Elsa
The helicopter starts descending, and I nervously grab Marcello’s arm as I watch out the window. The yacht’s helipad is underneath us, with blue water on all sides. It is beyond extravagant, a luxury.
When we touch down, Gabriele gets out first and opens our door. Marcello steps out and then helps me to the ground, making sure I keep my head down until we are safely away from the spinning blades. Six crew members, including the captain, were there to greet us, and they all bowed saying, “Buona sera, Signore Viscuso.”
He takes my hand and exchanges a few words with the captain.
I expected one of those deep-sea fishing boats. Or maybe a sleek speedboat. I did not expect a gigantic 30-meter mega-yacht with split-level decks and a pool.
Dark-tinted windows run along the side, hiding the interior from curious eyes. Perfect for mafia business, I suppose.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“What’s not to like? This is a floating five-star hotel.”
Marcello chuckles. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Each deck is more impressive than the last. Large living spaces, lounges, lush cabins, and a beach club pool area in the rear. In the front is a master suite complete with a jacuzzi and helipad, plus a glass bottom window to the ocean below. I tried not to drool as we walked around, but it was a struggle.
“I would never leave if this yacht was mine,” I say, dragging a finger across the soft leather chair.
“You don’t have to leave, Elsa,” he says, pulling off his sunglasses.
He drops onto the plush cushions and spreads his arms and legs, the king of everything around him. Gabriele takes one of the chairs, but I am not certain what to do. Should I leave them alone? Should I sit?
“Come here,” Marcello tells me, patting to the cushion next to him.
I don’t like being ordered around, but I suppose this is hardly the time to take a stand. Not in front of Gabriele. I don’t really think he’d send me into the dungeon… but I don’t want to risk it, either.
When I slide onto the cushion next to him, his arm wraps around my shoulders, and for the next thirty minutes, he and Gabriele talk about some shipping they are planning to invest in, completely ignoring me. I am not sure if I feel grateful or irritated, but soon I yawn.
Marcello’s hand lands on the back of my neck and he squeezes. A simple gesture, but one my body clearly loves because heat blooms between my legs. A gentle roll of desire that is never far when this man’s hands are on me.
He puts his mouth near my ear. “There is wine and food on the patio deck. You can go out and enjoy yourself if you like. Our guests should be here imminently.”
Our guests. Such an odd way of phrasing it, when nothing here was mine. “All right.”
I started to get up but he doesn’t release me. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Glancing over, I can see he was in his full mafia king mode. Power came off him in waves and I could have jumped him right there. I am not sure what he wanted, but I decided to play his game. Leaning in, I kiss his cheek. “Grazie, Marcello.”
This must have appeased him because his eyes softened and he released me.
The pool deck has tables of food set up, with bottles of prosecco and wine already on ice. I helped myself to a glass of prosecco and some raw shrimp. I didn’t have lunch because I didn’t feel like-but now I am starving. There is an antipasto board, so I load up on various meats and cheeses before relaxing on one of the lounges.
“Next time I am getting myself a bikini. Or can I find some on the boat? When I think much about it, I remember the woman I met in Marcello’s house whom he must be sleeping with. Does he bring her here often? Probably. And if there is any set of bikinis, it could be hers. Maybe even the closet back at the Mansion is hers. But most of the clothes are brand new.
I think I will reconsider Marcello’s offer of new clothes. Maybe he would let me go out shopping. I could use that as an opportunity to find myself an escape route.
A small motorboat approaches. Three people are seated on board, two men and a woman. These must be the people meeting with Marcello. I shield my eyes and watch as they pull alongside the yacht. The crew rushes over to help secure their boat and assist them. Marcello and Gabriele appear from nowhere, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes as the guests climb onto the deck.
One man is likely a guard, considering he is huge and has a gun poking out from under his jacket. The other man, who is probably in his early thirties, is incredibly handsome. He is wearing light linen pants and a tight t-shirt, managing to look both casual and expensive at the same time. The woman at his side is in high heels and a gorgeous sundress.
“Marco,” Marcello greets, shaking the younger man’s hand. Then he turns to me and holds out his hand. No words, just holds out his hand.
I know what that means.
Rising, I throw back my hair and stroll over to him, right into his side, and he slips his arm around my waist. “Marco, this is Elsa. Dolcezza, this is Signore Rossi and Alessia.”
“Ciao,” I say with a small nod. “Alessia, would you like some prosecco?” I hold up my glass. Marcello gives me a squeeze, which I suppose means he approved.
Alessia looks at Marco-which makes me want to roll my eyes-and he nods.
Marcello presses a kiss to my temple and releases me. I take this as my cue to entertain the womenfolk so the menfolk could talk business. “We won’t be long,” he says and presses a brief, hard kiss on my mouth.
I can tell why he is being so sweet and suddenly romantic. He wants to show off to Marco. I don’t even get why. Nothing is going on between us, yet I really love to kiss him. I won’t deny that.
The men leave us alone, and so we go to the pool and get drinks. Alessia seems sweet.
“How long have you and Marco been married?” I inquire.
“No, we are not married. He has a wife in Napoli.”
Open mouth, insert foot.”I see.”
“Like you and Signore Viscuso,” she continues as if I needed further explanation. Oh, that’s what it looks like? Maybe that’s true.
“No, I get it.” Mafia men were not known for their monogamy. “More prosecco?”
Standing, I bring the bottle over to our lounges and refill our glasses. Just two mob hookups, hanging out on a yacht, drinking together. Happens every day, right?
Alessia takes her sundress off, and I can see why Marco would cheat on his wife with this woman. She is flawless. Tall and thin, with long perfect limbs and olive skin. Her hair is dark brown, which hangs down past her shoulders to showcase her fine features. I feel like a dowdy frump next to her. She reminds me of the woman from Marcello’s bedroom. I never got to know her name. It is better off that way. What was it with these mobsters and their stick-thin mistresses?
She looks at me. “Are you not wearing a suit?”
I shake my head. I wish I had. Is it too late to go look for around the yacht? I could ask Marcello but he is probably too busy right now.
“No, I didn’t come prepared,” I shrug.
“Grazie. You are so gorgeous,” I tell her, eyeing her flawless skin.
She shrugs. “I try to stay thin. Otherwise, Marco will find someone else.”
“So let him,” I say. “No man is worth starving yourself for.”
“Marco is worth it.” She holds up her hands and measured out what had to be nine inches. “Very worth it.”
I collapse into a fit of giggles. “Yes, that might be worth it!”
“Marcello is the same, no? Women talk of him all over Calabria.”
Really? I sucked back the rest of my prosecco. “Let’s just say he is definitely worth it.” He hasn’t even fucked me once. I haven’t even seen him naked. I don’t know why that stings.
Alessia laughs. “See, I knew. You can always tell a man with a big dick. He’s very sure of himself.”
We both break out laughing, and I suddenly have to pee really badly. “I must use the toilet. I’ll return in a few minutes.