La Famiglia (6 page)

“Owe! Damn it, Gio!” Mira wheezed. She held the back of his neck with one hand and rubbed down his back with the other as he put another mark of passion on her neck, then shoulder, and then left breast. She kept moving on his lap. She wasn’t too big to flip her to the floor but he remained cautious all the same. He licked the sweat between her breasts, rolled his tongue over the slender curve of her neck, now bruised unintentionally, as she shivered and clung to him. Lately it took a lot more work on his part to make sure she reached her climax. But he was so fucking turned on he could not hold back.

“Do it, baby,” she said as if hearing his inner thoughts, understanding his resistance. Giovanni bit into her shoulder for restraint and she tensed but clung to him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a final groan and grunt of surrender he gushed a release and crashed beneath her.

Afterwards she eased from his arms and he fell to his back. Mira lay at his side, turned on hers. Thankfully the floor in her office was carpeted and not the cool marble tile throughout the building. She put her arm around his waist. He kept her warm by running his hand up and down her skin for as far as he could reach. Her face rested against his chest. They both stared up at the portrait.

“It’s still hard, even now, to believe all the changes in my life with Fabiana gone.” Mira began. “But if none of it had happened I wouldn’t have found you. Our love. And our children wouldn’t exist. Things I never knew I wanted until you were mine.” Mira kissed his chest. She half rolled on top of him. Her warm tummy pressed into his side and her moist pussy pressed against his thigh. “You continue to surprise me. The man you are that they don’t know. The man I believe in.” She touched his face. He turned his gaze to her and stared into her eyes, listening. “You’re my best friend, Giovanni. I trust you with my life. I’ll do whatever is needed to protect what we have. No matter what. Always.”

“You finished, sweetie?” Mira asked.

Giovanni snapped out of his thoughts. His wife reached for their daughter who lifted her arms for her mother. He opened his mouth to object but Mira put Eve on her hip with ease. Several more men had come inside and started to eat. How long had he been daydreaming?

“Zia has missed our Evie so much. I’m going to let Zia give her a bath.” Mira came closer. “Maybe I’ll give you one later,” she whispered.

Giovanni smiled.

“Don’t stay in Villa Rosso too late. Okay? After the girls are done packing I expect to see you.”

“Girls?” he asked curiously.

“I hope you don’t mind but Cecilia is coming to Sicily with us. She agreed to help me and Rosetta.”

“Is that necessary?” Giovanni frowned.

“Yes.” Mira said
with a
firm tone. “Especially since you’ve purposefully kept Zia from staying here. I know it was you.”

Giovanni’s brows lowered at the accusation. Apparently his wife was told of Rocco’s refusal to let Zia return and the blame was cast his way.

“I can explain that,” he began.

“Not the place. Right?” she glanced over to the others in the room. An unspoken rule between them held his tongue. They never disagreed in front of the family. It was always kept behind closed doors. She heaved Eve a bit higher on her hip. “Soon I will have three children under the age of two. I need all the help I can get. Cecilia is coming with us.”

He smiled and nodded. “You’re the boss.”

Mira leaned in and gave him a kiss. “Not really, but I like when we pretend,” she joked. He shook his head with laughter. Eve patted his cheek. “Say bye Papa,” Mira said.

“Ciao, Papa!”
Eve waved.

He winked at his daughter and watched them go. Giovanni reclined back in his chair. The family was good. Rocco worried for nothing. He had made the best choice for them all.

2.

The elevator made a slow climb. Pressed for time he checked his watch once more. His gaze switched back to the numbers blinking above. Dominic Battaglia exhaled the constricting breath of impatience caught in his lungs. At last he reached the fourth floor. The doors parted. The noise level hit him full force. Dominic shoved his hands down deeper in his pockets as he walked inside. It was a warm day but he wore a charcoal grey suit, with a black shirt. The men of the Battaglia family were always seen impeccably dressed in public. It was an unstated rule.

Fabiana’s
, a fashion house under Mirabella’s company, catered to the privileged and famous. The new division within the company blossomed in the short three months since it’s launching.  On the fourth floor, one would find the nucleus of the operation. Below him was a high-end boutique that allowed Mirabella’s collection to be purchased by appointment only. Today the offices bustled with activity. Staff and models hurried about as if uncertain of their destination.  The ten million dollar operation he found in disarray in New York washed Battaglia money clean since Mira’s resurrection.

Profits were good.

Today was a big day for his lady. Catalina had decided to do a store window fashion show on the lower floors for the Italian press and locals. Since the boutique wasn’t open to everyone the crowds gathered for a peek of
Fabiana’s
women’s wear collection. It took him a full five minutes to push his way through the assembly. He thought the idea of a fashion collection display was far too premature, but Giovanni and Mira overruled his objections and gave Catalina her wish. It was a small project. Only sixteen handpicked couture outfits would be featured. But to Catalina it was the biggest venture she’d undertaken in her life. This meant his woman spent day and night with that French black designer who whined constantly. He struggled to be selfless. It was hard.

Dominic let his eyes do the seeking. He caught the lyrical sound of laughter and glanced left. Catalina stood between a tall black model named Zenobia and a slender man with a pink mohawk who he had never seen before. Catalina was beautiful in her business attire. She wore a very slimming nude colored mini dress with a bright red belt and heeled shoes. It was tastefully cut, and against her olive skin it flattered her curves. Her long chestnut brown hair was in a very curly style, which reached beyond her shoulders with bangs that covered her brows. When she spoke every eye went to her. He felt a swell of pride rise in his chest after witnessing her confidence. Dominic checked his watch and frowned. Time was short. He decided to give her the space she needed to conclude her business. He turned left and went to the office that would eventually be Mirabella’s whenever she returned to this fashion world. Every time he entered the door of the office the picture of Mira and Fabiana standing back to back riveted his gaze. He approached the limestone white desk and picked up the phone. He made a quick call to check his service for messages. Again Lorenzo had left one. It was the fourth message he’d received that day. Carlo must not have made contact yet. That concerned him. Dominic hung up and dialed Lorenzo.

* B
*

Golfe de Saint-Tropez —

Ring. Ring. Ring…

Marietta glanced over to the satellite phone. To her dismay it blinked yellow and rang louder. “Fuck this.” Marietta snatched up the phone and turned it off.

Lorenzo had been in a sour mood. He woke up barking at her. He ranted about being ignored, castrated, and made a fool of by his stupid Mafia kingpin cousin. No matter how much they toured and enjoyed each other the dark moments with him sulking and brooding often came. She’d been able to tolerate his mood swings at first. Now she was sick of it. He was her man, and he needed to act like it. Always. Not some loser who needs to be part of some Mafia gang to feel important. It was stupid.

“Marietta? Was that the phone?” Lorenzo yelled.

“No, baby,” she said sweetly, hiding a snide smile on her lips. She glanced up at her reflection in the overhanging microwave oven. The mischief she tried to swallow spread wider across her lips. She liked being bad. She liked bad boys. She was addicted to everything Lorenzo’s dark life brought.

“You coming?” he yelled again. “What the fuck is taking so long?”

“Be right there!” she sang. Marietta picked up the portable radio with the new batteries tucked inside. It was time for his afternoon, before dinner treat. And then she’d feed and make love to him for the rest of the night. Four months into this with Lorenzo and she felt happier, more desired, more loved than she had in her entire miserable life. And she did love Lorenzo, deeply and completely. She would die for him. He was hers. When he confessed the trip was part business and pleasure she didn’t mind. In fact she rarely saw him do business. He had a few meetings with people in London and Paris, but nothing that kept him from spoiling her daily. Her baby knew how to treat a girl.

Marietta climbed the lower deck stairs and emerged to the upper deck that faced the back of the yacht. The windows had a smoky grey tint that made it impossible to see inside but easy to see outside. She found Lorenzo as she left him, in a large leather lounge chair, with his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his nicely bronzed superman chest. How many times had she run her tongue over the hard definition? Damn she liked a man that was physically fit. Each morning when the sun rose he went for a swim. And it showed well in his tan and his physique. Lorenzo even had muscles in his dick. She felt lightheaded thinking about his cock coiled up under his long shorts. He punished her good.

He sat there staring at her. The side of his face rested against his palm. His gaze switched to the radio she carried and she could see a flicker of excitement in his eyes, despite the mean scowl he wore all day.

The first time she did a routine from her days as a stripper for him he acted like a madman. Surely he’d seen his share of strippers before. He claimed her routine was different, the music was different, and her moves were different. And he even made her vow to never dance or move like that for another man. Ever. It was for him only. After she figured out how much he liked it she decided to ration out these performances. When he slipped into a dark brooding mood and she saw their evening turning into a boring routine of his ranting about the injustices of being second best to his cousin, she gave him something special.

“For me?” he asked, with a single nod of his head directed at the radio. “I thought you were fixing my dinner?”

“Don’t be so grouchy. You know you want this instead,” she teased. She popped open the cassette player and dropped her mix tape from an American southern rap group called ‘2 Live Crew’ inside.

Marietta glanced back over her shoulder. Before he was slumped in the chair as if bored. Now he sat forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. He had the predatory look of a lion tracking a prized gazelle in his eyes.
Oh yes, he was going to wear her out tonight. Thank you lord!

“
Dammelo
,” he said.

“I intend to give it to you, baby. You know how I do it. You got to let me warm up.
Amore mio
.”

Marietta pressed play. The sultry voice of a rhythm and blues singer set the mood. It began this way. By the time her man was fully aroused the song would switch to hardcore rap with her putting down sharp gyrations, bouncing of her butt cheeks, and seductive hip rolls would eventually bring her to his lap with him fucking her with wild excitement. He’d lick the sweat off the peaks of her nipples. His face would be buried between her thighs for what felt like hours. That was their game and she liked it just as much as he did.

With a smile to her lips Marietta turned and approached him. She stopped right in front of him so he had to sit upright and part his knees a bit so she could stand in between. Her gaze leveled on his. She untied her black silk robe that stopped mid-thigh. She was nude underneath. Except for the gold belly bracelet that circled her slender waist and connected to the diamond piercing in her bellybutton. She got the piercing and expensive waist jewelry when they visited Morocco. She never took it off. It turned him on to see her wearing it.

There was no need for a strip tease. Her man had barely enough patience for her to disrobe let alone remove a bikini. Besides she often sunbathed, swam, ate, and lounged on his yacht in the nude when they were parked out in the middle of the ocean or docked on the coasts of the French Riviera. And she liked to dance. She liked the way men desired her when she danced.

The music took over. Marietta danced in front of him. A slow circular whine of her hips and roll of her belly muscles with her hands pressed in front of her in mock prayer began the dance. She often started off his favorite routine like that of a belly dancer before she got raunchy. The working of the muscles in her mid section, rotation of her hips, and bounce of her breasts made him lick his lips with restraint. The long wild curls of her hair fell over into her face. The long diamond hoops in her ears bounced against her jaw and her diamond bangles on her right wrist jingled, as did the charm bracelet he put on her ankle. And she worked it for him. The rhythm and blues switched to the hard thump of bass as hardcore rap lyrics spewed from the speakers and she pushed him back by the shoulders into the chair to gyrate with her body rubbing and gliding over his.

They barely got into her routine before they heard it. Actually Lorenzo heard it first. He seized her and threw her to the floor. He landed on top of her. Stunned she gasped for a breath. At first she thought it was his excitement. He was known to be rough when really turned on. She tried to kiss him, wrap her legs around his waist and ignore the pain to the back of her head and back that suffered the blunt of his force. He put a finger to her mouth, and in his eyes she read the warning.
Be silent, be still, someone’s here.
That was the nature of their affair. Danger could present itself at any moment. Even out in the ocean. It’s what Lorenzo warned her of constantly.

The rap music blared loudly. Lorenzo reached for her robe and put it against her chest. “Dress. Stay low.”

Alarmed, Marietta agreed. Lorenzo’s hand then reached for a gun he kept near his chair. He had guns all over the damn boat. They made him comfortable and her uneasy. But soon she heard it too, the sound of a boat approaching.
How the hell did he hear that over the music?

In a crouched position he went for the door. In her heart she had always been afraid that someone from the Capriccio family would arrive and exact revenge for what was done to David. Lorenzo laughed off her concerns.
But was this the moment?
Were they here for them?
Marietta wanted to go after him. She searched for the other gun, the one he kept in the cooler near the refrigerator. She found it and checked to make sure it was loaded. Nothing in her life came easy. She constantly worried that Lorenzo would be taken from her as abruptly as he had stormed into her life.

She eased on her robe.

She heard Lorenzo roar with laughter. It had to be his voice. Tying a knot to her robe she scrambled to the window with both hands on the weapon. She peeked out. Carlo boarded their boat from another and the men on the other boat tossed his luggage to him. Those men shouted at Lorenzo with friendly banter and he shouted back in Italian. She watched Carlo and Lorenzo embrace. Two months ago Lorenzo was drunk, so drunk she literally had to carry him to their room in Paris.

And it was then she learned of the dark secret he carried about his best friend.

Paris, France

April 12, 1992

“Asshole! Stop it. You’re embarrassing me!”  Marietta said in a hushed whisper. She nodded to the door attendant and forced him inside. Lorenzo slurred in Italian. He hugged her so tightly she was barely able to breathe from the pressure his strong arm applied on her side. They’d spent the day sightseeing and at first it was lovely. He was her funny sexy guide. And he bought her whatever she wanted. The driver behind them carried the haul from Chanel, Fendi, Yves St. Laurent. But as the day wore on he kept pulling her into one restaurant, café, or pub after another, to drink. And before long it became too much.

“You’re so damned sexy. You know that?” he growled in her ear. Before she could respond he picked her up and put her over his shoulder. The guests of the hotel were shocked. A few ladies gasped. Several frowned and stepped back. Lorenzo carried her inside the elevator despite her pleas for him to put her down. The driver followed as if it was the most natural thing. Humiliated she fought him when the doors closed.

“Put me down damn it! I’m serious, Lorenzo! Enough of this shit!”

He slapped her ass and started pressing every button on the elevator panel. The elevator made its climb. The doors open and closed. She screamed at the top of her lungs to be released.

“You bastard! You asshole! You mean fucker! I’m serious.”

When he didn’t respond she threatened him in Italian. Sharp words of ripping his balls off, made him roar with laughter and deliver a few more hard smacks to her ass. She even bit his back to no avail. The doors to the elevator kept opening and closing and Marietta grew weak from the way he carried her. The blood rushed to her head. Infuriated she stopped struggling, screaming obscenities,
and finally he did let her down, but only to drag her out of the open elevator on shaky legs.