Owning the Mafia Don

The phone rang.

Blearily, he stared at the screen and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

His daughter’s smiling face appeared on the screen.

He felt sick; Proserpina had been explicit. If she knew he had been unfaithful, she would take the kids and leave him; that had been her ultimatum.

Knowing her, he knew she would not hesitate to do so, she was strong. He admired that unflinching courage she had developed, a fearlessness that made him respect her even as he ruthlessly dominated her in bed.

The phone rang repeatedly.

Moving to the bar shakily, he gulped down a tequila and stood, swaying on his feet.

In a fit of guilt and agony, he sank to the bed and buried his head in his hands and groaned.

He could not think of existing without them. His Woman was his life. He adored his daughter. He loved Piers and baby Claude, all splitting images of himself.

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He could not face them; could not think of talking to them.

The very idea of listening to their pure, trusting, loving voices made him sick. What kind of an animal was he?

He was despicable; he thought and swallowed another tumbler of whiskey.

Swearing, he threw the bottle across the room.

He turned away, unable to answer the call and fell onto the bed, dead drunk.

***

Proserpina

We had been trying to reach Lucien now for hours.

Unsuccessfully.

Ria was almost in tears. She had wanted so badly to hear her father’s voice, ask him about the fight that seemed to have taken place an aeon before. , to tell him about the house, everything.

But his call had gone to voice mail.

Apart from a brief conversation when he had called to check if we had settled in, there had been no word from him. I had been telling myself that he was tired, he was busy but the mind can conjure up the worst scenarios when you are at your most vulnerable…

My heart sank. I remembered how he had drifted away from me the last time we had been living separately.

Ria’s pixie face was forlorn as she handed me the phone. The golden curls framing her face seemed to be limp as I looked at her.

“I do not think I want dinner Mumma,’ she said miserably, in a small voice. It was so uncharacteristic of her, it made me sit up in alarm. She loved food, loved to eat the dishes I prepared for them.

Hiding my own agitation, I hugged her.

“Hey! Mumma has made burgers just for you, pumpkin!’ I cried, pulling her into my arms and kissing her cheeks.

She hugged me and we stood there for a long while, locked in our shared sorrow.

I stared out at the night.

Lucien, I whispered, where are you? Why don’t you call us? Why are you not answering the phone?

And then with a lurching feeling in my chest, I wondered,

Have you left us again?

***

Beston had rung him, guilt and remorse in his voice as he recounted what had taken place.

Now Schwartz was still on the phone, talking to Beston. Damn the man, thought Schwartz, Damn Lucien Delano and his overactive libido.

He scowled angrily as Beston filled him in on what had transpired, the unexpected appearance of a naked Catalina in his room and Lucien’s violent reaction.

Putting two and two together was not difficult. He could guess what had happened.

But he was unsure if Lucien had been a willing partner or not.

That bothered him the most.

Striding into the kitchen he could not help but notice the miserable faces of the twins, the agony on Proserpina’s features as she strived to keep up a facade of cheerfulness.

Impulsively, he went over and pulled her close.

“Hey, little one.’ He smiled, ‘The man is older than you! He’s bone-tired. So he fell asleep is all.’ He said softly.

Proserpina nodded her head, a tremulous smile on her mouth.

From across the gleaming kitchen, Sophie eyed them.

“Looks like the Boss is going to be left high and dry, she thought grimly.

Banging the plates on the counter beside the sink, she received an annoyed look from Beatrice who had not been happy to welcome her into the household.

***

Catalina stared at the screen again as the boy riding her made sounds like a rutting animal. She was seething with rage. The plan had been to get the Don alone; to make him relive the days when they had had sex, over and over again. She would be exhausted but one slap on her a*se cheeks from the large calloused hand and she would be panting, to take him, to pleasure him.

It had all come to nought.

When Dmitri Rudenko had called her to instruct her to get back into Lucien Delano’s life, she had been only too eager to oblige. After the fight last night, she had imagined that he would come to her, especially after that sl*t, his wife, had been bundled off to a safe house when Rudenko had attacked Delano’s mansion.

But no. Everything had failed miserably and she was raging. In a frenzy, she grabbed the boy who was on top of her and mauled him, fighting him, kicking him till the youth collapsed, sobbing in pain. Catalina was humiliated and she would never forgive Lucien Delano.

***

Lucien scowled as he stared at the phone. Proserpina had tried to get through to him again this evening. The voice message she had sent him made him feel even more penitent. In her soft voice, she had asked him when he was going to come over to meet them.

And then in a tone that drove a stake into Lucien’s heart, she had whispered,

‘I miss you so much, Lucien, especially at night…’

The solecism he had committed loomed large in his mind and he had lapsed into taking refuge in drink. That was another reason why he preferred not to attend her calls. Proserpina would easily make out the slurring in his voice. He could not think of the hurt and unspoken reproach in her voice when she realised that he was drinking heavily again.

He made it a point not to speak to her unless it was at the fag end of the conversation with the kids.

Even on those occasions, he kept it crisp and unemotional.

It was cruel, he could see the bewildered, wounded expression on her face when he made flimsy excuses to cut the conversation. But she had never demanded to know why he was doing it.

He was despicable, he thought and quaffed down another drink, neat Scotch.

Catalina had kept away. He had made sure that she was not allowed anywhere near him. She was lying low, he could sense it.

But he had other things to worry about.

***

One evening, Schwartz called him, the annoyance veiled thinly as he said.

He came straight to the point.

“Mate, what got into you? I mean, Fuc*’s sakes! Catalina? That ugly old wh*re?’

Lucien roared at him, furiously,

‘ Keep the f*ck out of my life, damn it!’

And then, taking a deep breath, he snarled,

“This is MY life, I get to choose who I want to f*ck.’

The stony silence that followed made Lucien feel worse. James Schwartz was a good friend, a loyal friend and he cared for Proserpina.

THAT was bothering Lucien.

In a clipped voice, he said,

“You had better visit Uzbekistan for the meeting with the Kobe and Akhram.’

They were the arms dealers Lucien had been cultivating for a long while now.

As Schwartz began to speak, he interrupted rudely and snapped,

‘I am otherwise occupied. I cannot leave the country at the moment.’

Schwartz had not demurred but the call had ended on a bad note.