Owning the Mafia Don

Dusak

He was with his uncle when the monk suddenly went very still.

Dusak looked up. They were in Spain, preparing to fly to the USA in a few days’ time. His uncle had told him, that he was to go to Argentina from there, to train under the guidance of a couple of men who had also been arch-rivals of Lucien Delano.

Dusak sat back, a coldness seeping through him. Involuntarily, his hand went up to the black patch he now wore to cover the blind eye.

He knew that he looked terrifying without it. He had beaten a man to death for having made a joke about him. A deep sense of unfairness welled up in him.

He was young, he was about to inherit the empire built by his uncle. Why had he lost his sight?

Curling his fists, he glared at the plate in front of him, unaware that his uncle was watching him, observing him with a sense of satisfaction.

Good, thought the crafty Paval. This was very good. He should build a deep well of hate for the man who had destroyed his brothers, two of them, killing them with his own hands.

Lucien Delano deserved to be punished. And punishment would be long, slow and painful.

It should also involve his family.

His thin lips twisted in a parody of a smile as he gazed at the picture on the phone.

Lucien Delano walking on the streets of a small town in Greece, his white hair windblown, his expression hidden behind his sunglasses but determination and arrogance in every fibre of his stance.

And with him, a woman, The Woman, his wife.

*

Proserpina

When I re-entered the room, wrapped in the soft, fleecy bathrobe, I knew that something had changed. Lucien was at the window, barking orders to someone over the phone.

I hesitated. At times like this, it was best to give him his space. My phone screen showed several missed calls and I smiled. The kids and my friends had called.

As I moved out of earshot, from where Lucien stood, roaring in anger, I smiled as Ria’s voice came over the line.

‘Mumma! Mumma!’ she cried excitedly, ‘your pictures are in some paper! And you look amazing!’

The phone was passed over to Beatrice who gave a loud snort.

“What clothes you got on, girl?’ she said and I felt a twinge of unease.

“Photographs?’

“Ria, poppet, let me talk to your Pappa.’ I said softly as I realized that this was the reason why Lucien was standing, his shoulder muscles bunched, yelling at some unfortunate person over the phone.

*

Father Paval

Paval tapped his teeth thoughtfully, recognizing the woman. The last time he had seen her, she had been distraught and looked scared and uncertain.

She had come all the way to Slovakia to search for her husband and she had found him. The monk’s gaze rested thoughtfully upon the woman’s figure as he tapped the paper.

He had to break up this romantic, comfortable little setup.

An idea began to form in his head.

Yes, he knew how to assiduously break up the comfortable bond, alright. It would take planning, and a few years too. But definitely, it would be worth the wait.

*Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

Proserpina

Slowly, a trifle hesitantly, I stepped to him and wound my arms around his waist. he glanced down sharply. the unspoken command was,

“I am on a call. Stop trying to seduce me.’ I smiled softly and kissed his chin.

He ended the call soon as I stood, resting my head on his chest.

“Woman,’ he began, but I interrupted him.

“Is it about the photographs?’ I said softly, kissing his chin, and standing on my toes.

He grunted unwillingly, circling my waist with a hefty arm.

‘I wanted to protect you…’ he growled in a thick voice, his lips on my forehead.

*

Father Paval

Paval had already done a lot of spade work about Lucien Delano.

He had the bright large prints of the photographs of the holidaying couple spread on his desk as he stood, arms folded, surveying them coldly.

Lucien Delano had his hands all over the woman. Her hips, her breasts, her neck. the man was an insatiable animal in heat, thought Paval in disgust, fingering his rosary.

He had found out how the mob Boss had had a weakness for women for many years, how he had probably had sex with thousands of women…but had only managed to get this young woman pregnant.

And had, strangely enough, remained faithful to this woman once she had given birth to his third child.

The monk rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully.

He stabbed the photograph on his table with his pen, viciously.

True, the young woman was desirable and any man would have lusted after her with her curvaceous figure, jutting breasts and rounded hips and mouth. ; Dmitri had almost succeeded in selling her off to the Argentinians, but alas! He had failed.

It had intrigued him. He knew how difficult it was to avoid getting a woman with child. He had after all been heading a successful sex trafficking ring for years now.

But then, he had discovered how the Boss had ruthlessly got the women he used for his pleasure, to go for mandatory monthly checkups with the doctors at his designated clinic. All were smoothly organized and conducted by the late Shark, his former associate and aided by Danielle, the woman who worked at his gentleman’s club. The purpose of these monthly checkups was clear: To end any unwanted pregnancy if need be.

Paval had sat back in amazement as he thought of the precision, the calculating coldness of the man. He had felt himself admiring the single-mindedness of the Mafia Don. And then, he had asked himself, surely, someone, perhaps one woman, might have slipped the dragnet and escaped to bring up a child fathered by the Boss?

Excepting of course, young Proserpina Winters, who had gone on to become Mrs. Delano, there did not seem to have been any such daring woman.

That plucky young woman, the teenager at the time, had attempted to free herself from the Don when she had discovered that she was carrying his child. But to no avail, thought Paval scornfully.

The Boss had made a mistake there. So there might be other mistakes too?