Lucien Delano
The powerfully built Mafia Don looked at his son, Claude who had walked into the room and stood, looking a little chagrined. Proserpina, as sensuous as ever, was sitting beside her husband, their bodies close to each other as the youngest twins played on the carpet at their feet. The Mafia Don had pulled her onto his lap and had been kissing her fervently before his son walked in.
The Mafia Don was taking things easy now; Piers handled the major part of the mob work with the able support of Philippe and Louis. Dominik’s restaurant had taken off and was doing great. He had been up earlier, asking his brothers for advice about setting up another cafe in town.
Still finding it difficult to reconcile himself to the fact that his son was neither interested in fighting nor in the Mafia business, the Mafia Don had snorted derisively but his Woman had looked at him pleadingly and he had kept his peace.
Now Claude stood before him and Lucien sighed.
His son might be older, and the father of a son himself, but he continued to be a boisterous buffoon, as the Mafia Don confided in his Woman. It never ceased to amaze him when Lucien Delano saw how popular Claude was with his Bratva in-laws.
This evening, he fixed the unfortunate Claude with a keen look and growled,
“What is it, boy?”
“Pappa…” stuttered the unfortunate Claude, as tongue-tied as ever before his father,
” The fight… I mean, Liam O’Grady is going to be up for a fight…next week. I mean, in a fortnight…”
James Schwartz, who was reading peacefully in a corner of the living room, placed his favourite book of the month, Ikigai, on the side table and sighed. His heart went out to poor bumbling Claude. The boy would never have the courage to withstand his father’s quelling gaze.
“Boss, mate,” he said and the Mafia Don turned to look at his friend fondly.
Having Schwartz in the house, living here, was a boon, as far as he was concerned. Proserpina dimpled at Schwartz and thanked him silently with a grateful look.
“Claude…he discussed it with me and I asked him to run it by you this evening.” And as Claude looked across in relief, Schwartz winked at him.
Lucien Delano steepled his fingers and then glanced at his Woman. She was biting her lip, uncertainly, watching him hopefully and again, he felt a sense of wonder, of gratitude. In his golden years, he was surrounded by his large family and his best friend; what more could he ask for?
Picking up his tumbler, he indicated to the ever-present Gustav that it should be refilled and nodded at Claude.
“Yes,” he said curtly.
The young man looked gratified and hastily withdrew, beaming at his mother. He did not wish to stay and say something which would draw forth a sharp, critical retort from his father.
Proserpina placed a cool hand on her husband’s writs.
“No more drinking, Lucien,” she said demurely.
As he began to growl his protest, she added, leaning to him so that only he could hear her,
“You might not be able to…ummm…satisfy me…in bed, Master…”
The Don’s head reared back.
Her face was becomingly flushed and her eyes were dancing. He knew that he would enjoy the night with her, for just this afternoon when he was taking her hard doggie style, she had been begging him to come…
But now, the little minx was challenging his virility?
All thoughts of another drink vanished as he rose to his feet and growled,
“Schwartz, I’m retiring to bed.”
Handsome James had his nose buried in his book, and he nodded in distraction. He was used to his friend’s amazingly strong sexual drive and was content to be part of the Delano family.
Gripping Proserpina’s arm, the Mafia Don guided her out of the room while the nurses picked up the toddlers and headed to the nursery.
‘You need to be taught a few lessons, wh*re,” he grunted, his erection already pushing against his trousers.
She dimpled and rested her hand on his hirsute chest as she sighed,
“Yes, Master.”
Liam O’Grady
Dragging on his rumpled clothes, the Mafia Boss strode out of the room, furious and at a loss for the first time in his life. No woman had had the courage to stand up to him until now. They either wept and fell to their feet, begging for mercy, or they stormed off, demanding that he meet their demands-in other words, pay them more.
He had dealt with both of those types with ruthlessness.
But Bianca?
She had spurned him. Yes, she had given in to him, but only after putting up a helluva fight. And when she walked off, it was with dignity, having literally rubbed his nose into the ground.
What Bianca had said made him feel ashamed of himself.
Yes, he was guilty of using and discarding women. But he had never felt any remorse, not till this evening.
The Pet ahd held up a mirror to him and he did not like what he saw. She had shown him how he was just a man-whore, moving from one woman’s bed to that of another.
Angry with himself, he ordered his man to drive him to the gym
He had almost forgotten about the fight that was looming; it was to happen in a fortnight. He had the support of Claude Delano, of course, but when he met his opponent in the ring, he would be all alone.
And Claude had also hinted that his father, the formidable Mafia Don, Lucien Delano, would be arriving to watch him.
Reaching for his whiskey bottle, the one he kept in the car, he groaned.
The Mafia Don had been a legendary fighter, he had never lost any of his fights.
And it all depended on Lucien Delano’s approval; if he was impressed with O’Grady, the Mafia Don would allow his son to invest in O’Grady’s dream; a new fight club, owned by O’Grady and his brother.
But that was the clause; any investment would be done only if O’Grady lived up to the mark.
Tipping back his head, he took a long swallow, relishing the burn of the liquid as it scorched his throat. Idly, he glanced at his phone and his jaw dropped.
Saint had called him almost thirteen times!
To his consternation, he saw that Barry had also tried to contact him. He quickly connected to his brother.
“The f*ck were you, bro?” cried St Just, sounding enraged.
And then, in the next breath, without waiting for an answer, he went on, “Is Bianca with you?”
O’Grady managed to get in a word before his brother continued his volley of questions.
“SAINT! “he roared,” THE F*CK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
St Just took a deep breath and continued, his tone hard and empty,
“There was a shooting; outside the pub where Bianca had gone with her friends.”
Liam O’Grady felt a tightening in his chest.
“What happened?” he growled.
‘A girl was shot dead. She was…”
O’Grady barked,
“Who was the girl? One of ours?”
His brother sighed and said,
“No one we know, some girl who had come with her fiance, the guy whose birthday or something they were celebrating.”
O’Grady was breathing heavily.
His brother had not called him so many times to discuss the death of some random girl.
“Get to it, Saint,” he said through gritted teeth.
His brother said in a flat tone,
“The girl was wearing the hoodie which our Pet had been wearing; Bianca had given it to her. And,” he continued as O’Grady made a strangled sound and sat up, his body taut with tension,
“There’s more, O’Grady. She looks a lot like Bianca from the back, small and rounded, with dark hair.”