Taming Pierce

epilogue

"You look happy, boss," Declan said, his beady brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Why shouldn't I be? I fucked the greatest chick to ever exist on the streets of New York," Casteel told him, bringing him close with an arm around his neck.

Declan didn't touch him. He had his hands behind his back as he let his Master drag him around the hallway in his drunken stupor.

"Oh yeah?" Declan sounded like he enjoyed hearing the gossip so Casteel grinned, continuing his tale.

"She was so fucking soft. Her lips...petals of heaven..." He recalled the taste of her lips, the way they felt on his skin, around his cock. Who would have thought that a blowjob at a dirty alley would become his top ten most-lived moments? "Her eyes...grey as the dawn sky...And she was all over me."

"She sounds fascinating."

"Doesn't she?" Releasing Declan, his attention turned to the rest of the soldati.

It was a strange thing to see all of them gathered together this way. Casteel didn't need bodyguards and his family was yet to return home from their trip. It was just him and that little shit Sebastian in the house.

"Why are you all standing here? Go on, have fun!" he urged but the insolent shits didn't move from their posts. "No guarding needed, remember? It's Casteel's mansion. No one dares to enter Casteel's mansion."

"Boss—" Declan started, Casteel too drunk to hear him.

"Go on, have some drinks. Treats on me. Tonight, the entire household will feast!" He fished into his breast pocket and retrieved his credit card, slapping the little card across old Declan's chest. "Here, take my card. It has more money than you've ever seen."

"Boss—"

Declan's countenance quickly lost all color as he spotted something behind Casteel.

"Casteel?"

The voice, spoken in a deep, rumbling tone that could belong to just one person raised the hair on Casteel's nape. He met Declan's gaze, his jaw clenching tight.

They were home. It wasn't just him and Sebastian (that little shit) anymore.

He turned cautiously, hiding the half-drunk cheap wine bottle behind his back.

There in front of him stood Alexander Lorenzo, his older brother of thirty-five with hair growing grey as early as they do and his piercing blue eyes glaring upon Casteel.

His brother stood at the same height as Casteel himself but there was an aura surrounding the Don of the Syndicate which made the ground shake beneath the feet of the one his glare was directed upon.

Alexander was dressed in his nightclothes—a pair of light pants and a T-shirt, accompanied by a robe thrown over the ensemble. To Casteel, he appeared older, even older than he was.

"Xander..." Casteel gulped, his voice hoarse from his stupor. "When did you come home?"

Alexander stepped closer, his eyes drilling holes into Casteel's head. "What have you done, Casteel? Didn't I tell you to leave that girl alone? Do you realize what has happened?"

He was puzzled by the questions. What was Xander talking about? It had been two months since the drama with that girl—Tasha, Tara—fuck...why couldn't he remember her name?

"What?"

Alexander seized the collar of Casteel's shirt, his grip strong enough to drag his younger brother with him,

"Come here, idiota," he cursed, hauling Casteel to the direction of a corridor, at the end of which stood the guest room.

Casteel didn't protest as he let his brother pull him harshly, nearly tearing his shirt off. Alexander threw the double doors of the guestroom open, nearly tripping Casteel over as he dragged him into the room, past the sitting area, past the bathroom to the bed chamber.