MOAN: The Cantonneli Mafia

by Sophia Gray

  “Hey, baby,” the guy crooned in my ear. “You wanna dance?”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond, just put his arm around my waist and pulled me across the floor. I squealed in surprise – despite his lanky frame, he was actually really strong. He grinned at me again and draped his arms over my shoulders and pressed his torso to my ass. The beat of the song shifted again and I started swaying my hips, keeping my feet firmly in place and grinding my ass against this random guy’s crotch.

  “I’m Samuel,” the guy whispered in my ear. His breath smelled like cigarettes and whiskey. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

  I rolled my eyes, glad he wasn’t looking at my face. I liked dancing with random guys like this, but I was starting to think it probably wasn’t a good idea to give my real name out to strangers. After all, what if Alexander was still mad about the last Samuel he’d caught me here? What if he had guys working for him, spying to see whether or not I showed up again?

  “I’m Cassandra,” I shouted over the music. “Nice to meet you!”

  Samuel didn’t reply. He snaked an arm down my chest, over the swell of my breasts inside my tight outfit, and held me closer. The heat from his body was seeping through my clothes, and I felt a fine sheen of perspiration break out over my forehead.

  “You wanna go somewhere more private?” Samuel whispered.

  I groaned. He was really starting to get on my nerves. And leaving the dance floor wasn’t my plan – the opposite, actually.

  Turning my head over my shoulder, I opened my eyes wide and fluttered my lashes. Up close, Samuel wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t really my type. He was fair, with freckles scattered across his nose and broad cheeks. A mop of light brown hair was pushed back from his forehead, but I could see the gel was starting to break down in his sweat.

  “I like being here,” I said flirtatiously, shoving my ass against Samuel harder than before. “It makes me feel so naughty to do this in public!”

  Samuel’s eyes lit up and his face broke out into a wide grin. Amateur, I thought, staring at him. Despite the confidence he’d shown when he’d first walked up, I could tell he had little experience with actual women.

  “Let’s dance over here,” I said, untangling myself from Samuel’s grasp and prancing to the edge of the dance floor. I walked with my feet exactly in front of each other, making my ass swing lusciously from side to side with each step. Samuel followed close behind me. As soon as I was out of the crowd, I spotted Antonio. He was still sitting in the booth, sipping his soda.

  “Come here,” I told Samuel. He obliged, stepping behind me and putting his hands on my waist. I grabbed them and shoved them lower, resting them on my hips. Together, we began to dip and sway and grind against each other. I moaned softly, arching my back and closing my eyes and letting my lips part and my tongue poke out. Samuel’s erection was like a flagpole against the cheek of my ass, and it wasn’t actually that comfortable, but it wasn’t for my own benefit that I was doing all this. As Samuel groaned into my mane of dark hair, I rubbed suggestively against him then bent at the waist until my palms were touching the gritty, damp dance floor.

  I stayed bent over for a few seconds, shaking my ass. My dress was sliding up my thighs, and I knew I was dangerously close to showing off my ass to everyone in Hurricanes. But I wasn’t done, not yet.

  Flipping my hair over my head, I kept my back arched and my breasts pushed out as I slowly stood all the way back up. As soon as I was fully standing, I ran my hands down my body and moaned again, cupping my breasts through my dress. Opening my eyes, I stared right at Antonio.

  He was staring at me, his lips slightly parted, his soda knocked to the ground, obviously forgotten.

  Chapter 6

  Rodrigo

  I knew I was in deep shit right away when Marty called me that morning.

  “Rodrigo, this is bad,” Marty said as soon as I picked up the phone. When he said my name, Rodrigo - not Don Cantonneli, the title of respect I commanded - my stomach churned.

  “What happened?” I demanded. “You come over here, Marty,” I added quickly, “don’t tell me on the phone.” If things were as bad as I thought, I didn’t want to take the risk that my phone line was bugged.

  Marty said he’d be over as soon as possible then hung up. Waiting for him, I couldn’t sit still. I took my coffee from the dining room table into my office, summoning strength from the oak-paneled walls and my collection of fine art.

  Being the head of the Cantonneli crime family, if it was my destiny, hadn’t always been my plan. I wasn’t born to be the powerful man I am today. I was a lowly cousin, second-rate to the rest of the family. But things took a turn.

  My uncle, Armando Cantonneli, was the most powerful man in Wilmington by the Samuele I was old enough to crawl. From an early age, I saw Armando had everything I wanted in life. A beautiful home, a big family, a perfect wife, and relatives who obeyed him.

  My father obeyed him.

  I always thought that because my father worked for Armando, nothing bad could possibly happen. But when I was in elementary school, my father was killed driving home from a business meeting with Armando and his associates. My mother was devastated. For a long time, I didn’t understand that my father’s death hadn’t been an accident.

  But I learned otherwise when I was a teenager. On my sixteenth birthday, Armando and his consigliere took me to a hotel and showed me what the family business was all about. It turned out we weren’t a family of restaurateurs – we were a crime family, with a front that spanned across half of the eateries in Wilmington. And my father hadn’t been killed in a car wreck. A rival crime family, the Rex family, had made sure he didn’t make it home.

  He’d been spying for Armando and his death, in Armando’s thinking, made me something of a protégé.

  That day marked a turning point in my life. To my mother’s chagrin, I quit school and started working with the family. Armando started treating me like his own son, and I started acting like a true Cantonneli. Armando had a stroke in his late eighties, and I was proclaimed his successor.

  For many years, I’d enjoyed a great empire. Everything I’d ever wanted, I got. I married the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, Bianca Stigliano. She was beautiful, maternal, and smart enough to keep her mouth shut most of the time. I’d always hoped for a big brood of kids, but after having Melinda, Bianca had a miscarriage that left her in the hospital. The nurses told me she was going to be fine, but when I came back in the morning, they told me she’d died overnight from infection and fever.

  Melinda was only three years old when it happened. I would have done anything in the world to bring her mother back. I had plenty of power. I could summon a rare vintage car by snapping my fingers. I could have the most beautiful women in the world crawling all over me like I was James Dean. And I could eat the most sumptuous, luxurious foods every night; beluga caviar, Kobe steak, and the finest champagne were at my fingertips like potato chips to other people. What I wanted, I got. But some matters were in God’s hands only. I couldn’t have the one thing I wanted more than anything else. I couldn’t get my dead wife back.

  So I raised Melinda as best I could. She had a nanny, Maria, who I hoped would be a kind of mother to her. But Melinda was always independent. She almost never cried, not even when she fell down the steps and broke her wrist. Melinda was a real tough girl, just like her old man. I never told her, but I was proud. I didn’t know any girls like my daughter, and I was glad she wasn’t one of those delicate little blossoms who was afraid of a little dirt, grit, and blood.

  But now that Melinda was growing up, I was starting to wish she wasn’t so headstrong. It seemed like she didn’t even rebel because of what she wanted, but just for the sake of rebelling. As much as I tried to understand her, I failed to see what motivated her in life. She hadn’t been a good student even though she was bright. And she hadn’t really ever fought me about dating, either. There had been the occasional sulking when I’d refused s
omething like prom, but for the most part, Melinda had been an exceptional kid.

  Which is why I was having such a hard time doing what I needed to do.

  Marty arrived that morning wearing a dark suit with his sunglasses sitting on top of his bald head. Brown age spots had appeared where his hair had fallen out, and for the first time, it occurred to me that we were both getting old.

  Marty lowered himself into the burgundy leather chair in front of my desk. “Don Cantonneli,” Marty said formally. “I wish I’d come with better news.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was another shooting, down by the docks,” Marty said. “James Rex had the whole damn thing staked out, Rodrigo. He shot and killed two of our men.”

  “Who?”

  “Samuel and Chris.”

  I winced. Samuel and Chris were two of my nephews. Both had been young and promising boys.

  “Dead in the prime of their life,” I said slowly, shaking my head. I pulled a cigar from the small humidor I kept on my desk and lit it, inhaling until I felt light in the head.

  “We have to do something about Rex,” Marty said. “With all due respect, Don, I don’t think things are going to get better on their own.”

  “The docks are our ground,” I growled, puffing cigar smoke into the air. It hung in ghostly blue clouds, making my office look like an opium den. “They had no right to be there. I want retaliation, as soon as possible. Tonight,” I added. “You find someone to do it, and take two of their men.”

  Marty nodded. “Don, this is only a temporary solution,” he said. “You’ll forgive my saying so, but we need to broker some kind of arrangement with the Rex family.”

  I sighed. “Call James,” I said. “Have him come over. Don’t mention Samuel and Chris. Just have him come over for a drink.”

  Marty left my office and made the necessary arrangements while I stared gloomily at a photo of Bianca and baby Melinda. Bianca’s hair was pulled back in a loose, frizzy bun, her face filled with genuine happiness. Melinda was swaddled in a white blanket, cradled gently in Bianca’s arms.

  Part of me wished Melinda could have stayed like that forever.

  But when Marty came back with James Rex in tow, my heart hardened and I knew exactly what I’d have to do.

  “Rodrigo,” James said, lowering himself down into a chair with a grunt. James had to be at least fifteen years younger than I was, but he looked the same age, if not older. He had thin skin with a red nose from years of drinking too much, and the wisps of hair on his skull made him look almost monkish.

  “James,” I said, returning the insult. James Rex had been head of the Rex crime family for years, but I still thought he acted like a snot-nosed brat of a kid. His son, Alexander, was even worse.

  “What are we going to do, Rodrigo?” James said. He smiled tightly, then took out a cigarette and lit up. “We can’t keep killing each other, can we?”

  I felt my face harden into a stony frown. “No,” I said. “We cannot.”

  “Don Cantonneli,” Marty said, bowing slightly, “may I propose a solution?”

  I waved my hand in the air.

  Marty turned to James. “We’re in debt to your family. We know that. But we don’t want a turf war; we can’t lose any more men, and I know you don’t want retaliation.”

  James snickered. “Real bright one you got here, boss,” he said with a smirk.

  Marty ignored the insult. “And your son, Alexander, needs a wife soon. If he’s going to succeed you, he’ll need a family and children.”

  James nodded. “He’s sowing his oats right now, but I’m sure he could be tempted.” James smirked. “Not that he’d stop fucking around after the marriage, of course.”

  “Melinda, Don Cantonneli’s daughter, would be a perfectly suitable bride,” Marty continued. “She’s twenty-one, and we can vouch for her purity. She’s never lived outside the home. She’s a good girl.”

  James’s eyebrows flew up. “She ain’t that good,” he said. “Alexander told me he caught her at a club, dancing with some greaseball the other night. She dresses like a real slut, too. How the hell am I supposed to believe she’s still a virgin?”

  I stood up, sliding my hands in my pockets. Walking over to James, I made sure to keep my facial features perfectly composed. I leaned down in his face, then exhaled a stream of cigar smoke. “If you insult my daughter again,” I said quietly. “You won’t be able to walk out of this room, you understand?”

  Marty pulled a gun and pointed it at one of James’s feet. He smirked. “Foot surgery is painful,” Marty added. “Then again, depending where I shoot, you might just have to have an amputation.”

  James shivered. “Fine, fine,” he said quickly. “Forget it. Your daughter’s a peach, Rodrigo. A real fine woman.”

  “Yes, she is,” I said, walking back to my chair and sitting down. “And she’ll be a good wife to your boy. Her mother, Bianca, never had problems with fertility. Melinda will give Alexander children, heirs, and she won’t ask too many questions. She’s used to this lifestyle. She knows exactly how a good wife should behave. And she’s a good cook. Her Italian cooking is good enough for a restaurant.”

  James smirked. “So what’s the catch?”

  “Alexander marries Melinda, we keep the peace,” Marty said. “James, you’ll have a member of the Cantonneli family in your own family now. And in return, Alexander will be like a son to Don Cantonneli. He’ll provide information and ensure our relationship is always smooth.”

  James’s eyes narrowed. I could tell he didn’t like the idea of having our families so closely intertwined. And to be honest, I wasn’t wild about it either. But it was better than endless bloodshed. I was sick of finding out my nephews were dead. Melinda would make Alexander a fine wife, and if any of the Rex family tried to hurt her or diminish her position, I’d make them pay.

  “We got a deal?” Marty asked. The air was thick with smoke, and his ominous tone only added to the tense atmosphere of the room.

  “Deal,” James said. He looked at me. “Deal?”

  I gave a slight nod of my head.

  It was sealed.

  Chapter 7

  Melinda

  Antonio wasn’t speaking to me by the time we left the club. I was irritated, but also kind of pleased. Making him angry with me hadn’t been my goal, exactly, but it didn’t hurt.

  “So,” I said, skipping alongside Antonio as we walked back to his car. “Did you have fun? Drink a lot of soda? Get wild with yourself when you were sitting down?”

  Antonio glanced at me, his dark eyes flicking over my body. “You know perfectly well I’m working,” Antonio replied through gritted teeth. “Come on, Melinda. I’m taking you home.”

  “No,” I said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and stamping my foot on the ground. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

  Antonio rolled his eyes.

  “And besides,” I added sweetly. “The more time you spend with me, the more my father pays you. Isn’t that right?”

  Antonio sighed. “That’s beside the point,” he replied. “It’s after four in the morning. Nothing’s going to be open, Melinda. You can go out again tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for the permission,” I said sarcastically. “But I don’t want to go to a club. Or a bar. I really want a cheeseburger, actually.”

  Antonio burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me?”

  I stuck my lower lip out and shook my head, making my eyes wide. Antonio stared for a minute, then rolled his eyes and turned away.

  “Come on,” Antonio said. “A girl like you doesn’t eat cheeseburgers.” He gestured towards my curves. “You eat like, salads with goat cheese and beets or something.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “I hate goat cheese,” I said, sticking out my tongue. “It’s super gross.”

  Antonio shook his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he said flatly.

  We’d finally arrived at his car, and Antonio pulled out the keys, activati
ng the remote start. The headlights flared to life and the inside of the car filled with sensual blue neon light.

  “Come on,” Antonio said. “I’m tired. I’m taking you home.”

  I stamped my foot on the ground. “There’s nothing to eat there,” I complained. “Can’t we go through a drive-thru or something? Or find a diner?”

  “I don’t know of any diners,” Antonio said, narrowing his eyes. He climbed inside the car and gestured for me to follow.

  I didn’t want to get in without winning the argument, but I was getting cold from standing outside. I’d really worked up a sweat at Hurricanes, and I was so hungry my stomach hurt.