Lucien
When he finally made it home, the first light of dawn was staining the sky a pale, heavenly indigo, heralding the approach of the new day. But the Mafia Don, was unaware of the beauty of the world of nature unfolding around him; he sat in the back of his large black sedan as it glided noiselessly along the roads, with two cars ahead and two behind him as he rubbed his hand pensively across his jaw, scraping at the thick grey stubble.
His Woman used to protest when he rubbed his unshaven jaw against her skin; ‘Like being rubbed by a prickly cactus,’ she would giggle and push him away. He enjoyed the sight of her pale skin reddening under his rough caress, he thought abstractedly.
Piers had come to him along with the Capo, to discuss the news they had received. He had been in his Greenroom, having already been for a bout of boxing in the Ring at the new place, for practice. Lucien Delano was a master at practicing the ‘sweet science of bruising’.
As he rubbed the bruise he had received, just under his eye, he winced as he thought of how he would begin to explain it to his Woman. She would be spitting mad, which would only turn him on like hell.
F*ck, he thought with a groan, he loved it when she was furious, her large breasts heaving, eyes flashing and that soft mouth…those were the times he would simply grab he and f*ck her, hard. He scowled as he felt his body respond. F*ck the woman, he wanted nothing more than to bury his c*ck deep inside her sweetness, in the wet core of her sex, and ride her hard, his teeth sinking into the soft mounds of her full breasts as she shuddered and pleaded and moaned beneath his hard body…
He scowled as he brought his mind back to the present with some difficulty. Gustav, his valet, a thin man with a shaved head, glanced at Boss. He knew about his boss’s insatiable sexual appetite. He also knew that his Boss had a hard-on every time he thought of his wife.
Lucien had saved the man from a fight a long while ago, a debt Gustav had never forgotten. He was a man of specific tastes and preferred the company of younger men. Unfortunately, in an act of savage barbarism, he had been attacked with a shiv and had lost the power of speech as his tongue had been very brutally removed by the other opponents in the fight. Lucien, who had been prowling on the streets with his companions, had seen the fight in the alley and had interrupted it, going to the aid of the hapless Gustav, saving his life, and then, he had taken him into the fold of his newly evolving mob. That had been years ago, when Lucien was setting off on his journey of crime but they had been together along with Shark and later, Schwartz, except for a long spell when Gustav had fallen ill.
The older man, for Gustav, was quite a few years ahead of Lucien and had never forgotten the debt. And later, when he was diagnosed with cancer, it had been Lucien who had paid his bills and once again, stepped in to give him a new lease on life.
The man had returned to Lucien’s service when he was better but he was practical enough to know that the dreaded disease was hovering like a dark shadow, somewhere behind him. He was also fiercely loyal to the Mafia Don and would cheerfully die for the big, burly man standing before him, now stepping into his clothes. The valet kept to himself but he respected the younger woman who had managed to make a proper man of the bestial Mafia Don.
*
Today, thought Lucien. Today, I have to let her know. He could not continue to keep her in the dark about his plans for the upcoming fight. She needed to know.
*
Schwartz
Handsome James had seen the message from Maja and he felt torn. On the one hand, he wanted to help her; her son was a lowlife, no doubt about that. But you could not say that to a mother straight off, could you, said Proserpina when he told her about the message.
So he had headed to her apartment in a suburb, still wondering if he was doing the right thing by allowing the woman to weep on his shoulders. He knew that her uncanny resemblance to his late wife, Fionella, was the reason he continued to let her call him and weep. And yes, there was undeniably, a frisson of attraction between them; he knew that she must be feeling the same. But temperament-wise, Fiorella had been a strong woman; Maja was soft and yes, weak.
Now he settled down on the lumpy couch in the front room. Maja was in a skirt and a long-sleeved T-shirt, her eyes red from crying. She sniffed and said,
“Magnus is not a bad boy, really, it is …’ His phone went off at that minute and Schwartz, who had been dragging a weary hand over his face, frowned. It was six in the morning. Who could be calling him at such a relatively early hour? He was dead on his feet and intended to go home to catch a short nap before getting back to work.
Maja stopped talking as he slid open his phone. His eyes opened in astonishment when he checked the caller id.
Aiyana?
He automatically took the call and the sound of her familiar smoky voice filled him as she growled,
“Where are you, James?’
He stammered, in surprise, ‘Aiyana? What do you mean, where are you?’
He listened as she gave an exasperated sigh. Then she said, a hint of a smile in her voice,
‘I am standing right outside your house, at the gate. The guard says you are not home. So where are you?’
Schwartz rose to his feet in one movement, his heart racing.
They had had a good relationship and had been great in bed together too, but she had left because she knew that he would always carry a torch for Proserpina.
But now? What had she come for?
What could be so urgent?
He began to speak, haltingly but she gave a laugh, a throaty laugh, and then, in her deep voice she said, gently, fondly,
“James Schwartz, I felt that I needed to see you.’
And then, her voice became just a tad serious as she said in a quieter voice,
‘Many things to talk about. Also, stuff related to the Delano mob.’
*
Maja stared at the door. James Schwartz had been listening to her, and then out of the blue, he had received a phone call. A woman.
He had left almost immediately and had practically raced out of the room. She sighed as she sat back on the chair, her face in her hands.
A small voice told her, maybe, you should stop running to him every time you have a problem…
*
Ria
She bit her lip as she looked at her Mumma’s profile. Her mother was angry and she felt guilty to think that they had all conspired to make her feel so hurt. Pappa was on the way home; he would in all probability, get her for breakfast. As she moved about in the kitchen, her Mumma was ominously silent. Beatrice, of course, had gotten the story from Ria and she had glared at her. Like Proserpina, she had been as much in the dark, more so, because she would never have kept it from Proserpina
Ria sighed as she helped in preparing waffles.
She hated it when Mumma was angry…
*
Proserpina
Lucien turned up for breakfast, and he settled down to eat along with the children. Schwartz was missing; he had had to go back to his house on some urgent business, said Lucien shortly when I enquired.
As I slipped a fresh stack of pancakes onto the tray and carried them into the dining room, I heard the younger children enter. Claude came in behind them, looking nervous. Tara made a beeline for her Pappa and he immediately opened his arms to envelope her in a bear hug. Lucien had a weakness for his daughters.
I was preparing to sit down too beside my husband, when Tara, who was now sitting down at her customary seat at the table beside her brothers, suddenly piped up, looking anxious,
‘Pappa, are you Very Old?’
Lucien shot her a look from beneath his brows, frowning slightly. He stopped eating, pausing with his hand over his plate as she studied her.
A deafening silence fell over the table. Only Tara could ask such a question and get away with it.
Then my lover grunted,
‘No, poppet, I do not think so.’
Tara sat, looking at him thoughtfully, frowning a little.
‘Then,’ she said, turning to me in puzzlement, “Why did Mumma say that you would totter about in the ring and make an ass of yourself ‘cos you are old?’