Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

When I returned, there was a mini celebration of sorts.

The kids had persuaded Camille to help them to put up a small tent in the garden and were camping on the grounds.

I sighed as I saw them; my twins looked so happy. Claude was also with them, whooping and shouting as they ran around the makeshift tent, screaming. Claude pummeled his fists on poor Paddy; I had noticed that he had a tendency to hurt poor Paddy who took it cheerfully, with a goofy grin on his face. On more than one occasion, I had had to intervene and prevent my young son from hurting the child who was autistic and who never retaliated.

Of course, the twins stopped him when they saw it but being young kids themselves, they were not going to be vigilant the way I remained.

Rachel had gone off to town to meet some acquaintances. She had left a message saying she would be back the next afternoon. She had called me to check if I was alright, to make sure I did not need her with me.

*

My army of helpers bustled around. Beatrice came to me, a glass of warm milk in her hands.

“Drink up!” she ordered, her bossy stance and frumpish expression belying the anxiety in her face.

I smiled and hugged her.

‘I feel better,’ I whispered,

She grunted. “Your Rachel was with the kids all day. She made ’em do a spot of study with her too,’ she added and chuffed off to the kitchen.

I watched from the long French doors as Beston strode across to the children and Philippe, who was, inevitably, there.

He made them pack up and they ran back to the house, Paddy in their wake.

Seeing me, he raised his hand in a slight salute and marched off to another side of the lawns.

My heart plummeted.

No news on Lucien. Sighing, my heart heavy with dread, I turned back to go into the house slowly, despondent.

*

Lucien

With a slight, the smallest of movements of his hand, he signalled that they should attack.

It was a do-or-die situation. They could not remain on the frozen ground forever, waiting for Dmitri to make the first move.

With a loud roar, Rhyme began to fire.

The answering fire from Dmitri gave them an idea about his placement, his position and the extent of his firepower. Schwartz took aim and fired, directly at the men ahead. He heard the loud scream and knew he had struck his target when Dmitri rose and began to return the fire.

In one fluid movement, Lucien was on his feet, rushing, , firing incessantly as he stepped to the people ahead, he was confident that his second mate would handle the poor firing from Dmitri’s side and approached Dmitri, in a rush. The man was swaying on his feet, having taken a shot to his arm. But his face was an ugly grimace of rage, twisted into an evil mask as he glared at Lucien.

And then Lucien was at him, having launched himself across the snow, taking down the lean, taller man, his hands pounding the man with the knuckle dusters, brutally.

Dmitri was not in a position to retaliate. When it came to fighting, there was no one who could use his fists better than Lucien.

The sight of the blood, the sound of the flesh tearing, nothing stopped him. He kept on going like a machine, crazed with fury.

This was the man who had almost killed his children and his wife.

But Dmitri was also fighting to stay alive. he kicked and pummeled. they fell onto the snow. Schwartz watched, desperation etched on his face as the two men rolled almost d down the embankment, to the edge of the cliff overlooking the water. Lucien had beaten the man so ferociously, that he was teetering at the edge of his death.

But the Boss was also tiring. He had been fighting the man, pounding him and he had also taken a knife wound from Dmitri, in his chest, a little above his ribs. It was bleeding, but he continued his fight, unabated.

Mihai was dragging his body to them, trying to save his master.

Rhyme had been hit and he lay in the snow, the white snow drenched in his blood as the life bled out of him.

And then, the boy was scrabbling in the snow, trying to get up. A shot from Schwartz had hit him in the knee and he was barely able to stand straight.

But with a fearsome expression on his face, he kept crawling to the two men who were in their savage frenzy.

The two men reached the edge of the cliff. the roaring water drowning out all sound.

Schwartz stood up, yelling, just as Mihai raised his useless arm and shot at Schwartz, a look of evil on his face. Schwartz grunted as the bullet hit his chest.

Even as he gasped, Mihai closed his eyes, the triumphant gleam dying and then, to the horror of Schwartz, he saw the youth, who had managed to pick up a large boulder. He crawled to the two men who were wrestling on the ground and raised it…

***

ProserpinaOriginal from NôvelDrama.Org.

The darkness of the night surrounded me. I sat on the seat near the window, my knees drawn up, resting my chin on them, arms wound around my legs, staring into the darkness of the lawn below. From somewhere in the distance, I hear the sound of an owl, lonely and sombre, breaking the silence of the night. It must be around 2 a. m, I thought wearily, running my hand through my hair, undoing my heavy braid and untangling the knots absently.

On the music system beside me, I was playing my favourite music by David Lanz, the composer and pianist. Sometimes when I was upset, I would play it and doze off on the recliner here by the window, a sense of peace washing over me, lulling me to rest.

But tonight, my mind was working overtime.

Peace was elusive. All I could think of was Lucien. And somehow, I knew, being as attuned to him as I was, I knew he was in trouble.