Surprised at not finding a hired cook in the kitchen, I hover in the doorway just staring, processing what my eyes clearly see but what my brain refuses to accept.

Marco is in the kitchen, making his own breakfast. He turns and smiles. Slowly, I walk toward him, and a warm glow in my chest lights my face with a real smile.

I don’t mind showing him some warmth. All the better for the job, but inwardly, I push away those feelings aside. It was probably just the smell of coffee and the sight of food.

I had a long night, and a few too many of those Bourbons.

“How would you like it?” Marco gets out a cup for me and puts it next to some sugar and cream on the marble bench top.

I lean forward as I take my place at the counter on a stool, showing off my breasts as I slide on to the seat.

“As strong and bold as the men I fuck.”

He grins, lights dancing in those chocolate eyes. They all have brown eyes, in a slightly different shade.

Marco’s are like chocolate. Yeah, he’s a character all right. Knows how to laugh and fuck.

In some ways, it’s a pity I will probably have to kill him, maybe not in the strict sense of the word, but at the very least I’ll be handing him over to the authorities.

His fingers push buttons on a big silver machine, and before I know it I’m holding a steaming black cup in front of me.

I take a sip and briefly close my eyes. “Holy shit. That’s great coffee.”

“Isn’t it?” Marco turns around with a plate of fruit and wholegrain bread. “We get a special brand delivered straight to our house. Our motto is clear: Life’s too fucking short to drink crap coffee.”

I laugh, and it’s real. I’m loosening up here. This is bad.

Something about this is throwing me right off. A lot of my job depends on vibes, instincts, and my ability to stay one hundred percent detached. Marco isn’t giving off any bad vibes.

He’s just a nice guy, enjoying himself. Unfortunately, I shouldn’t be enjoying myself.

That’s probably what makes him such a great criminal.

“You look like you workout, and I can tell by your choices here, keeping in shape is pretty important.” I give him a suggestive eye once-over as I pop a strawberry into my mouth.

“Yeah, it is.” He nods and continues, “Papa didn’t make it into his seventies. The good life, the long hours, well, he never took care of himself. Got fat, smoked and drank too much. Then it was too late to make the changes to the business he wanted to make.”

Marco pauses. “I want to be enjoying my body, as long as I possibly can.”

“It’s worth doing,” I murmur, letting my eyes trickle over him.

He grins appreciatively but doesn’t blush. Not a shy guy.

I want to ask about these business changes. It sounds exactly like what I’m here for. I also need an in—the whole point to this sex festival.

I want a job. Something just doesn’t feel right about pushing the case at this exact moment, so I play it cool. Pretty much the first rule of the job.

When in doubt, chill and wait for intel.

We share a bit more food, and Marco offers to make another espresso.

“Thanks. I shouldn’t have so much. It’s not good for the metabolism.”

Ignoring my protests, it takes less than a minute for the silver machine to spit out another cup.

“Oh, I think you can spoil yourself a bit today,” he says, grinning suggestively as he hands me the steaming cup. “I’m sure you need all the extra energy you can get after last night.”

I smile and take a sip of the espresso.

“It was certainly a vigorous evening,” I agree, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not raring to go any time you like.”

Marco feigns shock, taking some bread and fruit from the plate.

“So, what you’re telling me is, you’re insatiable.”

“Well, I don’t disagree. Sex burns a ridiculous amount of calories you know.”

“I will have to study this topic at length. It may take us a few months.”

I burst out laughing, trying not to spill my coffee.

“A few months at the least.” I wipe my eyes a little. “We will have to compile the data very carefully. Establish a baseline. Orgasms will burn more calories, obviously, so we should aim for those.”

“Oh, certainly,” Marco agrees, “but what about the cum that gets eaten?”

He says it so plainly, with an almost straight face I can’t stop myself giggling a bit more.

“This experiment may be fatally flawed,” I say, reaching for a piece of bread.

“Honestly, I have no fucking clue.” He shrugs. “You seem awfully smart for a call girl.”

Marco is giving me a very steady eye contact right now, and I remember him looking into my eyes last night, his cock down my throat. He had been gentle, rocking slowly behind me as Antonio and Franco fucked me from separate directions.

The look in his eyes is as intense now as it was then, and I must admit, something is disturbing me about this man. Right now, his gaze is penetrating. I mustn’t forget: These guys are smart.

I expect to see evidence of crime everywhere. Drugs, weapons. I expect drug runners coming in and out.

I also expect to get very heavy bad vibes off all my targets. Instead, I get fucked with consideration. The house is clean and free of any sign of crime, and Marco here is so into clean living it looks like he makes his own granola.

I tell myself it’s just that well hidden. Still, I can’t help thinking of Marco’s consideration of me last night, Antonio’s sweet eyes that seemed somehow sad, and Franco gently eating me out.

“I’m just street smart,” I say lightly, grinning at him.

Luckily for me, his phone rings, and he wanders off to answer it. I listen to his voice moving towards the windows, and I stare into space, my eyes scanning but seeing nothing.

There’s a few books and note pads—ah, the end of the kitchen bench. Everyone’s dumping ground. Generally, everyone scribbles notes in the kitchen and then leaves their notes in the ever-growing pile at the end of the bench.

I slide my upper body towards the papers, thinking about reaching out to have a look when I hear a noise behind me.