A Newfound Faith
Leaning against the windowsill, he gazed out at the garden as the word slipped from his lips.
“Sua.”
The name tasted impossibly sweet as it rolled across his tongue. He couldn’t recall another name he had ever wanted to speak this badly. At this rate, he was beginning to worry he had truly become a bastard. Like Pavlov’s dog salivating at the sound of a bell, the moment Sua crossed his mind, his once-calm cock would stiffen and rise. He couldn’t explain it. Perhaps the Eastern blood running through his veins had finally found its match.
The look in Tezman’s eyes, which had been savoring the taste of her name, sharpened in an instant. Men in black suits were crossing the garden toward the house.
“How annoying.”
Right on cue, a knock sounded, followed by Cact’s voice from beyond the door.
“Master Mateo has arrived.”
Mateo von Pavard. Michele’s eldest son and Tezman’s half-brother. In a family steeped in money and prestige, there was no chance the half-siblings would get along.
It wouldn’t have been strange if they tried to kill each other at any moment, yet because each knew the other’s weaknesses too well, the two had strictly remained business partners.
Mateo, far more skilled at handling people than Tezman, oversaw the Pavard family’s major legitimate enterprises. As the firstborn with a natural talent for management, everyone tacitly assumed Mateo would inherit Michele’s position.
For Tezman, that was perfectly fine. He had no patience for wearing a mask of pretense and dealing with people the way Mateo did. Managing the business? Controlling the financial flows between Europe and China was more than enough.
A heavy knock echoed before the massive wooden door slowly swung open. The man who strolled through the gap needed no introduction.
“Mateo.”
A chill radiated from those pale golden eyes. Though both had inherited Michele’s golden irises, the two men’s gazes differed subtly. Tezman’s were closer to amber gold, while Mateo’s were transparent and light.
His blond hair was combed back without a single strand out of place, his tie knotted tightly at the throat. As Tezman’s eyes swept over the suffocatingly neat suit, a faint crack appeared in his expression.
“I’ve always wondered.”
Tezman smiled, tapping lightly at his own neck.
“Do you have some kind of choking fetish?”
His firm chest showed between the open black shirt. Mateo’s body, honed by years of exercise, was impressive by any standard, yet it couldn’t compare to Tezman’s, forged through real fights in the field and battles fought like a dog.
“You should learn to dress properly yourself.”
“Next time I’ll wait naked.”
Knowing words would get them nowhere, Mateo changed the subject.
“Why did you stir up trouble in Romania?”
At the question, a sneer curved Tezman’s lips.
“The more I think about it, the angrier I get.”
Angry? Mateo furrowed his brow, unable to understand. This was the first time the Romanians had diverted the laundered money. Such things happened routinely in the shadows; a light warning would have sufficed, considering their previously clean record.
Yet Tezman had moved personally. He, who hated anything troublesome, had rounded up every capo and turned them into vineyard fertilizer. Not content with that, he had swept through their Romanian headquarters as well.
“That’s far too harsh a punishment for one mistake.”
Tezman’s eyes snapped up fiercely.
“Sometimes a single mistake must be paid for with death.”
His icy gaze sliced through the air. The image of Sua trembling in fear, tears clinging to her lashes, flashed before him. The sight of that bastard’s cock beneath her pure white legs, exposed under the hiked-up nun’s habit, had been utterly revolting.
How dare he.
“Seems like you’re the one with the fetish.”
Mateo narrowed his eyes at the prominent bulge in the front of Tezman’s pants.
“Getting hard at the thought of killing someone.”
A hollow laugh burst from Tezman’s throat. No wonder the blood had rushed there. Even the brief thought of Sua had made him so hard it strained against his trousers; he was almost impressed with himself.
“I wish that were the reason.”
If he told Mateo he was lusting after a nun, the man’s expression would be priceless. He would surely call him insane.
“They say forbidden things are more tempting.”
Mateo clicked his tongue at Tezman’s cryptic words.
“Father trusted the Romanian boss quite a bit. Yet because of one underling’s mistake, you went and tore everything apart.”
“Mateo.”
“Go see Father and explain yourself.”
“I’m thinking of believing in God from now on.”
“You’re going to… what?”
Ignoring Mateo’s incredulous face, Tezman continued.
“Pretending to be a devout believer doesn’t sound so bad.”
Her terrified expression was appealing, but he wanted to see every other face she could make. Crying, smiling—those were good, but he also wanted to watch her drown in the pleasure he would give her.
“It’s making me hard again.”
Restlessness surged through him. He needed to see her face immediately. He had to be crazy. Or perhaps something in his mind had simply broken.
Tezman snatched the black suit jacket from the coat rack in the study. As he strode toward the door with long, urgent steps, Mateo called after him.
“Where are you going?”
Without turning around, continuing on his way, Tezman tossed back his final words.
“To the cathedral.”
Mateo stared silently at Tezman’s retreating back as he left the room, then frowned deeply.
“The cathedral?”
The news that Tezman was heading to a cathedral shocked Mateo. It was as if the man had finally touched the drugs he claimed to despise. Mateo let out a dry chuckle. Impossible. It was Mateo’s own mother who had killed Tezman’s birth mother, but the reason for her death had been drugs.
Tezman’s birth mother had been a severe addict—alcohol, narcotics, cigarettes, gambling. In the end, she had even threatened to kill the infant Tezman unless Michele paid her. Unable to tolerate it any longer, Mateo’s mother had ordered her killed. Of course, Tezman knew the truth.
“There’s no way he’d touch drugs.”
With a suspicious expression, Mateo stood motionless for a long moment before finally moving. As he left the mansion, two men in black suits fell in step beside him.
“Giovanni.”
The largest of the two quietly stopped.
“Yes, Master Mateo.”
“Find out what Tezman has been up to lately.”
“Understood.”
The cathedral, of all places. Chuckling again at the absurdity, Mateo climbed into the black car waiting in front of the mansion.
By the time Mateo left Tezman’s estate, Tezman was already on his way to the cathedral.
Silent as he stared out the car window, Tezman suddenly spoke to Cact in the driver’s seat.
“Cact. Do you believe in God?”
It was surprising enough to hear the word “God” from his lips, but Cact could guess the reason and answered calmly.
“I believe in the Pavards.”
A statement perfectly in character for Cact—filled with blind loyalty.
“I’m thinking of trying to believe, starting today.”
There was only one sure way to break through Sua’s defenses: become a believer and slip naturally into her world.
“Do you truly find that nun so captivating?”
“Who knows.”
With his cock standing rigidly at attention, he had no room to consider whether he merely found her appealing.
“As you requested last time, I looked into her… and it turns out—”
When Cact hesitated, Tezman’s gaze, fixed on the scenery outside, slowly shifted.
“She is a nun from Korea.”
Korea. A chuckle escaped Tezman’s lips.
“That’s why they say blood will out.”
Oriental. Korean. If his mother, Michele, or Mateo ever learned of it, they would shudder in disgust.
“Will that be a problem?”
As if measuring the true intent behind the words, Tezman’s eyes quietly studied Cact’s face in the rearview mirror.
“Why would it be a problem?”
“It’s just that…”
“Because my birth mother was Korean?”
Cact pressed his lips tightly together. Tezman’s birth mother had been of mixed Korean and Italian blood. Unable to endure the discrimination she faced for her Eastern heritage, she had first turned to alcohol, then to drugs, and eventually to prostitution. Meeting Michele and giving birth to Tezman had been the result.
For better or worse, Tezman had no memories of her at all. Even when his current mother confessed to having killed her, he had remained indifferent. He felt nothing for a woman who had used a newborn—its umbilical cord not yet fallen off—as leverage to demand money.
Had she lived, he might have killed her himself.
“Whether she’s Korean or Japanese doesn’t matter.”
Regardless of race, how many women had approached him to seduce him? There had even been an Eastern woman who wore something too skimpy to call underwear and begged to suck his cock. What had he done then? Grabbed her by the hair and handed her over to Drhan, if he remembered correctly.
It wasn’t because she was Oriental. It was because it was her. Because it was Han Sua. Because the way she looked up at him with those rabbit-like red-rimmed eyes drove him insane.
A rough breath escaped his lips. Perhaps he was beginning to understand why his father Michele had been so obsessed with women.
“Cact.”
“Yes.”
His mouth had gone completely dry. In the burning thirst that consumed him, he raised his hand and bit down hard on his finger.
“Drive faster.”