Rhapsody: Interracial French Mafia Romance (The Butcher and the Violinist Book 1)

by Kenya Wright

  A scream shattered the silence of the penthouse.

  I stopped walking and listened for more, knowing I shouldn’t. If anything, I should’ve turned around and went off into another direction.

  “No! I won’t!” the man screamed again.

  Turn around. Turn around.

  For some reason, I tiptoed forward. Maybe it was stupid curiosity. Perhaps, I wondered if Jean-Pierre was behind the man’s pain.

  If he’s doing it, how do I feel about that? I can’t feel anything about it. He’s not mine.

  The man screamed again, but this time in a different language.

  Is that Russian? That doesn’t make sense.

  When I first arrived at Belladonna, there’d been a couple of rough looking criminals roaming the streets here and there. There’d been a few Russians lurking around. Not a lot. It just seemed like I kept bumping into one or two Russian men in the areas where I would shop.

  As my living in Belladonna continued, the French Mafia’s presence rose. I’d brought that fact up to Aunt Celina once.

  She’d waved the comment away and grabbed one of my bottles of wine from the counter. “The French will leave soon.”

  I handed her a wine opener. “How do you know?”

  “They won’t have the patience to play this city’s games.” She took the wine opener, set it next to the bottle, and then yelled in the other direction, “Leo! Darling, we need you.”

  Leo groaned from his room. “Coming, Aunt Celina.”

  “I can open it.” I reached for the bottle.

  “No.” She smiled. “Men are amazing, but they always need something to do. Never let a man lay idle for too long. Even if you’re not sleeping with him.”

  I laughed.

  Leo dragged himself in.

  Aunt Celina gestured to the bottle.

  Always unable to say no to her, he opened it with a silly grin.

  “What are y’all talking about?” Leo asked.

  I grinned. “The French Mafia.”

  Aunt Celina snorted. “The French Mafia is not that special.”

  “Doesn’t it seem like there are a whole bunch of French guys here for some reason?” Leo asked.

  I nodded and looked at Aunt Celina. “Have you dealt with any French Mafia at the Candy Shop?”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m just intrigued.”

  “Don’t be intrigued by bad men.” She wagged her finger. “In the end, a bad boy is a very bad boy. There’s nothing romantic about him. Go for the good guys.”

  I sat on the bar stool near her. “The good guys don’t go for me.”

  “Oh, here we go.” Leo played an invisible violin. “Poor Eden is having guy trouble. Nobody wants Eden anymore.”

  “Hey. . .not a lot of guys are going for me lately.” I raised my hands in the air. “I’m no seductress, but I usually have a few guys around by now.”

  Aunt Celina crossed her arms over her chest. “What happened to the celloist?”

  “He stopped calling me back out of the blue.”

  “Wow. This wine bottle doesn’t even have a cork in it. Really, Aunt Celina?” Leo opened the bottle and poured us all a glass. “Anyway. Eden, didn’t you have a date with the celloist last month?”

  “No. That was the part-time tuba player, Simon. He never showed up for the date. I went to his place the next day, apparently he’d moved.”

  “Well, you told me that he’d stood you up, but… “Aunt Celina frowned and didn’t take her glass. “He moved? What was his name?”

  “That’s what his roommate said. Simon had gone on a run. He came back to the apartment earlier than the roommate expected, it looked like he’d been roughed up, and then packed his bags.”

  “Hmmm.” Aunt Celina checked her watch. “I should leave.”

  “What? You didn’t even have any wine.” I moved it over to her. “Come on, Auntie.”

  “This shouldn’t wait.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Leo took her glass. “She’s going to battle the French Mafia.”

  Aunt Celina scowled at him.

  “Sorry.” Leo gave the glass back. “I figured you didn’t want it.”

  “I’m not frowning at the glass. I’m disappointed in your joke. The Corsican is nothing to joke about,” Aunt Celina said. “If anything, you of all people should want more Russians around.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Just, never mind. Leo…get the door.” She picked up her purse.

  He did a dramatic stroll to the door. “Here you go, madam. Always at your service.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  I called out past her as she hurried away. “You owe me a sit down and a glass of wine, Auntie!”

  “Let’s make it next week.” She headed off. “We’ll toast to all the new Russians!”

  “Uh. . .o-kay.” I took a sip. “Whatever is clever.”

  Aunt Celina and I never had that toast to the Russians. The more Russians I happened to bump into as I went about my days, the more French gangsters I stumbled upon too.

  The newspapers discussed tensions rising in certain neighborhoods, but I was too busy to focus on it all. Especially when none of it had anything to do with me. Besides, I had the Belladonna Symphony to practice for and focus on.

  But in the dark hallway of Jean-Pierre’s penthouse, the man screamed again in Russian, and suddenly I wanted to know more about why the Russians and French hated each other.

  What’s going on? Is Jean-Pierre in that room with him?

  A voice sounded behind me. “Don’t be nosy, Eden. You may not like what you find.”

  I jumped and turned around.

  Rafael stood in front of me. “Looking for Jean-Pierre?”

  “No…I was just walking. . .around.”

  A few rooms down, the man screamed again in Russian.

  I swallowed, as my hands shook.

  Rafael’s gaze never left mine. “See? You don’t want to know why he’s screaming. It would give you nightmares.”

  A chill ran down my spine.

  “Let’s go swim.” Rafael signaled for us to walk in the other direction. “Go up to your room, get a swimsuit on, and meet me at the pool.”

  Unlike Jean-Pierre, Rafael didn’t leave much room for options. It was a straight order. The only problem was, I didn’t know if I had to listen to him or not.

  I didn’t want to swim with Rafael.

  The Russian man screamed out. This time the noise reached the highest level of someone that was being tortured. While I knew he must’ve been being harmed, those sounds of pain showed no wiggle room.

  I forced myself to walk forward.

  Rafael called out, “I’ll see you in ten minutes, Eden.”

  “Okay.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Okay. This will be fine.

  I changed into a simple bathing suit. Shalimar had bought tons of bikinis and strapless numbers, but I didn’t like the idea of hanging by the pool with Rafael in something provocative. I wasn’t Jean-Pierre’s actual girlfriend, but I found comfort in clear lines of respect. If I was here to spend time with Jean-Pierre, then that was who I would be with the most.

  Make it quick. Nothing insulting, but in and out.

  I picked a black, one-piece with a swooping neckline and a nonexistent back. I left a note for Jean-Pierre, grabbed a towel, and headed for the pool.

  This will be fine. I’ll swim for a few minutes. Boom. Boom. I say I’m sick. I go back to the room, forget about the screaming, and play some music or something. What I won’t do is sit by the door like a puppy, waiting for Jean-Pierre to return.

  I thought of Vibrato and wondered if the cat missed me at all.

  Doubt it.

  That brought a smile to my face as I stepped onto the section of the rooftop pool.

  A darkening violet sky glimmered above with stars. The penthouse was in the center of a high-end area in Belladonna. The area’s nightlife had just woken up. The beginning noises of luxury par
tying rose. Taxies honked. People laughed. Music drifted and hung in the air.

  I looked around and didn’t see Rafael. Blue water rippled in the pool and glowed. Lights outlined the inside. Jean-Pierre told me it was heated.

  A table sat near the pool. There were several plates full of desserts. I went to the table, searched for anything coated in chocolate, and devoured several pieces.

  I don’t know if I can go back to not eating this good.

  A dark voice sounded behind me. “I figured you were hungry. I had the chef prepare something.”

  Munching in pure enjoyment, I twisted around with my hand holding a brownie in mid-air. “Thanks. I’m not really hungry. It’s just. . .chocolate.”

  Rafael stepped closer to me. “So, it’s hard for you to avoid temptation?”

  “When it comes to chocolate.” I ate the brownie and turned around to get another piece. It wasn’t that I needed another bite. I just felt uncomfortable. The way he’d worded the question, sounded like he’d been asking something more.

  With my back to him, I felt his gaze on me. It burned a path over my skin. I shivered and stepped away, giving us four feet of space. Where Jean-Pierre triggered complete comfort, Rafael incited fear and caused my nerves to go on edge.

  “The tattoo.”

  I looked at him. “Yes?”

  “How new is that?”

  “A year.”

  “What did Jean-Pierre say, when he first saw the violin strings on your back?”

  “That it would get me into trouble.”

  Rafael smirked. “Too late for that. Isn’t it?”

  I swallowed down the brownie, no longer excited about eating. “Jean-Pierre said he used to play the violin for you.”

  “That’s interesting.” Rafael walked over to the table, picked up a tiny piece of banana, and dipped it in caramel.

  “Did you play an instrument?” I asked.

  “No. Jean-Pierre was always the more civilized of us.” He tossed the piece in his mouth. “The smartest too. Well. . .except with love.”

  That was a topic I was happy to explore. Shalimar only knew his past when it dealt with the Candy Shop. The rest of my knowledge came from old news articles on the internet. In that moment, I wondered if I could get more information from Rafael.

  Why should I ask? I’m not supposed to care. But. . .I do. I really do want to know more about him.

  I grabbed a glass and poured water in it. Curiosity bubbled in my chest. Unable to help myself, I asked, “You’re smarter at love?”

  “I am.”

  “How?”

  “I choose not to love at all.”

  Confused, I asked, “And Jean-Pierre chooses to love?”

  “In his way.”

  Who does he love?

  The thought of another having his attention. . .it did dark things to my chest. My heart ached. My stomach twisted. I held my hands to the area, hoping I could forget about the jealousy rising inside of me.

  Rafael stared at me. “What will you do after these thirty days?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “You should. You have many options.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes.” He picked up a chocolate covered strawberry. “What has Jean-Pierre offered you?”

  “It was a private business deal.”

  “How much?” He bit into the fruit.

  “100k.”

  He whistled. “That’s a large amount, but that’s fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “I’ll pay that.”

  “Oh.” I stepped back. “No. I mean. . .I’m sorry, but. . .this is the only deal I’m ever doing.”

  “You mean that you would only do this deal with Jean-Pierre? Why?” He moved forward.

  I held my glass tighter, not liking that he wasn’t giving me space. “This isn’t the profession I want.”

  “You’re very smart. Lots of big, classy words.” He mimicked me. “This isn’t the profession I want.”

  “It isn’t.”

  He moved in closer. Only a foot lay between us. “I’ll pay double. What’s that, Mrs. Eden? 200k? That could get you a whole lot of violins.”

  “Not really.” I walked over to the pool.

  “We’re done with the conversation?”

  “I feel uncomfortable.” I picked up my towel and continued to the exit.

  “But I’m not done talking.”

  I stopped and turned around.

  “How about 300k, Eden?”

  “That won’t work.” Anger rose within me. “I retire after Jean-Pierre.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. . .this isn’t what I want to do.”

  “But you did it for him.”

  “Yes. That was different.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because. . .I liked him.”

  “Hmmm.” He placed his hands in his pockets and stalked my way. “If you liked him so much, then why didn’t you fuck him for free?”

  I blinked. “Because he never asked to fuck me for free.”

  He stopped right in front of me. “If you liked him so much, then why make him pay?”

  “I didn’t make him pay.”

  “But you didn’t say no to the money either.”

  I let out a long breath. “I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t.”

  What did Leo say? If all else fails, look him confidently in his eyes.

  That was what I did.

  “No reasoning?” he asked.

  “None at all.”

  “I hear a hint of a temper.”

  “Maybe I’m just annoyed that I can’t think of a quick comeback to defend myself. I like Jean-Pierre. I enjoy my time with him. And from the first time I saw him, I’ve been intrigued. In the end, I would’ve fucked him for free or for money. That’s the best answer I can give you, Rafael.”

  He grinned. “Maybe you don’t have to defend yourself. I like to fuck with people. Come on. Let’s swim.”

  “I don’t feel like swimming anymore.” I still held the glass in front of me. If all else failed, I’d use it as some sort of weapon. Rafael put me on edge.

  I didn’t like that he stared at me as if I was under some test, and if I failed his test, he’d hurt me.

  He quirked his eyebrows. “300k?”

  “No.”

  Rafael stood there. Silent and forbidding, watching me the whole time.

  “You know what?” Rafael tilted his head to the side. “Let’s make it a clear half a million.”

  “I’m not for sale. I’m not interested. There’s no amount of money. I’m sorry.”

  “Too bad. I’ll forgive you, if you turn around,” Rafael whispered. “I want to touch your tattoo.”

  “Don’t touch me, and have a nice evening, Rafael.” I edged away, taking one step at a time and never putting my back to him. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry anymore as I stepped back into a hard, muscular frame.

  Jean-Pierre’s voice sounded from behind. “You’re scaring her, Rafael. Stop it.”

  Holy shit. Does anybody make noise when they walk around here?

  I glanced over my shoulder. Jean-Pierre’s lips tightened as he walked around me, stalked forward, and stopped in front of Rafael. “What are you doing?”

  Rafael shrugged, and went back to the table. “She passed the test.”

  “She didn’t need one.”

  Rafael held his hands out to his sides. “So, what are you saying? No threesomes allowed?”

  Jean-Pierre glared at him. “If you were anybody else. . .”

  “I know what would’ve happened, if I was anybody else.” Rafael gestured to me. “But, does she know?”

  My whole body stiffened. I wasn’t sure if I should leave or stay. Jean-Pierre looked like he was close to throwing Rafael off the roof.

  “I told you not to do this,” Jean-Pierre said in a quiet, angry voice.

  “I didn’t listen.”

  I couldn’t see Jean-Pierre’s fa
ce anymore, but Rafael took several steps back and raised his hands. “Fine. It’s not like I touched her.”

  “You asked to touch her.”

  “I knew you were near. You’re loud as hell. Of course I wasn’t going to touch her.”

  “I thought you liked your hands.”

  “I do, and on that note, I’m leaving.” Rafael picked up a plate of the caramel bananas. “You two are boring.”

  Rafael left.

  Jean-Pierre turned to me. A scowl covered his face.

  Okay. He’s pissed with me too?

  I stood near the doorway, still gripping my glass of water and towel.

  “I saw the note.” He prowled my way. “Swimming with Rafael is not a message I want to see when I return to you.”

  I swallowed. “Okay.”

  “You don’t know this, but I’m a bit possessive.” He stopped right in front of me. “I don’t share your time, your body, your playing, or your kisses. I don’t share them with anybody. Nothing.”

  I tried to brighten the mood. “So…no threesomes allowed?”

  “Not if you want the other person alive. I won’t share you.”

  There was such finality in the statement that I almost added, “You mean for these days we have left? Not for my whole life, right?”

  Regardless, the edge in his voice sounded like there would be no end to his possession.

  Wow. Now I’m in trouble? I didn’t do anything.

  I walked around him and back to the table full of Rafael’s treats. “Sorry. He saw me…walking around…and asked me to come. I thought I should.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. . .he’s your boss. I guess.” I set the glass and towel on the table. “I wasn’t sure how I should behave.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and came back to me. That scowl never left. “First, I have no boss. That’s the first thing that I want you to always remember. Two, you don’t go anywhere or do anything, especially when it comes to my people, unless you want to. Three,” he stood right back in front of me.

  I gulped down fear.

  “Three, I don’t share.”

  I held my stance and stared back at him with confidence. “Okay. I’ll remember those three things.”

  And just as quickly, Jean-Pierre was all over me, pushing through any barrier of freedom that I thought I’d had. He kissed me and ran his fingers through my hair.

  And then I forgot why I was nervous and terrified.