Chapter 470
Patrick O’ Connor.
Schwartz had left to join the Boss who had just reached home, announced Beston, when he came to inform them that it was time to serve dinner. Proserpina smiled her thanks at him and wiped her hands on a tea towel.
Dinner was served when the Don had come down after a shower. He had come straight from the Clubs and wanted to be fresh for the evening. He had also invited a couple of men, his friends from his days as a youth and Proserpina’s heart sank as she saw old Patrick O’ Connor.
The talkative Irishman with the bright blue eyes and charm had been a drinking buddy of Lucien’s from the days when they were street fighters. The man had run through four marriages if she remembered right and was generally away in the UK or in Ireland. But when he did come, and he met her on some very rare occasion, he made it a point to flirt heavily with her and she disliked his bright blue eyes that seemed to strip her. He also had a pair of roving hands and she made it a point to skirt him when he did come for dinner on the rare occasion.
Lucien was aware of his Woman’s aversion to his old friend; a friend who was part of the Irish mob now. But tonight, he wanted to find out more about who had worked towards attempting to murder his Capo; he had a fair idea but he needed more friends on the other side and Patrick O’ Connor was one such ally. All eyes and ears could be used to his benefit.
*
But there was no way the man was going to get within touching range of his Woman, he had made it clear when he extended his invitation to dinner. O’ Connor had pretended to treat it as a joke but he had known that the Mafia Don was not a man who could be trifled with. So he decided to content himself with just admiring the goods, as he thought of the desirable Mrs. Delano, from afar.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed as Proserpina walked in from the kitchen, her face slightly flushed from the exertions.
Even in a dress that covered her body modestly but for her full breasts which were clearly outlined against the soft material of her dress, she still looked the most beautiful among all the women present under his roof tonight, he thought.
*
She was still feeding the babe occasionally for as the child had been born prematurely, it was not wise to cease giving him his mother’s milk so early, the doctor had huffed indignantly, much to Lucien’s annoyance. He had been piqued; he had a special penchant for his Woman’s full, heavy breasts and as she walked to him, her eyes shining, his gaze slid over her body, resting on the plump, creamy mounds that were visible, straining against her dress.
He knew that Patrick O’Connor had always had an eye for women, especially curvaceous ones but he had made it clear that his wife was out of limits. He noticed the quick, uneasy look she shot in O’Connor’s direction and the way she tucked her long hair hesitantly behind a ear, biting her lip in that way she had when she was uncertain. He felt again, a warmth of love, of possessiveness. He generally made it a point to not bring his associates home for dinner but this was different. He knew that the Irish mob in Chicago had gleaned some information about Paval Rudenko’s ‘doings’; he needed that information.
*
When she reached him, Proserpina lowered her head to his and he grabbed her waist, kissing her hard. She blinked as she moved to step away from him but he held her to him, her small hands on his chest as he said,
‘O’Connor. You have met my woman before.’
The smaller, stocky man who had been watching silently, a big grin on his face, stepped forward, arms outstretched. Holding her to him firmly, Lucien felt the tremor of disgust in his wife’s body as she shrank away, pressing further into her husband’s muscular physique.
‘O’Connor,’ growled the Mafia Don mildly but the iron in his voice made the Irishman stop in his tracks.
‘”I’m only coddin’ ya”, he beamed, turning to look at the Don, his face bland,
‘ And all the saints know that she has grown more…uhh…beautiful with each babe you put in her, man!’ he added in an undertone with a wicked chuckle, his small blue eyes twinkling in sly merriment and a hint of mockery. The two men with him sniggered but ceased abruptly as they saw the ice in the Mafia Don’s gaze. Hurriedly, they averted their eyes.
*
Everyone knew that Don’s wife was strictly off-limits. And justifiably so, thought O’Connor as his eyes slid over the younger woman’s frame, her large breasts thrusting into the Boss’s chest as he held her to his body, his arm, wrapped protectively about her waist.
“Welcome to our home, Patrick,’ murmured Proserpina, doing her best to hide her distaste for the repulsive little man who looked as though he wanted to eat her, right there.
He grinned again, a huge gap-toothed grin and she felt Schwartz come up behind her.
She did not need to turn around to know that he had his aggressive face on.
O’Connor noticed the little play but he made no indication of his awareness.
“Well, well, this was interesting, ‘ he thought to himself shrewdly.
But he cheerfully accepted Schwartz’s hand and said,
‘What’s the craic?’, his way of asking in a typical Irish brogue, what had been happening in general.
As they moved into the dining hall, his eyes went over the sea of faces assembled already. Everyone rose as one when the Don entered, still holding his wife’s waist.
*
As Patrick O’Connor settled down to eat, his eyes went over the room, taking in the furnishings, and the decor. Ostentatious without being flashy, he thought in admiration as he met the eyes of a blonde woman he recognized as the manager of the Clubs owned by the Mafia Don. She gave him a narrow-eyed, unfriendly look but he beamed at her.
He recognized the children of the Boss; unmistakable with their patent coloring, he thought drily, his eyes moving over the blonde heads and clear grey-blue eyes that met his when they looked at them. The eldest daughter, ah, she had her father’s coloring, but her Mumma’s figure, he thought admiring her openly.
And then he met the eyes of the sons, all four pairs, trained on him like Rottweilers waiting for a signal to attack. He laughed quickly, raising his hands in surrender.
*
The sound of girls giggling in the hallway caused everyone to look at the door . O’Connor noticed the tightening of the Don’s lips; he looked irritated as two girls came in. One was a guest, dressed in a cheap leather jacket and a T shirt and jeans, her black beady eyes eagerly sweeping over the assembled guests, faltering and quickly sliding away as she met the Boss’s reproving, cold eyes.
The girl was probably with the ill-dressed redhead who looked about as out of place as a harlot in Paradise, he thought, for O’Connor always had strange ways of making comparisons. His third wife used to fume at his colorful expressions.
The other girl, an exquisite child, golden-haired and with the trademark grey-blue eyes of the Delanos, had to be a Delano daughter, still in her early teens, perhaps. His lips formed a soundless whistle. He had heard rumors in the street about the Delano daughters but these girls were definitely gems.
He felt a blistering look directed his way and turned to meet the angry gaze of a woman, another blonde with furious green eyes who had entered the dining room from the kitchen, behind Proserpina Delano. Ah, here was another beauty, thought O’ Connor, smiling at her, mentally rubbing his hands. The woman glowered at him and it was Schwartz who made the introductions as the Boss was on his phone.
“Meet Melissa Lord, Mrs. Lord. I think you know Tristan Lord?’ his voice was without guile but O’Connor knew a warning when he heard one. Everyone in the world of crime knew of Tristan Lord, the brilliant lawyer who worked for the Cosa Nostra mob , his disastrous first marriage to the daughter of the Condor and then the second marriage to a woman who had been a topless dancer at some seedy bar owed by Grigori, the scion of the mob.
His gaze swung back to her speculatively and away.
Oops, he thought and grinned again, this time as the food was served.
*
The aroma of some spicy rice dish took him by surprise. He was an Irishman, his heart belonged to the bogs of Dublin and the food of his little country. But now, as he forked the first mouthful of colored rice into his mouth, he was taken aback.
“Ah, but Jesus, that’s gas!’ he exclaimed in astonishment.
*
The people around him stopped eating to stare at him in annoyance and stupefaction.
It was delicious, tantalizing the taste buds with a myriad of flavors and he took another forkful, surprised. He looked about the table, delicately wiping his lips with the napkin. Lucien Delano who had been literally wolfing down the food, raised a brow at him enquiringly, as Proserpina Delano stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, looking at the leathery face of the little Irishman apprehensively.
‘I said, G’wan! G’wan now!’ Again, seeing the blank looks on the faces of some of the people at the table, he chuckled, waving his fork as he declared,
‘This is simply deadly!’
And caught up in the mood of the moment, he added with a theatrical flourish,
‘Delira and excira !’
Schwartz shook his head in exasperation. O’Connor was overdoing the Irish bit deliberately, getting a rise from the mixed reactions of the people at the table. While Proserpina looked startled as she leaned into her husband whose arm had gone over her waist protectively, Danielle and Melissa did not look at all impressed while the Delano boys were chomping, attacking their food with relish, ignoring the comments flowing from their overwhelmed guest.
Lucien looked up at his wife’s bewildered face and leaning back, he growled, with a wry twist of his lips,
‘O’Connor means to say that the food is simply fantastic.’
Patrick O’Connor rose to his feet, raising his whiskey tumbler and declared, ever the theatrical man,
‘I propose a toast to the cook. And I wish to employ her. Or him. I will pay him or her a King’s ransom…’
Piers Delano, who had stopped eating, cut him short, saying in a cool voice.
‘Mumma prepared the food.’
The astonished Irishman turned to look in the direction of the Don’s wife. She still stood beside her husband, her full breasts pushing against the Boss’s shoulder, wide-eyed as she watched him like a hunted deer; and O’Connor felt a hot flash of lust. But he hid his desire well as he said,
“Ah…’ for once at a loss for words.