Bianca stared as she climbed the marble steps to the large entrance of the palatial house they had arrived at. The women in the car had been murmuring in quiet whispers throughout the journey, but no one had asked her probing questions. She had the strong feeling that Tara Delano Lord had worked that one out for herself, thank you very much.
The huge double doors were opened by a woman in a white starched uniform and beyond her, a huge hall stretched out. In the evening light, lit by amber in the background, a woman emerged, the most beautiful woman she had seen.
Proserpina Delano.
Bianca swallowed. The woman was coming forward, her arms outstretched, a gentle smile on her face. Bianca stood awkwardly. Was she going to embrace her daughter, maybe?
But with a small giggle, Tara pushed her forward.
“Welcome to our home, Bianca dear child,” said the lovely woman, wrapping her in a loving hug, a faint fragrance of vanilla surrounding her as she dimpled and Bianca sagged.
It had been so long since anyone spoke to her like this, with love. Yes, poor Sylvie did, on occasion, but she was a hard-as-nails biker’s lady and had little time for affectionate gestures.
A shout and then, a host of children came, rushing, shouting, tumbling and whooping, towards them.
“Tata! Tata!!!” shouted the oldest, who was around three years old, perhaps, thought Bianca.
Behind him came another couple of golden-haired babies, toddlers, a girl and a boy, walking as fast as their plump legs would allow them to. Another black-haired boy was behind them, waving wildly, as he was carried in the arms of a woman who was also smiling widely, a large-boned woman with flaming red hair.
“My grandchildren,” beamed Proserpina and Bianca almost did a double take.
GRANDCHILDREN?
Another nurse came forward, shepherding two more boys, slightly bigger, who rushed ahead, to hug Tara.
“And my youngest sons,” said Proserpina, dimpling, her soft brown eyes twinkling as she sized up Bianca’s bewilderment.
They were spitting images of Lucien Delano, with no traces of their exquisite mother, she thought in amazement.
But wait, TEN kids?
“Mumma, she looks exhausted…” began Tara and her mother turned to hug her swiftly, even as she embraced the crusty old crone and the other blonde woman who had followed them from the car.
“Get away, you!” yelled the old woman but Proserpina dimpled and hugged her all the same, and Bianca saw how the cantankerous old woman’s features softened lovingly as she returned the hug.
“Come child,” she said, leading Bianca to the interior of the huge house which was lit up now that it was becoming dark.
And Bianca was led to a kitchen where she sniffed appreciatively.
Food, the appetising aromas took her by surprise. Proserpina beamed as she indicated that Bianca should sit down.
“My …uh husband will be here in a few minutes,” she said as she bent over a large cauldron on the stove, having secured her mahogany hair in a knot at the base of her neck absently,
“He likes to have dinner within minutes of arriving…” She turned to smile conspiratorially at Bianca here,
“I always have dinner ready for when he enters the house.”
The young girl perched on a high stool, watching Proserpina, the forty-something woman with lavish lashes and a plump Cupid’s bow mouth, hair gleaming reddish brown as she moved around unhurriedly, checking one cauldron, adding something to another dish.
A couple of women bustled about, arranging things on the table, but it was clear who ran the large, welcoming kitchen.
The Mafia don’s wife.
Bianca wanted to shrink as she thought of facing the Mafia Don, the feared Lucin Delano. But she knew that she had no choice. Almost as though she had read her mind, Tara Delano waddled over, and said softly,
‘You can stay here for a couple of days. I know about …”
Then, as Bianca raised her brimming eyes to Tara. The older woman smiled, a hand on her shoulder as she said,
“Some things take time, kiddo. But trust me, it will all work out.”
Liam O’Grady and Finn St Just stepped out from the Don’s office. Both men had the strange feeling; the feeling a child has after emerging from the Head master’s office, after having been suitably chastised.
The brothers began to walk down the corridors, as Louis led them forward, to another office.
“Sit,” said the young Delano as he sank behind his desk, a smaller replica of the one in his father’s office.
“Let’s discuss…” began O’Grady but his phone vibrated in his pocket and with a scowl, he pulled it out.
Barry?
The man had called at least fifteen times.
He frowned, a feeling of disquiet settling over him.
“I gotta take this, “cried O’Grady, beside himself with anxiety as he stood and stepped out.
What had happened?
Bianca??? Was she alright?
As he rasped into the phone the minute Berry picked up, he felt his heart thunder in his ribcage.
And then, he listened, leaning against the wall as Barry filled him in about Bianca’s sister and her dreadful accusations.
The Irishman’s fists clenched as Barry told him about the unpleasantness at the hospital.
“Where is she? Where is Bianca now? Put her on the line,” snarled O’Grady, who had been striding towards the door, preparing to rush to her aid.
St Just, who had come up behind him placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and they listened in silence to Barry’s voice.
The biker’s next words stopped him in his tracks. He faltered and said, disbelief in his voice he repeated, staring in shock at his brother, who looked equally pole-axed,
“WHAT? Bianca’s… at the Boss’ house???”
In his office in the town of Thomastown, Joe Cahill was a man who had figured out that he had bitten off more than he could chew. He was desperate. The thought that the two young Mafia men, O’Grady and St Just, would go rushing to enlist the help of the dreaded Lucien Delano, was something he had not calculated.
But now, the powerful Mafia Don was involved.
And from the warnings he had received, there were rumors that the many political bigwigs were going to come falling down; all those men who had enjoyed the special services offered on the floating brothel which was already preparing to leave.
He buried his fleshy face in his hands and groaned.
Why in the name of f*ck had he picked up that little thirteen-year-old sister of the Mafia men’s wh*re?
Raising his head slowly, he arrived at a decision.
That little c*nt would have to be killed.
And Fast.