Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

I settled into a routine of sorts. It was difficult to return to the old way of life; I had undergone too much of pain and suffering. Nothing could turn the clock back and make me the happy young mother of three I had been before I had fallen into Dmitri Rudenko’s hands.

I had little trouble blanking out my dreadful experience when I was awake. My babies and my older children kept me awake. My friends called from all parts of the world; Alex Wu from Japan, and Brian from Paris where he was on a lecture tour of Europe. And of course, Rachel. She had promised to come and meet me when she was returning from Scandinavia.

Grace came to spend time too; she had given up her job because she was taking up a new one at a school closer to her home. She spend hours with us.

And yes, my staff, the nannies who had been with us since Ria and Piers had first arrived here with me, Beatrice, dear Bea and now Camille as well. She had also been easily and effortlessly merged into our unwieldy household.

Yes, I had people around me all day to chase away the darkness that lurked at the edge of my consciousness.

But at night?ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

I was at the mercy of the demons that plagued me.

Once, a long time ago, I had attended a class at University when I was still a naive young student

A class on Psychology

The professor had been discussing theories on the subconscious of the human mind.

He had displayed a slide where he showed three dark, cavorting, stick-like figures emerging from the caverns of the basement.

The children who come out to play when their grandmother is asleep, he had said. The grandmother guards them all day long; prevents them from breaking out, and controls them. He had turned to look at his audience, eyes glinting with his zeal.

I could still conjure up that lazy afternoon, the warm afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, the dust mites floating in the air, the balding head of the professor who kept talking, his droning voice almost lulling me to sleep.

But those figures, that image stuck in my mind, shelved somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind…

“Yes,’ I thought now as I tossed and turned in the large bed alone, the darkness and the shifting shadows making me tremble,

“Yes, when your mind is weary and you are at the edge of sleep, a thousand otherwise hidden memories rise to the fore. And you are instantly awake.’

Like a million wayward children kept at bay during the hours of daylight, my memories rushed out to torment me.

I felt I was back in the tiny cell where I had been kept, a prisoner with barely enough food to survive.

I could smell the fear in me.

The mouldy air, the silence save for some distant screaming…

I sat up, my body soaking with sweat. I had been the one who was screaming. The door to my bedroom was flung open and Lucien tore in. He was shirtless, clad in a towel, his powerful hirsute chest heaving as he came to me. His hair was damp. He had just emerged from a shower.

He was beside me, clasping me in his arms almost at once.

We had agreed that I would be happier to sleep alone for some time. Lucien had grunted, grudgingly but both of them knew that he would have trouble controlling his desires. His appetite for sex was humungous. And I was just not ready for it.

So I had opted to sleep in the small bedroom adjoining his, a connecting door between us.

Now I sat, huddled, sobbing, clutching his arms,

‘You are safe now, woman.’ he grunted, holding me tightly. ‘I am here…’

He stroked my hair, and my back, and I heard him swear as he saw that my nightshirt was soaked.

‘I am going to sleep beside you, woman.’ he said in a hoarse, angry voice.

“You need to trust me. I can keep my hands off you, I swear.’

I nodded mutely, shivering.

***

It was now almost a week after I had returned to the comfort of my home.

But my nightmares were a nightly occurrence.

Like some sort of bizarre ritual, I would go to sleep, lulled by the happy sounds around me.

Lucien would wander in as I settled to sleep, a drink in his hand. He would watch me through his narrowed eyes as the last of the little ones were carried out after his feed. His eyes were on my chest as I demurely wrapped my shirt around my full breasts. I felt my heart hammer in me as he stood, looking at me.

I knew my lover wanted to get into bed with me, God knows I wanted him too but he refrained from anything, merely kissing me goodnight.

He was behaving in an exemplary manner, my poor husband.

Insisting that I keep a night lamp on, he would leave the connecting door open while I fell asleep, smiling. Only to wake up in a few hours, screaming.

Till tonight, I had resisted his intervention; I had tried to go back to sleep but had stayed awake till the grey morning light filtered into my room. Lucien would prowl around in his room, I knew he was awake and stayed that way till I fell asleep at dawn. He was respecting my wishes. And watching out for me.

But tonight, I had been too distraught to do anything but to cling to him, sobbing as I tried to forget the images my mind had insisted on bringing up.

I had felt Oleg’s’ warm breath against my face as he licked my cheek.

The terror I felt made me bury my head in Lucien’s chest.

With a filthy oath, he scooped me up in his powerful arms and carried me across to the large bedroom we had shared all these months.

I knew he was biding his time. He wanted to chase Dmitri across the Continent.

But his very real concern for me was holding him back.

I had often felt his eyes on me when he thought I was not looking. Watching me with an unusual look of concern, to see if I was upset or if I was putting on a facade…

He had chosen to work from his study at home. I knew it was because he wanted to be close to me. It made my heart swell with love, but I still hung back.

I still flinched when he came close to me.

The first time I had done so, he had stared, brows drawn, his face like thunder. He had turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. I had stood, hugging myself.

It was Beatrice who had come to me, drawing me into her arms as she held my head while I cried silently.

“Hush, little one,’ she had said, ‘You have been through a lot…’

After that, I noticed that Lucien made an effort to keep a distance between us. But his hot and hungry eyes devoured me when I was around.

Now I felt him lower me gently onto the bed. He peeled off my nightshirt, tossing it onto the bathroom floor.

Then he was beside me and I instinctively turned to him, holding onto his big body, clinging as the tears overflowed.

“Ah…love…’ he groaned and kissed my cheeks, my nose, my eyes.

But I could sense the anguish in him.

We lay like that and gradually I fell asleep, comforted by his large, solid presence. He threw a leg over mine and held me pinned to himself.

Strangely, I felt safe.

***

Lucien

It took him some time to wrap his head around the fact that what his woman had suffered had scarred her deeply.

She shied away from physical contact.

Not with the children, no.

She was her usual generous and loving self with them, even with young Philippe and that halfwit Paddy. She held them and kissed their foreheads.

But when he or any man approached, she seemed to stiffen. And he had seen the look of pure terror on her face when he had reached out to stroke her cheek.

That had shocked him. What must she have gone through?

Guilt ate away at him.

He was the cause for her suffering. the screams that rent the air at night, the piteous sobbing that brought him awake and rushing to be with her at midnight.

All of it was because of HIM.

Schwartz and Aiyana had advised him,

‘She needs a counsellor, mate.’ the Scotsman had said, his green eyes clouded in concern.

And Aiyana, ever the blunt one, had said firmly,

‘Anyone who has emerged from such a catastrophic situation would feel devastated. You need to support her.’

Her unspoken words being, ‘Not drag her to bed and use her to satisfy your lust.