The Velvet King

ROCCO

The heavy, rhythmic thumping of bass vibrated through the thick soles of my Italian leather shoes, a constant heartbeat reminding me of the empire I had built. I stood in the shadows of my upstairs office, looking out through the reinforced, tinted glass window that overlooked my domain. It is good to be the fucking king. King of the pussy. King of the coke trade. Lord and ruler of the fine