by Sunniva Dee
I take my smoke to the balcony and shut the door against the delicious whiff of her cooking. Her skin. Just a stroke of my calloused fingers brushes pink across her fine-fine spine. I’d lose my mind considering what the cream of her would look like after the just-sharpened blades of Santa Colombini scalpels.
I allow myself a moment, out of reach of my darling and my employees. My stomach wants to wring inward, so I let it pull toward my center while my shoulders hunch forward. I shut my eyes, bending over the railing as if I’m looking down. It isn’t hard; under Il Lince’s roof, I faked the sudden onset of emotion for years.
The door behind me swings open. That’s the problem with being holed up in close quarters.
I suck in air, getting my emotions under control. The main thing is to not let the nightmare take over, the one of porcelain skin being raped by the metal of devils.
I don’t turn away from the ocean. It’s stunning, blinking foamy waves at me in erratic shoves, its unpredictability like that of humans, its splendor the opposite. I subdue the liquid coating my eyes.
She doesn’t speak as she leans her body against mine. I feel her breathing against my back, fast at first, then slowing to the pace of my stillness. I close my eyes again when her cheek quietly meets the center between my shoulder blades, remaining there, waiting for me to calm down. I know she knows.
“I’m okay,” she whispers, after everything. After being gone for three hours and forty-seven minutes while all I could do was hope. She wasn’t safe without me. She could have died without me.
“I know, baby,” she says as if she heard me. “Thank you for sending Fritz with me.” She lets out a small giggle. “I didn’t know until I came out of the bishop’s house and the crappiest of our loaners was parked across the street.”
That makes me smile. I turn. Leave my back against the banister and scoop her in. “You could have been killed. You run with the wrong crowd, you know.”
“Yeah.” Her lashes are thick and long. They glide upward, slowly, until bright-bright-grey gleams at me. “Darn bishops.”
I snort. Tip her chin up and kiss the tip of her nose. “You need to take this seriously.”
“I do. I’ve got it now, okay? I’ll be under your protection until we’re out of danger.”
My sigh is bigger than hers. My smile too. It grows on my face, and her eyes slit with amusement. “You like that, baby?”
“I do, very much. And keep calling me ‘baby.’ I like that too.”
I’ve whisked Tatiana off with the Lucid crew to The Summit in the Santa Ana Mountains. I didn’t ask if she wanted to come along. I didn’t have to now that she’s under my protection.
We got here a half hour ago. The place is what you’d call an industrial-sized cabin, with twelve bedrooms, four baths, a sauna, Jacuzzi, and a hotel-sized kitchen. No staff comes with the lodge, chef or otherwise, so a few of my employees will be taking care of the food.
Clown Irruption is set to arrive in a couple of hours, and with McRoy’s assistance, I get everything set up. The contract negotiations were finalized in a phone meeting last night. Now, the main living room upstairs, the one with the large fireplace, is being prepped for the official signing and a small celebration. Gianni and his crew are setting up the downstairs living room with a green screen and bedding to be changed out depending on the couple.
This video’s a lofty undertaking, no doubt about it. For some of the less passionate scenes, Gianni will fly out to meet the band at shows and airports, but the main scenes, the ones designed to blow people’s minds, will all be filmed here.
To be honest, I wish this project didn’t have to be hurried. I’m here, seeing it through, though, hoping the Santa Colombini stay busy elsewhere. Problem is, they’ve probably found out what happened to the men they sent to my house, which means I’ve skyrocketed on Randolfo’s list. On the flipside, my father’s keeping them busy.
Felix has shifted most of his crew to the Nascimbeni war. It’s a bad sign when even Il Lince approves of his added forces. At least we agree on one thing: we need to lose as little famiglia as possible.
Sounds like the Santa Colombini have re-decided and are getting back into cocaine now that their arch enemy shows an interest. That’s a bad deal for my father. If I were Il Lince, I’d back out of those territories before it was too late.
I pull McRoy to the side. “Felix arrived yet?”
“Yes, he’s prepping the barricade down at the lower gates.”
“Good. We need complete discretion. If any member of the band’s entourage gets even the slightest trace of danger, they’ll be out of here.”
“I repeated that to him, sir. He legitimately rolled his eyes and said, ‘Isaias knows I work with senators. Nothing will be in plain sight until every guest has driven the mile up to the main lodge, parked, and fucking walked inside.’”
“He swore too?” I grin, because that was definitely not McRoy’s words. He’s a pussy.
“Absolutely he did. I think we hurt his ego.”
I glance through the row of high-set windows of the living room. They don’t allow for much light, but the view of the parking lot below and the driveway leading up to the building is perfect. Another benefit of these windows is that it can’t be easy to look in.
The first car rolls around the bend of the road and comes to a stop in front of the lodge. Zoe bounces out of the front seat. Emil emerges too and throws an arm over her shoulder, nuzzling her ear. He mumbles something that makes her laugh.
I walk downstairs and greet them. Nadia and Bo pull up as Zoe accepts my polite hug, other cars following right behind. Seems the band drove through the mountain pass as a caravan. I’ve heard their tour manager is a bit of a control freak—which I respect. It must’ve been a pisser for him to deal with six separate cars, only one of which is a van with the gear and crew members.
I snicker to myself, happy some of the bedrooms have bunkbeds; this place is going to hold thirty-seven people between my guys and Clown Irruption’s. Quite the boy-scout trip.
As Bo leads his wife up the stairs, I scour the road one last time. I never did get my commitment from Aishe. I’ve tried calling her, but she doesn’t pick up for me anymore. Tatiana got a hold of her once, because she didn’t know her number, I suspect, but after that, she seems to have stopped picking up calls from unknown numbers.
I’ve got a few girls, here, Belen included. One of them’ll have to do. Belen is delirious at the prospect of working a rock star. It’s just that I hate to lose.
Nadia’s wearing a sheer red night gown that drapes over her ass. It’s short, so we get to see the top of her thighs. She strokes a hand down her husband’s face, and it’s perfect. There’s so much love in that gesture.
Gianni whispers to Dan, and I see him adjust his camera, probably going in for a close-up, because Bo has forgotten all about the world around him. Their new song, “Deep in You,” is on repeat, low in the background. We’ll layer the actual soundtrack later. Now, we’re just playing it to keep our artists in the mood.
“Do what you do with your husband. He’s been away for so long,” Gianni murmurs. “You’ve watched him on TV. You’ve talked on the phone, and you’ve missed him so much. He’s here, now. Your daughter is asleep, and finally, you have him to yourself. Show him everything.”
Her eyes flick up. Shyness shines from them. “I’d do a bit more to him than this in real life.”
Gianni bends down next to their heads. “Don’t be self-conscious. This is about you and Bo only. These people”—he lifts an arm, encompassing the cameramen, himself, the producer, and me—“have seen so much more than you’d ever dream of doing, even with your husband. The only thing we don’t see are the real emotions we now get from your faces, and that’s what we’re here to capture.”
He lets out a sigh and straightens, a hand disappearing to rub his lower back. “
The only thing is, to get the full spectrum of those emotions in such a way that we can blow people’s minds—the desire, the need for each other after having been apart for so long—you need to be real.”
The still planes of Bo’s features wrinkle the tiniest bit. “Can you be more specific?”
“Sure. You’re not actors, which you don’t need to be to pull this off. Because there’s no acting needed, right? You love each other, and when you’re together like man and wife, there is no pretending. You guys are the real deal, what everyone dreams of having.”
“Hey! Can we come in? O-o-oh, look at you guys. Hot,” Emil says, sauntering in with Zoe under his arm. She giggles and waves at Nadia.
Gianni’s producer walks over and politely shows them out. There’s a hushed exchange, Emil’s eyes glinting with humor. Then they’re off, and the door is locked so no other stray visitors can enter the set.
“Sorry about that,” Gianni says, smiling. “Anyway, as I was saying, we’re after the real deal. Long story short: you will want to lose your inhibitions and go all the way.”
“As in what?” Nadia’s gaze tells me she understands just fine. She simply can’t believe he’s asking this of them.
“I’d like all clothing to come off in the most natural reconstruction of your lovemaking at home. I want you to get joined and continue the way you would under normal circumstances, when you’re not under my spotlights. Then, when it all feels so good you can’t take it any longer, I want you to come.”
Nadia gasps. Bo sits up, holding her hips still over him as he glares at Gianni. “You promised this would be PG-rated. I won’t put my own wife in this situation, okay? The contract…”
“Yes, definitely. I’m not saying to go outside the contract. You should go in detail as much as you feel comfortable, no more, no less. But think of it this way: it’s for your expressions only, for the vibe and the authenticity of your feelings. We’re not interested in close-ups of genitals and the like in this video. This will become PG-rated, but what happens below your faces, below the sensual moves of bodies, is there, and it will make the rest look real because it’s actually happening.”
Bo stands slowly, steadying his wife as he does. He opens his mouth to speak, but I interject first.
“It’s okay. I completely understand.” I nod to Nadia, then to Bo. “Take a break. We’ll shoot someone else first, maybe Emil and Zoe. Then we can discuss your limits afterward.”
Emil throws his shirt to the side and topples over on some seriously zany sheets. He’s the sunny, nutty guy in the band, and our set girl has been creative; she’s definitely captured that in him.
He pops up on his elbows and looks around for Zoe, who’s slipping into something sexy. “Where’s my girl? I miss you!”
She giggles from behind the screen. “Be right there, Cookie. Get ready, because I’mma blow your mind.”
“Yes! Bo, you pussy. You gonna watch us or what?” he yells toward the door, where Bo escorts Nadia out.
Bo rolls his eyes. “No way. It was rough enough to overhear you guys when we shared an apartment. Jesus Christ you’re loud. And odd.”
“Seconding that,” Nadia says.
“Bah, it’s just you guys being wusses.” Emil swings to me, jutting his hips a little, getting comfy on the bed. “You can’t even hear them having sex. It’d be the most boring clip you’ve ever filmed if they actually went along with it.”
“Dork,” Zoe laughs, stepping out from behind her screen. “It’s true, though. They, like, say nothing.”
“Steel yourselves.” Bo sends a fleeting stare heavenward as he grabs the door handle. “The shit those two say to each other you’ve never heard before.”
“What, jealous much because we sexy-dirty-talk?” Zoe sticks her tongue out to Bo, and Nadia snorts, her serious expression breaking.
“Dirty, yes. Sexy? Not so much.”
And then we’re alone with the fireworks couple of the moment.
“Dayumm,” Emil says under his breath, eyes roving over his wife. The cameras are in position, but Gianni gets the gist right away. There will be no counting in, no positioning or staging with these two. He makes the sign he often does with Belen, for our most talented behind-the-camera staff to go handheld and get the impulsive shots as they happen.
Zoe’s wearing a little pink something with a fake fur bunny tail. On the way over to the bed, she sashays, wiggling her butt, eyes glittering with humor and seduction as she takes in her husband. Emil emits some sort of animal roar, biting the air as he does. It’s ridiculous. And hot—if you’re crazy. A lot of our viewers are. I’m excited to see what comes next, here.
Zoe saunters forward, almost buckling on her high heels once. Emil makes a move to get up and catch her, but then he laughs under his breath and sinks down again, lazily opening his fly.
“Want a little taste of your favorite bunny?” she purrs out.
Gianni gestures to the sound guy; we don’t need background music for these two, is my guess, and he’ll want to capture the back-and-forths. I could see him pop some of it in toward the late editing stages, like he does with moans sometimes.
Emil stands suddenly and shakes his jeans off his ass until it’s in a heap around his ankles. He grins widely, and Zoe’s smile broadens too. “I’mma bite your boxers off, Cookie, until it’s just your bobber and me.”
Your bobber?
I exchange a quick glance with the producer. He bites his lip, holding back laughter.
“You like my bobber, baby? C’mon, I’ll wrench it down your throat so fast.”
She’s there, sinking down to her knees, hands moving along his frame, pinching a nipple, tugging on his happy-trail. Ouch?
Emil groans, head falling back as if she’s already in his pants. He likes it? Well, good then. Now, her fingers claw their way inside the lining and pulls downward. “Not so hard,” he groans.
“I’m not doing it that hard—not as hard as you,” she hums, freeing him, and hey, he’s got game down there. He knows it too, because now I see what she means with “bobber.” He’s the lead singer, the front man who loves to show off. Which is exactly what he’s doing with his cock, waving it in front of her and singing “Deep in You,” in a low tone.
“I’ll be deep in you soon,” he murmurs before he inserts as much of his member into her mouth as he can. “Take out your boobs. I want to see them.”
“Like this?” I think that’s what she’s mumbling while tipping them over the fur-clad cups of her bra. Seriously, who chose this outfit?
My cell buzzes. Since I’m on throwaways, I can’t ignore it. The only people with this number, I need to hear from.
It’s Rocco. “Got a hold of Sebastian Nero. He’ll be waiting for her at the airport.”
“Get her back on the first plane. That’s the only plan.”
“Yes, he’s on it.”
I think of Gabriela’s original plan, which was a week with her boyfriend by Lake Como. Then do the rounds with family in Venice while sneaking in sightings of Ariadna for me.
Gabriela is smart. She knows I’m chasing her. Hell, the girl knows me better than I know myself, at times, so even though she was dying to show Lake Como to her boyfriend, she won’t be going now. Which reminds me…
I hang up and call Ma. “Hey, it’s me.” I stare out the window while Emil’s groans become more and more enthused under the cameras.
“Oh Cookie, you’re my favorite exhibitionist. Wiggle your bobber again.”
“Like this? You like it like this? Lift your butt in the air, baby. I’ll pop it right into your honeypot, so good. I’ll make you scream bloody murder for me.”
Jesus Christ. Do they ever stop talking? I let myself out on the balcony so I can hear my mother and not the extremely extroverted sex behind me. “Can you get me the name and contact info for Gabriela’s boyfriend?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, except I’m planning to get Gabriela back before she’s kidnapped and fucking murdered in Italy.” I rub my face, regretting my outburst. My mother breathes quietly, adjusting to my mood.
“Don’t say such a terrible thing out loud. It’s bad luck. You know this.”
“Yes, yes. Do you have his contact info?”
“Of course, we do. I’ll send it to you. Don’t do anything foolish, all right?”
“Tell that to your husband,” I say and hang up before she can answer.
She texts me the info. I call him. His voicemail says straight out that he won’t be checking his phone until he’s back from Italy in two weeks. Because, see, he’s in Venice with his girlfriend Gabriela.
Wonderful. He’ll never be Nascimbeni material. If the Santa Colombini dug in far enough to reach his voicemail, the two of them would be snatched up so fast their heads would spin for days.
I call Sebastian Nero and leave him a detailed message. In short: get Gabriela on the next plane with one of his men escorting her so she can’t change her mind halfway home. I mention a plan B to him too; worst case, they’ll need to keep her locked up somewhere until I get there and can bring her home myself.
I don’t have time for plan B. Obviously, I’ll carry it out anyway. I roll my shoulders, hearing them crack. A quick glance through the window reveals full action beneath the cameras. Emil’s working his wife so fast they’re both trembling from the impact. Tatiana’s watching too. She’s covering her mouth, eyes wide in surprise. Turning her head, she meets my stare and drops her hand, to mouth, What the hell?
Talk about comedic relief on that bed. It’s nice to see people enjoying themselves.