In It For Life
28.
Of course, the fucker had to live in the most opulent house available, or maybe Francesco hadn't been invited in many places like that before too much. It had to count as a little bit strange that he hadn't visited his in-laws' residence until now, but it wasn't like theirs was some normal family, right?
He couldn't believe Don had a real maid in a maid outfit, serving them like they were on the stage of some high production porn. Her skirt was a bit too short to be considered professional, he thought, or maybe he was just imagining things at this point. He tried to smile at her as she placed some expensive looking dish in front of him, but her cold stare made him reconsider. Don must choose his personnel to be his spitting image.
The thing was, no matter how appetizing the food on his plate looked, he didn't feel like eating at all.
"Dig in, boys," Don said with a toothy smile.
The senator preferred a casual sweater and a more relaxed cut for his dress pants while at home. Regardless of the warm tones of his clothes, his smile was as cold and feral as ever.
Francesco fiddle with his fork and took a small bite. It tasted like cardboard in his mouth, so he reached for his wine glass and drank half of it.
"Now," Don spoke again, once the maid in maid outfit closed the doors to the giant dining room, "how about you tell me how you've been lately?"
Francesco looked at Karl. Was he the only one who expected casual conversation the least? But no, he could see Karl setting his jaw hard and a muscle ticking across it.
"It's all good," he replied since his husband preferred hostile silence.
"Really? Do you boys have an open marriage? You do," Don said matter-of-factly. "What's his name... Ahab?"
Francesco felt the bite he took earlier threatening to climb back up his throat. It was impossible for Don not to know about Mouse, but so far, that had been only a distant threat, nothing to busy his mind with.
"A most delicious mouth, my friend tells me," Don added.
Francesco wanted to run out of the room and call Mouse again; tell me to stop digging himself into a hole by getting close to his commander. All his actions, it seemed, were well-known.
"I thought Mouse's commander didn't do boys," Karl said, and his cool, detached voice could almost fool Francesco.
"The commander?" Don snorted. "Captain Reynolds is not a faggot, like you. But I wasn't talking about him."
Francesco felt his breathing getting back to normal slowly. He had no idea he was about to hyperventilate.
"Right. You were talking about some faggot friend of yours," Karl said with a sneer.
"Watch it," Don growled. "I'm already too patient with the two of you."
"What do you want?" Karl pushed away his plate, as good as untouched. His wine glass was half-full, just like Francesco's. "By the way, tell Frieda the food sucks, as always."
Francesco wanted to kiss Karl for his courage. Surreptitiously, he pushed away his plate, too. Maybe the food was really bad.
"Privileged boys like you, sneering at perfectly good food." Don shook his head, but then propped his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers.
"We ate only roots and berries for months on our summer camp," Karl said. "Remember, Cesco?"
Francesco nodded.
Don seemed to consider his angle, like a cobra waiting to strike. "As he remembers you raping his ass until you turned him into the bitch he is."
So, gloves were off. Francesco straightened up in his chair and watch Karl tense. Were they just going to beat each other bloody? Was that was counted as nightly entertainment at the senator's house? He surely hoped not.
