Stephano had heard Angelo come back in. He wanted to talk to him but didn't want to make it look too obvious so he waited in his room hoping Angelo would eventually return to his bedroom. He'd been so terrified when Antonio asked to talk to him in private. He was ready to do whatever he had to in order to pay his family's debt to Vicente, but he hadn't thought he'd be expected to do it so soon.

When he heard Angelo's light steps in the hallway, he peeked out his door. "Angelo? Could I talk to you for a minute?" he asked nervously.

Illya frowned but stopped as he remembered what he'd thought Antonio wanted with Stephano that afternoon. He felt the same stabbing sensation he had earlier when Antonio asked to see Stephano alone. Once again he ignored what that might mean. Since he wanted to find out just what had happened behind that closed door, he glanced behind him then slipped into the room. "Something wrong?" he asked, keeping his tone even.

"Um, sort of," Stephano stuttered. He bit his lip and stared at the floor.

It felt like someone squeezed Illya's heart between the jaws of a vice as he thought of the only reason he could come up with for the look on the boy's face. "What?" he prompted forcing himself to remain calm. What did it matter to him if Antonio fucked someone else? Illya was just sharing Antonio's bed for the good of the mission.

"Keep telling yourself that," a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. He ruthlessly stomped it down. Besides, this was just a boy. He'd never thought Antonio to be a pedophile. After all, he'd refused to touch Angelo when he thought he was seventeen. Stephano was younger than that. It was hard to believe the man he'd admired so much might have changed so drastically.

"I, um, well . . ." Stephano chewed his bottom lip another few seconds then looked up and blurted out, "Would you take my virginity?"

Illya's eyes widened. "Pardon?" He wasn't sure if he was more shocked at the request or at the fact that obviously Antonio had not spent the afternoon doing just that.

Stephano blushed but pushed on. "I know what my father expects me to do with Antonio and, well, I . . . I don't want to, but I have to, but he's so intimidating, I thought that, well, I thought that it might be easier for me if the first time was with you."

Illya stood rooted to the spot, still too stunned to say anything. Then something in Stephano's ramblings hit him. "If you don't want to be with Antonio, then why are you here?""

"I must pay back on my family's debt," Stephano said, seeming to gain courage from being on what he considered more solid ground.

"What debt is that?" The surprise fading, Illya motioned for Stephano to sit on the bed while he settled into a nearby chair.

"My father borrowed a lot of money from Antonio and, well, he lost it all on a bad investment. It is up to me to pay it back with the only currency we have right now."

Illya's eyes narrowed. "Your father expects YOU to pay back HIS debt with your body?" he ground out.

Stephano nodded, his brown hair flopping into his eyes. He swiped it away in a nervous gesture.

"Why doesn't your father let Antonio fuck him, instead? It's his debt."

Stephano's eyes widened in shock. "He's a grown man. He says he shouldn't be emasculated like that, but since I'm not quite yet a man, it won't ruin me like it would ruin him."

Cold rage flooded Illya's veins. What kind of man was Stephano's father to sell his son into what amounted to sexual slavery? And what kind of man was Antonio to accept such a thing? He shook his head. Antonio wasn't that kind of man. Or was he? Was Illya wrong about his lover? It just wasn't adding up.

"So will you do it?" Stephano asked again, breaking into Illya's angry musings.

Illya took a calming breath. "No. I can't." When he saw the fear flare in the boy's eyes he added, "I'll see to it that you won't have to pay for your father's mistakes. Just leave it to me."

When Illya left the room, Stephano was sitting on the bed limp with relief.

"Antonio, we need to talk," Illya announced as he barged into the big man's open office doorway. He stopped short and looked as Lorenzo, wearing a large tool belt, was just leaving through the courtyard door carrying a box of some kind of equipment. His concentration was broken a moment later with the booming voice of Antonio Vicente.

"You wanted something?"

If one didn't know Antonio, the tone would have frightened him, but Illya/Angelo knew the man was more of a teddy bear than the fearsome muscular figure the outward appearance presented.

Putting on the Angelo façade, which was all too easy, Illya paused and asked, "What was he doing here?" as well as pointing at the departing workman.

Antonio shook his head. "Nothing for you to worry about, Little One," he replied using the pet name he sometimes called Angelo. He had no way of knowing that Illya's mother used to call him that a lifetime ago.

Although pet names annoyed Illya, especially when Napoleon used them on his women and they on the dark-haired agent, he found Antonio's use of it somehow soothing. It seemed to take away some tension, some lingering anxiety that he always carried around. Instantly Illya's posture softened and he walked over to the huge mahogany desk. He perched his hind end on the corner of the desk and leaned slightly toward Antonio. "I'm sorry if I walked in on anything. I was merely curious."

Antonio smiled and leaned back in the leather high-backed chair "You are not interrupting anything. It is just part of the work being done on the estate. The cameras for the security system have come in. We were just discussing the work. Did you need me for something?"

Illya felt suspicious but he couldn't grill Antonio like a suspect. He filed the information away to pursue when he went over to investigate the lab later on in the evening. "Yes. I was talking to Stephano and…."

"Good," Antonio said. "I am trying to get the boy to talk more, but he doesn't say much. I am glad to hear that you two are getting to know each other."

Illya thought a moment before saying anything as he thought about how to ask why Antonio would want to have sex with children. Especially since he didn't seem to want to when he thought Angelo was still a boy. He mentally slapped himself for such an afterthought. "Is… is it true that he is here to pay off his father's debt?"

Antonio frowned as the conversation turned to a serious theme. "Yes," he said simply with no hesitation. "The boy belongs to me now."

Illya's brow furled. "But why? You have me. Why do you need to have sex with children?" he asked feeling strange inside. Was jealousy? He thought it might be and shied away from the reasons why he would feel jealous.

Antonio grew silent, a stunned expression on his face. Then his eyes softened and his mouth grew a big smile. He began to laugh. "What did you say?"

Illya glanced at the open door and decided they needed more privacy. He went over and closed it flipping the lock at the same time. He felt Antonio's eyes follow him across the room as he went and closed the curtains blocking the view of them from the courtyard too. Then Illya returned to Antonio and turned the chair to face him. He knelt down between Antonio's legs and moved in close, resting his arms on the Italian's lap. "I said you have me now. Why would you want anyone else?"

As Illya reached up to the belt and unfastened its gold clasp. Antonio leaned back inviting the obvious intentions. Illya felt the heat rush up over his face as he pulled the zipper tab down and pushed the pants and underwear lower to get to Antonio's manhood. He brought forth the cock, already growing in anticipation at what he was about to do.

Bianci watched with fascination and disgust over the next three quarters of an hour. He never though that what was supposed to be a camera test would turn out to be a homosexual pornographic fuck fest.

First was the little blond creep blowing the Italian behemoth at the desk, and then they moved to the sofa where the blond undressed and lay down while Vicente fucked his brains out.

There was no doubt in Bianci's mind that the two were fruits, gays, homos, perverts. He grinned. There would be more of this and taping them would make good blackmail material for later use.

Antonio used the bathroom in his office to freshen up and then redressed while Illya washed up. He waited on the sofa where they just made love for Illya to join him again.

"That was lovely Little One. I will not like waiting for you to get home from the building site once you are working full time." Antonio called to him.

Illya found he didn't mind the use of the nickname as long as they kept it in private. In fact he found the use comforting and warming. There was so much that seemed natural and genuine in the emotions, not only that he was receiving, but that he too was feeling. It was like he was finding a part of himself that had been lost. A part buried for so long he didn't think it existed any longer. He thought if his life had progressed as a normal child's would, he might be very much like Angelo. Not a prostitute, of course, but more mild mannered and studious. It was a sobering thought.

Illya came out of the bathroom pulling up his trousers. He tugged his turtleneck on as he walked over to the couch and then he sat down close to Antonio snuggling into the big man's side and into the embrace of Antonio's muscular arm.

"You will only like this all the more if you have to wait for me," he said smiling. "A boy like Stephano would not give you what I can," he said softly.

"No, he wouldn't. Besides Angelo, I never fuck children. You know that," He replied, chuckling softly.

Illya looked up into the beautiful dark eyes full of amusement. "He said you took him as payment for his father's debt."

"I did," Antonio affirmed. "But not to have sex with the boy. To raise him. Send him to school. Give him a good start in life so that he may do great things in the future. I didn't want to see him wasted in the same criminal life his father is leading. He is too smart and deserves better."

"But you talked to him earlier. Why does he think you brought him here for sex?" he asked puzzled.

"I told you I was trying to get him to talk more. I didn't know that was what he was thinking. I told him of his schooling that will start soon. The places he could go on the estate. That he must take one of my men with him when he goes out to town. And that I expect certain things from him for all this, too, but we would talk later about that."

One corner of Illya's mouth crooked up into a grin as he imagined how the boy was taking all that. He probably thought he was a prisoner to be monitored at all times. "Why does he need to take a man with him to town?"

"He doesn't know the city and he cannot drive yet. One of my men will have to take him," Antonio explained. "I asked him if he had any questions about his living here, and he just shook his head."

Illya smiled with relief. Even the tingle of jealousy was gone. "I think he needs to know this. He is scared to talk to you, and his father had him convinced he was here to service your sexual desires."

Antonio turned his gaze upward and shook his head. "That man is bottom of the sea slime. The boy is better off without him."

"You should talk to him. Let him know all this."

Antonio sighed. "You said I frighten him. Maybe you should tell him since you can talk to him with less…. intimidation than I," he suggested.

"Perhaps if I were there, too, he might feel more secure but I think you should be the one to tell him these things," Illya offered. "I wouldn't feel right since this is your business."

Antonio let out a long breath. "You are right. I must be the one to tell him. After dinner we can talk in the living room."

"May 20, 1947," murmured Stillwell as he wrote the date down. In the margin he noted, "Subject 437 is fourteen at this point." He'd started doing this ever since his conversation with Alexander. He wanted to make sure his friend knew just how young his agent was at the time. Young and, he was sure, as impressionable and malleable as anyone at that age. He sipped at his coffee to give himself a moment to get ready to deal with on paper whatever horror this young man had dealt with in real life. Finally he got down to business.

"His name is Yosef Robinov," Sarkov said.

He handed the Subject a picture of a young man of about twenty with dark good looks.

"What has he done?" asked 437. Why else would Sarkov want him to get to know the recruit?

"Nothing, really. Get to know him. Become his friend." Sarkov's smile was the one that always made the Subject shiver. "Major Andreov has convinced me you need a friend closer to your age. Yosef here is very intelligent. Not as smart as you, I'll admit, but smart enough to give you companionship. He enjoys science and mathematics, just like you. I think you will like him."

A plethora of thoughts swirled through the Subject. Excitement. A friend? He was going to have a friend? He hadn't had a friend since he was a very young child. So long ago—a lifetime ago—he couldn't even remember what it was like anymore.

Relief. It would be nice to have an assignment that didn't involve physical torture, psychological torment, or abject fear.

And wariness. Definitely wariness. Nothing Sarkov did was all it appeared on the surface, and 437 wasn't sure what the hidden agenda might be. What he was sure of was that whatever it was, it wouldn't be pleasant. At least, not for him.

May 23, 1947

Yosef is wonderful! He's as smart as Sarkov promised. And he has a passion for mathematics, physics, and science! Subject 437 is pleased to have this new friend, but he still has the fear that Sarkov will ask for something more. He probably hopes 437 will find something subversive about Yosef. The Subject has had to do that before. Those times, though, Sarkov had told him exactly what he wanted 437 to find out. Those were training missions, however. Maybe this was like an exam. Only time will tell.

June 21, 1947

A month has passed since 437 first met Yosef. The Subject has not found out anything that could be considered subversive in the darkly handsome young man. He believes in Communism, believes in the Party whole-heartedly. He doesn't seem to have homosexual tendencies. Although 437 has given him a number of signals and clues he would be interested-in case this is a test, of course, not because 437 has those tendencies—Yosef never takes him up on it.

Subject 437 gets the feeling Yosef doesn't really like him. He was probably told to be the Subject's friend and so he is doing so. At least he's nice to the Subject and doesn't abuse him. A definite step up from the others living at this KGB training facility.

To top things off, Sarkov has not asked anything about the young man as of yet. Perhaps this really is what he said. Perhaps Uncle Alexei really has just convinced Sarkov Subject 437 needs a friend. He is relatively sure that is true. Why else would Sarkov not ask for reports?

July 10, 1947

Sarkov has revealed his hidden agenda. He has ordered Subject 437 to kill Yosef. To kill the only friend he remembers ever having. The idea that Yosef neither likes 437 much nor does he trust him makes the order no easier to accept.

When asked why, Sarkov just laughed. "Because I wanted to be sure you could follow my orders no matter what they were or how you felt about them." He leaned so close 437 could smell the sour odors of unwashed teeth and cheap Polish vodka. "I want to make sure you know how not to feel anything at all. Emotions are no good in this line of work. I want you to learn how to suppress them completely. This will help."

437 didn't think he needed help in that area. The other, older recruits thought he was the coldest fish they'd ever met. The Subject, himself, already felt dead inside. Or so he thought. When Sarkov delivered his order, it hurt. The Subject has no idea what to do. He can't kill a friend. He just can't.

Stillwell sat back and rubbed his eyes, not surprised at the moisture he felt there. Could this Sarkov not ever just let this boy be human? He wanted to run away from what he knew was coming, but he had to move on, no matter how difficult. In his own odd way he wanted to support the boy even if 437 had no idea that sometime in the future some old man would be crying for him.

"W-why Yosef? He has done nothing!" 437 screamed at Sarkov.

That smile again. That evil, ugly, twisted smile. Then he shrugged. "His grandmother was a Jew. He's not even completely human."

"He's more human than you could ever hope to be!" 437 wanted to shout. In the end, he didn't. What good would it have done? Sarkov would have just found something even more awful to do. In the end, 437 said nothing.

June 11, 1947

Subject 437 . . . .

"Subject 437" was crossed out, Stillwell noticed.

. . . .No. What just happened was the work of a man and a man must be willing to take responsibility for what he does. Most people would not consider me a man at 14, but killing one's friend only because one was ordered to do so makes one a man no matter what age. It is time I took Subject 437's actions as my own.

My name is Illya Kuryakin. I have blond hair, blue eyes, I am fourteen years old and I am now a killer. I just killed someone I felt something for not because he did something death worthy to me or even to the State. I did it because I was ordered.

Why did I not choose death for myself before I chose death for my soul? Perhaps because I have no soul. If I did before, I surely don't now.

Tucker whined and lay his head on his master's knee while Stillwell wept for the soul of a fourteen year old boy he'd never met.

Illya lay awake at 1:30 in the morning listening to the sound of Antonio's soft regular breathing. They spent almost an hour making love before falling asleep in each other's arms. He hated the thought of getting out of the nice warm bed, but he had to get into that lab and see what was going on there. When he was sure Antonio was sound asleep, he raised the sheets and slid slowly to the edge of the bed.

Antonio mumbled slightly and shifted position but remained deep in slumber as Illya stood up. He paused while thinking up excuses to be out of bed but none were required. Naked, he softly padded across the floor and over to where he'd hidden his skulking clothes behind the potted palm. He dressed quietly and quickly and then moved to the door. He checked to make sure the hall was empty. Finding it totally deserted, he tiptoed out the door into the hall.

Illya knew the perimeter of the estate had security, but the house was not wired for anything like that. It seemed that Antonio was just starting to install some, but he didn't explain the details. As Illya sneaked out through the kitchen to the courtyard, he couldn't see any alarm system so he felt relatively safe that he hadn't been detected leaving the building.

There wasn't much of a moon. The lights in the garden and the Roman bathhouse were off. In his black pants, shoes, turtle-neck shirt, and cap, he was almost invisible. He had no trouble eluding the random patrol as he sneaked away from the main estate to the vineyards and winery beyond the wooded area.

With the ease of a monkey, Illya climbed the chain link fence and dropped silently into the construction site. He froze and listened for any sign of people or guard dogs but decided he was alone when he could detect nothing.

As he made his way to the new sales outlet building and the connecting labs, he scanned the area in case there were patrols here too. Nothing intercepted his progress, and once at the door he picked the lock and slipped inside with the ease of anyone with a key.

Inside the store the shelves were empty and unfinished. The counter was complete with cash register, but the electrical still needed work. He hoped that meant the security was not all hooked up yet as well, but he took what precautions he could.

The hall that led to the lab was empty, and Illya couldn't see any cameras. He was comfortable that he was safe approaching the door.

Three locks barred the way inside. Illya managed to pick the first two, but as he was working on the third, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

Illya spun and made a move to grab the attacker, but it seemed as if the other person knew his plan and countered it before he managed to get hold of them. He tried another as he twisted away but that too was effectively blocked. In his momentary surprise at the larger man's skill, since THRUSH minions were usually inept and only able to overpower him by sheer numbers, he'd been pinned against the wall.

Suddenly the pressure against Illya's back and the strain on his arms lessened. A soft but deeper voice whispered, "Illya?"

Illya relaxed in the grip. "Napoleon?"

In harmony they both said, "What are you doing here?"

Napoleon released him and Illya turned around.

"I told you I was coming to find out what they were doing in there," Illya said with irritation. "What are you doing here? Don't you have someone you should be sleeping with tonight?"

Napoleon didn't like the remark. "I could say the same thing of you and that fat old man you've been screwing." The retort was regretted as soon as it was uttered.

Illya's jaw tightened. He took in a long deep breath to relax and considered punching him but decided they had a job to do. The punch could wait until another time. "Antonio is not fat. He's muscular," he muttered. He shifted away from Napoleon's imposing presence and focused on the last lock on the door.

There was a soft click and the door easily swung open. The light from the hall glinting off test tubes and beakers were like a thousand tiny eyes staring at them from inside. Illya slid in first, followed closely by Napoleon. They used their flashlights instead of turning on the room lights in case a patrol came near the building.

"I'll check out the desk. You see what you can find from the tables," Napoleon said.

"Of course," Illya replied. "You wouldn't have any idea what you were looking at anyway," he couldn't help sniping.

He tried to swallow his anger and went over to inspect the set up and the chemical labels. He was soon buried in the fascinating array of equipment as he tried to figure out what they were doing. Notes at each station were incomplete, and the whole thing wasn't making a lot of sense. What was clear was that they were making some sort of drug. It had most of the THRUSH trademarks when it came to their drugs, but it was definitely new and somehow it seemed incomplete.

After twenty minutes of poking around, Illya turned to Napoleon. "Are you getting anywhere there?"

Napoleon opened another file from the lock picked drawer. "I'm just photographing the last file," he said. "Come here. You might want to see this."

Illya carefully put the notes back down where he got them from so as to avoid any suspicion that they had been there. He went over to the desk and leaned over Napoleon's arm to see. Quickly reading while Napoleon flipped the pages, he found something interesting on the fourth page.

"Wait a moment." He picked up the paper and looked closer at the final two paragraphs. "This is the key."

"Key to what?" Napoleon asked.

"The formula they are distilling. I couldn't figure it out because it seemed incomplete, but this is the key."

Napoleon waited for Illya to explain but became irritated quickly at the delay. "We don't have much time. They might be here early," he warned.

Illya shoved the page back and let Napoleon finish. "Of course. The acidity in the wine is the final reagent. This is big, Napoleon. Very big." Illya had one of those "Eureka!" expressions on his face.

"And your bed partner is right in the middle of it." Napoleon wore a smug grin on his face.

The remark set off Illya's emotions again. "It may be his property, but I don't believe he is part of this. There is no proof of it."

"You're fooling yourself. Illya. He's as dirty as THRUSH. Open your eyes and look around here. I don't know what is wrong with you lately. You've been acting strange ever since we went to Guatemala."

"I have not," he denied. I know I have but I will be myself again. No one will ever know this side of me. I can't let them. Except maybe Antonio. The thought sneaked in and blindsided him.

Napoleon noticed a small flicker of light outside as a patrol stopped and lit a cigarette. He doused his flashlight and put the file away, relocking the drawer as he closed it.

Napoleon tucked the camera back into his pocket. He stood to the side of the window and waited for the guard to leave.

Illya was crouched down underneath the sash to stay out of sight in case anyone looked in.

"Antonio isn't involved in this. I'm going to prove that," he whispered.

"What's the matter with you?" Napoleon snapped back equally as quiet. "Since when have you ever been concerned about anyone else? Illya Kuryakin, the Ice Prince." The name had been used rather unflatteringly by a couple of the secretaries at U.N.C.L.E..

"It's none of your affair. I don't hurt innocent people for no reason." He felt a pang of guilt as soon as the statement left his lips. He had taken an innocent life, and for no good reason, too. He could still see the terror and accusation of betrayal in Yosef's eyes, a face he long thought irretrievably buried in his mind.

"I don't know what is blinding you to the truth here, but you need to open your eyes and look at this objectively, Illya. If not, you're going to get yourself killed."

The guard outside took a couple puffs and stubbed the butt out. He stuffed it in his pocket for later and then took one last look around before leaving.

Napoleon watched him walk out of sight and then signaled Illya it was safe to stand up again. "Time to move out."

The two headed back out locking the doors behind them. It was as if they had never been there.

Illya was relieved when he and Napoleon finally parted ways, so he could return to the villa. The tension between them seemed to turn more bitter each time they were together. He couldn't understand why Napoleon was so resentful of him spending time with Antonio Vicente.

He took the time to calm down and mentally align his emotions as he returned to the house. It upset him to feel things like this. It was so foreign after all the years he'd kept them under control; even denying he had such feelings anymore. These were thoughts he didn't want to admit even having. In some ways it was all too confusing. He didn't want to be craving these things, didn't want to like them, didn't even know what to do with them.

The villa was still dark and silent, and Illya was grateful for that. He crept through the kitchen and down the hall to Antonio's bedroom. The door to young Stephano's room was ajar. The boy must have gotten up for some reason, perhaps for a drink of water or a midnight snack.

Illya paused to listen at the door. The even breathing inside the room indicated the young lad was fast asleep, so Illya quietly closed the door. He didn't want to risk having to explain why he was up and dressed in the middle of the night, so Illya stripped off in the hall in case the noise would awaken Antonio. He slipped back into the bedroom and crept over to the bed.

Antonio slept peacefully as Illya slid into his side of the bed. Making slow gentle movements trying not to disturb the big Italian, Illya pulled the covers up to his neck. When Antonio stirred, Illya rolled toward him as if he'd been there all along.

Half sleeping, Antonio reached out and wrapped an arm around Illya. Without thinking, Illya snuggled in closer and kissed the bicep of the muscular man. He could feel Antonio's response as it pressed up against his buttocks.

At least the night would end pleasantly as Illya and Antonio made love for the second time since going to bed.

Lorenzo decided this wasn't so bad after all. At first, he was not happy Bianci had made it his job to review the camera tapes from the Vicente estate. The very first scene between Vicente and Renatto changed his mind, though. Lorenzo knew he wasn't a queer, but any hot-blooded man would get a hard-on watching those two go at it. The idea of shoving his cock into anyone's ass was beyond stimulating.

The rest of it had been pretty boring and routine. Until, of course, the two of them fucked again before going to sleep. Watching two such hot scenes in one sitting was having an effect on him. His cock was so hard it hurt. He decided to take the problem in hand. He left the tapes running, not worried about missing anything while he jerked off since the two men on the screen settled down for the night.

He verged on orgasm when out of the corner of his eye he saw Vicente's new lover slip out of bed and furtively get dressed. With a snarl of frustration he abandoned his cock in order to rewind the tape and watch it again. The little fag's movements showed a conscious attempt to be quiet and not wake his lover.

Lorenzo noted the time on the tape then put in the one for the courtyard. He fast-forwarded it to the same time frame as the other. There he was, sneaking quickly through the courtyard and vanishing into the night. What the hell was the little fruit doing out there after midnight? He could have just been taking a walk. Lorenzo's instincts told him otherwise. He pressed the forward button until Angelo came back into view. He'd been gone about an hour and a half. "Where did you go for that much time?" he murmured.

The door opened with a bang and he jumped in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder to see his superior. Oh, shit.

"Come with me," ordered Roberto. He spun and stalked away.

Relieved Bianci hadn't noticed his state of undress; he quickly stuffed his now flaccid cock back into his pants and zipped up. He hurried after his boss, following him to the lab where their lead researcher stood looking puzzled.

"What's wrong, Dr. Reich?" he asked the man, one of the best chemists in the world, even if he was German.

"I zink zomevone has been in my lab," the man replied in a thick accent.

His Italian was atrocious and hurt Lorenzo's ears, which was why it took a minute for the words to sink in. His eyebrows shot up, heart dropping. Was this where Renatto went last night? Or did he? Reich tended to make nothing into a big something. He looked around the lab. It seemed just as pristine as always. Reich ran a tight ship. "Why do you think that? Looks all right to me."

The German's arms flapped around. "It is nothing one can see!" he thundered. "It is felt! My laboratory feels not right!"

Lorenzo stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Like Vicente, Reich was someone Lorenzo despised yet had to keep happy. "Unless you can show me something tangible, I have no way of knowing if anyone was even in here, much less whether or not it's a problem."

Roberto scowled. "We'll look into it, Doctor. Lorenzo, let's let the doctor get on with his work." He motioned for his minion to leave with him. He didn't speak all the way to his office. He unlocked his office door and let Lorenzo inside before closing and locking it once more. "I wouldn't put much stock in what Dr. Reich said except the cameras and alarm systems in this part of the winery went down last night.

"They aren't up yet. You had me put the cameras into the villa instead," Lorenzo reminded him as his eyes widened. Now Angelo's little excursion took on new possibilities. "Renatto went somewhere last night."

Bianci spun around. "Where?"

"I, um, I'm not sure. He snuck out of Vicente's bedroom a little after midnight. He went through the courtyard, but he passed beyond our cameras' range and disappeared."

Bianci sat on the edge of his desk, a thoughtful look on his face. "Which direction was he going? Here? The lab, maybe?"

Lorenzo shrugged. "Towards the gardens, but he could have veered this direction after the cameras lost him. Or he could have just gone for a walk in the gardens. I just have no way of knowing."

Roberto stroked his chin. "It's possible it's just a coincidence, but I don't want to take any chances. Renatto's license will be in by the end of the week. Let's get him working on low priority things, so we can keep a better eye on him."

"Will do. I'll let him know he starts tomorrow."

The Vicente estate boasted two pools. The main one between the courtyard and gardens was for everyone. The other one was right outside the master bedroom and surrounded by a privacy fence.

Illya swam laps in the private one. It was smaller than the main pool but when shopping for clothes, Antonio had substituted a skimpy swimsuit for the regular trunks Illya had selected. He hadn't found out until too late. He didn't feel comfortable wearing the sexy little suit in the pool where everyone could see him, so he did his laps in this one. Besides, no one bothered him here.

The sliding glass door leading to the master bedroom he shared with Antonio opened and closed. The water in front of Illya rippled as Antonio entered the pool. Illya swam to him and stood up. He ran his hands over his hair to press out excess water. "Taking a break?"

"I wasn't planning to, but you looked so inviting I decided to join you."

Illya smiled. "You mean the water looked inviting."

Antonio put his arms around him and pulled him to him. "No, I meant what I said. I love the way you look in these swim trunks."

"You would," Illya laughed. "They show everything."

"I know. Why do you think I chose them for you?"

"You are incorrigible." He ran his hands over Antonio's torso. Solid, hard, muscular. Napoleon didn't know what he was talking about. The only fat on this body was the slight softness around the middle men in their forties tended to get.

Antonio nuzzled his neck. "That feels good."

"You have a beautiful body," Illya murmured, liking the feel of Antonio's lips on his skin.

"You should show me how much you like my body," Antonio whispered.

In response Illya started to kiss and nip his way down Antonio's neck and chest, finally suckling on his left nipple.

"Ohhhh," Antonio gasped. "I want to feel you so badly."

"You seem to be feeling me pretty well now," Illya softly replied moving to the right nipple.

"I . . . oh my . . . I want to feel you inside of me."

Illya stopped suckling the nipple and pulled back to look at him. "You want me inside you?" he asked awestruck.

"Please, Angelo. Please make love to me."

Emotions Illya had thought he'd lost long ago rose to choke him. He'd always wanted to experience sex with a man in that way, but none had ever been willing to indulge him. Not even Napoleon, the one person he would have thought would trust him enough to do so. Now this man was not only willing, but he wanted to give this amazing gift to him.

Illya took Antonio's mouth in a passionate kiss, pushing him up against the side of the pool. They explored each other's mouths for several minutes getting more heated with every touch of the lips. While they kissed, they divested themselves of their swimsuits.

Finally Illya could not wait any longer. This would not be the most comfortable way of making love, but he was too excited to care. He urged his lover to turn around.

Antonio reached for the towel he'd brought out with him. A tube of lubricant fell from the folds and he handed it over his shoulder to Angelo before spreading his legs, giving his lover better access to his body.

Fingers shaking with excitement, Illya stepped out of the pool enough to coat his hard cock with the lube. He threw the tube onto the side. "Move over a bit," he ordered breathlessly.

Antonio obliged and Illya pressed his cock to the puckered opening. He nearly came when Antonio slammed backwards and impaled himself on Illya's cock. He couldn't quite stop the cry of ecstasy that ripped from his throat at the incredible feeling of being buried to his balls in Antonio's beautiful—not fat!—body. He thrust over and over into his lover, moving and changing the angle in order to find that special spot he knew would put Antonio into orbit.

Antonio's responding howl of pleasure told him when he found his target, and he kept at it until the big man was writhing beneath him. The phenomenal feeling of having this powerful man moaning and begging for him to fuck him harder and faster overwhelmed him and he could hold out no longer.

Antonio let out a loud groan, put his forehead onto the concrete, and stiffened as he came.

His lover's orgasm triggered Illya's. It started with a tingling in his toes and moved up to set his balls churning. He bit Antonio's back to keep from screaming his pleasure out to the world. They stayed in that position for a time, basking in the glow of post-coital satiation. Finally Illya lightly kissed down Antonio's spine as he slowly pulled out.

Antonio straightened with a groan and turned around to embrace his younger lover. "I don't think it's ever felt so good," he said, running his fingers through Illya's drying hair.

"It was phenomenal," Illya agreed, leaning into the caress. "Thank you."

Antonio chuckled lightly. "You don't need to thank me, Angelo. It was my pleasure." The muscles in his buttocks tightened. "Believe me."

"I'd always imagined being on that side of things would feel good, but I never imagined just how wonderful it would be."

Antonio regarded him in surprise. "You've never been the one to do the fucking?"

Illya shook his head. "No one has ever respected me enough to let me." And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? A matter of respect. Napoleon trusted him, but obviously he didn't respect him. At least, not in matters of sex. He knew now that his decision to put an end to that aspect of their relationship was the best decision he could have made. He'd almost wavered a few times in the last few months. Now he was glad he'd stuck to his decision.

"I respect you."

As Antonio leaned down to kiss him, Illya tried not to think about the thrill that shot through him when he thought he saw much more than respect in the big man's eyes.