Owning the Mafia Don

Sophie

Jose listened to her, They were on their second coffee. Paddy was sitting, huddled beside his aunt, humming and singing in a tuneless way under his breath. Obviously, the hearty breakfast had settled him. He was even sliding furtive looks at Jose when he thought the man was not watching him.

Now Jose looked at Sophie and asked quietly,

‘Are you sure about this?’

Sophie burst out, furiously.

“My sister was killed by that PIG, don’t you see?’ And taking a deep breath, she went on,

‘She was captured and handed over to Worthington on the orders of Proserpina f*cking Delano.’ And then, triumphantly, she added, brandishing her trump card,

“Worthington told me as much.’ she declared.

Seeing the disbelief in Jose’s face, she stood up, almost making poor Paddy fall down. Leaning across she sneered,

“Oh, I see. So you are as besotted by her as the rest of them!’

And she turned to march out, dragging her startled nephew by the arm. Jose hurried after her.

“Hey, hey, listen,’ he said gently, pulling her arm, and forcing her to stop.

“Maybe there is something you are missing here?’ Sophie’s eyes were swimming with tears.

“I HATE Proserpina Delano, ‘ she hissed. ‘But that bi*ch is going to get her just desserts, wait and see.’

And she hurried over to her beat-up little vehicle and almost flung Paddy into the car. She drove off recklessly.

Jose stood and stared after them for a while. Then he called Aiyana. This time a simple text would not suffice.

*

Proserpina

I sat in silence, my heart pounding. I knew what Ria had been talking about, the nosey little Miss.

The housekeeper who had been at Lucien’s little house in the city, where he had used to house his mistresses. That had been a long while ago. I knew for a certainty that once we had got together, there had not been another woman who had lived there.

He had given the house to Shark after we had got married. Shark had kept women there, women who had been brought from various countries, the Far East, the Indian sub-continent, Europe…all of whom had been forced into prostitution by that evil man.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

I had come to know about it after the man had been shot dead.

When Lucien came to know about the matter, he had been livid. I knew that my husband had trusted his childhood friend blindly. To discover that he had been running a brothel of sorts there had wounded him emotionally. The fact that his friend had been fooling him, keeping wh*res in the house and all the while, pulling the wool over his eyes, had hurt Lucien deeply. The woman who had been in charge had been a Latino called Xandra Miguel.

My Mafia Don, ruthless as he could be, had been utterly indifferent about the fate of the women; had been prepared to let them free but not prepared to help them. He had been furious when he heard about Xandra. When Danielle had told me that he was planning to throw her under the bus, I had pleaded with him.

Was THAT what Ria and Piers had overheard?

It was after the birth of Claude that I had heard of her. And I had pleaded with Lucien to let the women go. There had been around seventeen of them in the house, Danielle had said. She had met Xandra when she had visited the house to check on matters there.

Since Xandra was a trained nurse, I knew she could get a job with a little help. I had begged Lucien to help her and the others. But I had mentioned Xandra’s name.

Which was what my twins must have heard.

And Sophie had jumped to conclusions without bothering to check with me.

I sat with Beatrice, tired and weary.

She stroked my shoulder.

“Don’t worry so, childe,’ she said, fussing over me.

I nodded and went up to my bedroom, to fling myself on the bed, bone-weary.

*

Aiyana

She sat down to listen to young Jose. He filled her in on the conversation and also sent her the voice recording of the entire morning. She sat forward, listening carefully, eyes shut.

There was no doubt about it: something was about to happen and it was probably going to be Proserpina who would be targeted. Reaching for the phone, she decided to inform Schwartz. She had no direct contact with Lucien Delano.

But she knew enough to know that Dmitri Rudenko was moving swiftly.

Schwartz was unavailable. Too late, she remembered that he had told her that he might have to attend t some unexpected developments in Brazil. In which case, he had said, she was not to call him.

And when she rang up the Club and asked for Lucien Delano, he was too busy with the arrangements for the Big Fight that was fixed for the next day.

Crinkling her brow and chewing her little finger, she sat, wondering what to do. She did not want to inform Proserpina and make her upset, the woman was in the family way, after all, she reasoned.

She sat, wishing that Schwartz had not rushed off to Brazil on urgent business.

*

Proserpina

Lucien could not come for dinner. Some urgent work had come up, he said. I sat down with a sigh. I had so wanted to tell him about Sophie. When he called up later in the evening, he sounded hassled. The preparations for the fight on the weekend were not coming along well. he was practising, all right but the stage, the ring, there were a number of problems that were cropping up.

He had to stay on there, he said, ruefully.

When he called up again after a while, he sounded tired. Lucien informed me that he might not be coming home for a couple of days. I knew he did not want me to step out of the house. I shrugged my shoulders. I had no intention of doing it, either.

*

The next day, I was absorbed in my work. Fielding calls from some of the people who were not too happy with the work being done by my team in Japan, I sighed and stretched, rubbing my aching lower back. I had not been doing my yoga exercises for a couple of weeks and knew that I had to resume them at the earliest.

It was morning, a little after ten. Lucien had still not returned and the kids were doing the written assignments I had assigned them, under the watchful eyes of old Beatrice.

My phone pinged and I frowned. It was an unknown number and I felt my sixth sense go off frantically.

Opening the message that had landed, I stared at the video. It was taken at Lucien’s private suite adjoining his office at the Club. I had been there on more than one occasion; just recently, we had made love from there, as erotic as ever. I stopped breathing and then, I felt my heart racing.

Whatever was this?

Intimate pictures of the bed appeared.

The coverlets had been pulled back, the sheets disarranged. Lucien’s shirt lay, flung on the floor, the way it sometimes was when we were making frenzied love…

The sound of my husband’s rasping voice came over the phone.

A woman’s undergarments lay on the bed. And then a voice I knew and hated, drawled,

‘Darling, hurry up… I need your big c*ck in me again, baby. Come to me, Lucien.”

I felt the breath leave my body in a rush.

It was a voice I knew so well.

Catalina.