head for the door. You stop, realizing that this wasn’t the way to get your point across, wasn’t the way to tell him your feelings, “I like it. All of it,” you say, not turning around, “But,” you take a deep breath, “It’s more than an arrangement for me now. I’m sorry I should have stopped everything the moment I started to… started to feel.”

“Turn around and look at me,” Secondo says and you obey - turning slowly and meeting his gaze, “It is not in my nature to be what you are needing.”

“You’re telling me that Papa Emeritus the Second cannot give his lover what she needs?”

“Our agreement is not to be lovers.”

“Then I’m out.”

Secondo catches your arm as you head for the door and you whirl around, “I did not say that I wasn’t willing to amend that,” his tone remains cool and calm, “Sit down,” he says, motioning to the couch in his office - it’s where you negotiated the first contract and you’re not sure if you’re excited or still want to run.

You weigh your options - sure that it’s better to get hurt on your terms instead of 

weeks from now when you’re in too deep, “I think it’s best if we just end things here, Papa.”

“You may call me Secondo.”

You blanch - not the response you were expecting. You stare at him, he’s unreadable, “I don’t want to get hurt.”

“I do not intend to hurt you.”

“Papa,” you say and he arches an eyebrow, “Secondo. I’m not… you would never pressure me and I don’t want to pressure you,” he lets go of your hand and goes to the couch, sitting with a groan; this wasn’t in the plans for tonight. He looks up at you and waits, “I’m just… I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Sit. Down. Sister.”

The blood in your veins runs cold and you sit down on the chair across from him. It’s not where he wanted you but, you’re obeying and he accepts the compromise, “I’m sure I’m not the first Sibling that has wanted more,” you say, clutching your shoes and bag to your chest, “Not the last,” you add and it makes your throat hurt.

“No, you are not the first,” he says, crossing his leg over the other. He’s still wearing only his pants, his chest flexes when he puts his arm on the back of the couch. You can’t tell if he’s pissed or horny and it’s Secondo so it’s probably both, “But I am willing to attempt to make you the last.”

Your head snaps up so fast you’re worried about your spinal column, “What?”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I… I don’t,” you’re confused and your veins are pumped full of adrenaline. This is it. This is your chance to tell your Papa how you feel. You’ve rehearsed it a thousand times in the shower. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Why now are the words gone? Your tongue paralyzed?

“I am trying to meet you halfway, Sorella. You must communicate your needs.”

“I’m sorry. I’m… nervous.”

“Sit by me.” 

“You’re far too distracting looking like that,” you smile, “Even from this distance.”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward and you relax an iota, “Please.”

You’ve never heard him say it. Please. It’s almost as good as the L word. You take a deep breath and leave your things in your chair, sitting next to Secondo. You keep a cushion’s space between you - it does not go unnoticed but he says nothing, “Not all the time,” you say, “Not… always but sometimes I’d just like. Sex.”

“We have sex, Sorella. A lot of sex.”

“We have a lot of BDSM.”

His eyes wrinkle at the edges and you’re sure it’s enough to call it a smile, “Go on.”

“I want to touch you.”

“I cannot permit you to touch me like I touch you.”

You lean forward and put your hand on his thigh, “No, Papa. Secondo,” you say quietly, feeling him tense beneath your palm, “I want to touch you. I want to love you. I want you to let me love you how I like to. The same way I let you love me.”

“Sorella,” Secondo takes your hand and pulls it to his lips. It’s the first time his mouth has been on you so tenderly, “Amore. I do not know if I can. I do not know if I am capable.”

“Then let me help you,” you scoot an inch closer, “Let me help you. You remember my first few times?” you smile, “I had no idea what was going on. Remember that first night you told me to truss myself up?”

“You were quite tangled.”

“Quite,” you laugh and scoot a bit closer, “Secondo, we don’t have to stop any of this I just,” you trailed off, feeling repetitive.

“I also want more.”

You sigh, “Really?”

“I have done well,” he says, “In all my years I have kept the lines between Secondo and Papa and pet very… clear. You have muddled that line. Horribly.”

“I’m sorry,” you bite your lip, controlling your smile.

“You look smug,” he says. You stare at your hand, resting on his thigh. He’s looking like a sex god, shirtless and calm, frustratingly suave even when he’s sitting on a couch, “When are you wanting to start?”

“Now,” your eyes widen and you laugh and pull back the reins, “When you’re ready.”

“I am ready.”

You stiffen, “Now now?”

“There is no better time. Come closer.”

You clear your throat, “How much closer?”

“I am yours. Tonight.”

You could tell he was nervous. His jaw is clenching and unclenching, a blush blooming across his chest beneath the dark hair, “You’ll say if it’s too much?” Secondo nods and you take a deep breath. You straddle him, fully aware that you had not put on your underwear and the position made your skirt ride up your thighs. You take Secondo’s hands and bring them up your legs, resting them high on your thighs but, still a lifetime away from where you want them, “Close your eyes, Secondo,” you say and he hesitates, “Trust me.”

He stares at you for one more moment and you can tell he’s weighing the same options: hurt now or hurt later. His eyes slide close and you take a moment to just… admire him. Strong, silent, icy cold, closed off Papa. Handsome, firm Papa. Beautiful, sad Secondo. You have one hand on his chest, you can feel his heart beating wildly, “Trust me,” you whisper and he does not respond and he does not move - it’s a silent answer but it’s worth its weight in gold. You run your finger down the line of his nose and trace the bow of his lip, “I’m going to kiss you,” again, he says nothing but makes no move to toss you off of him and head for the hills. You take it as a sign to proceed and press your lips to his. Nothing more, nothing less. Simply. Delicately. 

You pull back and Secondo exhales, “Again.”

You continue, nary a whisper of anything more, his only reaction is his grip on your thighs, tightening when you connect and loosening when you leave him. He moans - it happens so fast that you’re not sure that you heard it, “Secondo?” your lips brush against his. He doesn’t open his eyes and he doesn’t let go of your thighs.

“Again. Do it again. Please.”

You smile, nuzzling your nose against his. You don’t plan on going any further tonight than this.