Snapping Point||Book 1

16.

In the heart of the city's underbelly, shrouded in plush velvet and veiled by dark red blinds, the bordello exuded a distinct aura. Baroque lamps dangled from the ornate ceiling, casting decadent shadows on the antique furnishings.

But it wasn't just the visual spectacle that assaulted the senses; it was the pervasive scent of sex, thick and suffocating. The mingling perfumes of the women and the musky odor of their eager patrons hung heavy in the air.

I despised this place, not for the women who offered themselves freely, but for the brazen display of perversion. It was a spectacle of nudity, profanity, and unchecked aggression, a carnival of vice with no regard for decency.

Yet, in the thick of the confusion, one couldn't deny the temptation of easy money. The men reveled in this exhibition of excess, and as long as they kept coming back, the show would go on.

As I settled my dues with the seasoned madam stationed behind the imposing desk, she handed me an hourly pass card. A mere hundred bucks for an hour of carnal indulgence, earning me a nondescript blue card. Three hundred, and you'd earn the coveted red card, granting access to a threesome.

It all suddenly clicked. The obscene wealth wielded by the men here explained their brazen behavior. With fortunes vast enough to swallow this den of vice whole, my father and his ilk could book the entire establishment for weeks on end without so much as a flutter in their bank accounts.

The divide between this joint and RoyalGrey was crystal clear: class and cash, not treatment of the women. Here, a measly hundred bucks bought carte blanche to exploit a woman however one pleased. Back at RoyalGrey, where luxury dripped from every pore, our women were exactly treated like queens but they were paid like it. A mere hundred dollars barely got you a wink from the bartender back at out establishment.

"Isn't that Romano Rossi?" A whisper floated through the air, slicing through the haze of smoke and perfume in the welcoming hall. Half-naked women slinked about, each one a predator in her own right.

I angled my head discreetly, catching a glimpse of the conversation unfolding. "It sure is. Heard he's queer as a three-dollar bill."

"Really? Gay?" My announcer's voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur as I drew into the crowd. "He doesn't strike me as the type, but if he is, it's a damn shame and probably a waste of good cock. I mean, look at that body—it's like a goddamn work of art."

The sharp edge of her snicker tore through the brief stillness like shattered glass. "I mean, who wouldn't want a piece of that?"

"He's hardly a regular here, and whenever he does show up, he never asks for company," the other woman chimed in, her expression guarded. "Briana swears he's just reserved, claims he keeps his own company, but not from around here."

Her companion gasped in agreement. "See, I knew there was something about him. Not gay at all."

At least they were onto something. I didn't know this Briana character, but her sharp tongue seemed to have saved me from their narrow-minded assumptions. Just because I didn't frequent brothels didn't mean I wasn't interested in women. Who planted such nonsense in their heads? Maybe my dear old father, with his outdated beliefs and loose lips.

The realization hit me like a slap in the face: these women somehow knew I was Rossi's son, despite my rare visits. But then it dawned on me—they were the masters of gossip and seduction, the ultimate informants. They probably had ears sharper than any seasoned spy. That's why I veered right, heading straight for them. They had to have some clue about Xenia...Joanna, whatever her name was.

Their lips moved, but their words faded into the background as I closed the distance. When I finally stood before them, the admiration in the left one's eyes was straightforward, her jaw threatening to hit the floor. I knew I cut a good figure, but definitely missed the fact that my mere presence would leave a woman so dumbstruck.