by Lili Porter
He brought her body flush to his as their mouths moved in a slow, circular course, her hands raised to his strong, muscular arms, while her body squirmed to get closer to his. Soon the kiss became urgent, and his hands cupped her face and cradled the back of her head. She was fully aware of him and of her response to him as she kissed him with the same passion. She was so overwhelmed, that her knees began to feel weak.
His hands traveled down her back as he lightly stroked her there, going lower still, but stopping right above her sweet round butt. Allowing them to catch their breath, his forehead touched hers. Breathless, and with his heart racing, he looked at her face, touching her cheek again, and then moved in once more to taste her. He sucked her lower lip and traced it with his tongue.
By now, she was extremely aroused, and with his long, hard body pressed in to her the way it was, she knew that he was, too. Her arms went around his neck and he trapped her against the door. His tongue slid inside her mouth, licking her tongue, chasing it seductively, extorting from her a soft, sweet moan that made his stomach do flips. Slowly, reluctantly, the kiss ended. She felt lightheaded, and when he opened his eyes and connected with hers, she knew he saw that dreamy look on her face, as she was pretty certain it was similar to the look he wore.
“So, can you fit me into your schedule?” he whispered huskily.
She nodded, still unable to speak.
“Bene,” he said, stroking her face.
Then she heard Wolfe’s voice in the hallway. It was time to go. Hopefully she could walk out with some composure because she felt like her legs were going to give out on her.
4
Karisma heard the alarm go off and she rolled over, yawning deeply and wanting to put her lustrous silk sheets over her head. Wait! What time was it? She jumped up, hearing people meandering about out in her hallway. Confused and alarmed, her eyes opened wide and looked around the dark room. What was going on?
The digital clock blinked to 2:15. Had she been dreaming? Karisma sat up in bed, still disoriented, and listened. The alarm still blared, and she now heard voices coming near her room. She jumped when someone knocked loudly.
“Karisma!” It was Amani Mohammad, her head of security.
“What’s going on, Amani?” she yelled back, jumping from the bed to snatch her robe and open the door.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, what's going on?” she repeated nervously.
“Looks like someone tripped the system. We’re checking it out now.”
Amani was one of a team of security personnel that included Wolfe, Omar Shabazz, and Jamil Odebo. They were contracted and hired through the Fruit of Islam, the paramilitary wing of the Nation of Islam. They were highly trained guards who watched over Karisma wherever she went in the world. They were loyal and made sure no one got too close. All four men were large and extremely intimidating. A hard look from any one of them had sent many an overzealous fan scurrying off in the opposite direction. They didn’t play.
Amani London changed his name to Amani Mohammad eleven years ago when he converted to the “Nation.” After several run-ins with the law, he began to feel as though his life was going in a direction that would lead him only two places: dead or in jail. He decided to change before it was too late. Karisma admired that about him and seeing his concern, made her concerned. He was the best.
He looked down into Karisma’s frightened eyes as she stared back at him. “Should I lock myself in here, or what?” she asked him, her voice hitching slightly.
“For now,” he replied. “Close your door, lock it, and keep the lights out. You’re not here. The cops are on the way.”
She nodded her head and stepped back and then glanced down at the ground. She noticed a chipped bit of polish on her toenail. It was ridiculous, but she did. She felt suddenly anxious. What if it was Ray?
Amani noticed Kari’s concern. “We’re looking at the cameras, Karisma, don’t worry. We’ll find out what happened. I’ll let you know what’s going on. Now lock the door and stay quiet, okay?”
“Okay.” She listened to him like he was her parent. What was the point of having the best if you didn’t listen to them?
She was tempted to sneak to her window and look out, but knew that wasn’t wise. Plus, what if the Paparazzi were lurking around out there somewhere. You just never knew. Then she heard some car doors and couldn’t resist looking outside. It was a huge home, who would see her if she just peeked?
Two squad cars from the LAPD were getting out by the front entrance. Amani was already out there and starting to talk with a short, well built Latino officer. Karisma wanted to know what they were saying and what was going on.
Knock, knock. There were two soft taps on her door that scared her and made her jump. Her arm flung around and accidentally toppled over a photograph.
“Kari, are you alright? Open up, it’s me, Stella.”
She went over to the door and unlocked it and Stella came in.
“Did someone really try to break in?” Kari asked.
“I’m not sure, but I tink so,” Stella stated, trying to hide the fact that she was nervous. Kari knew her too well to not know what she was up to. Stella put a protective arm around Karisma’s shoulders and squeezed. Giving the young woman a firm pat to the arm, she released her and sat on the small sofa near the door.
“I hope everything’s okay,” Karisma said, feeling like a helpless prisoner.
“Dey know what’s best. Dat’s why ya pay em da big bucks.” Karisma nodded and walked back to the French doors. She started to open the curtain again, but Stella stopped her.
“No, no, girl, dey might see da curtain open. The cameramen might be dere too. You not here, remember,” Stella scolded.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Kari conceded.
“You okay?” Stella asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Karisma said with a sigh. “I suppose this will make the news.”
“It always does, ey?” Stella replied.
“Yeah, it always does,” she answered softly.
***
Sleep didn’t come easy for the rest of that night. They’d found nothing to indicate why the alarms had gone off. By 6 AM her phone was ringing. First, she had to reassure her parents that she hadn’t been held for ransom in her own home and that she was unharmed. They wanted her to go and spend a few days with them—something that wasn’t an option considering her schedule. Then, most of the band had called to inquire about the news report. So had her agent, and other well-meaning friends. And Sierra was keeping the press at bay. While speaking to Karla her phone beeped. Looking at it, her heart skipped a beat. She saw the caller ID said, P Montovani. Excited, she gushed, “Oh my gawd! Karla, I need to call you back. I have another call.”
“Wait…” Karla began to protest but Kari ended the call, eager to get to the new one.
Karisma cleared her throat and touched the screen. “Hello?” she answered, trying to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.
“Buongiorno, Karisma,” Paolo said, slow and sexy. “It’s Paolo. Did I wake you? Or were you already up from the excitement?”
She felt herself smile widely. “Buongiorno, Paolo. It certainly has been an exciting morning, and I’ve been up a while,” she replied in her own version of sexy.
Then his sexy voice became masculine, surly, and authoritative. “Are you okay, Kari? Someone actually tried to break into your home? Or did they just get onto the estate?”
“I’m fine, Paolo. I was inside and safe in bed. We're not sure just what happened yet.”
“Oh? The reports said you weren't at home.”
“Yeah, my security didn’t want me to have to talk to police,” she said. “Our secret, right?” She was talking to him like she could trust him—dangerous territory.
“Ah, I see. Yes, our secret,” he said. “So your security is top notch?”
“Definitely. They’re Fruit of Islam.” No more needed to be said. They had a reputation.
“Re
ally? You have the Fruit of Islam on your payroll? They’re excellent. Very well trained. What do they say about the breach?”
“Only that there’s no evidence of anyone approaching the grounds. But something set off the alarm, so we’ll see,” she sighed.
“Well, I’m happy to know that you’re okay. You were on my mind,” he said, bringing the sexy back.
“Was I?” she asked, definitely liking the thought of that.
“Oh, yeah,” he said huskily. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I tasted you for lunch.”
Her eyes widened at his bold statement, and she squirmed in her seated position on the mattress. She loved his voice and his words. He was so sexy that she had to bite her lip. “You’re pretty unforgettable, yourself, Mr. Montovani.”
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to forget me.” Ever, he thought. “What are you doing today, sweetheart? May I intrude on your time?”
Smooth, she thought. I might be in trouble. Raising her brow, she purred, “After my photo shoot, I’m all yours.”
“Did you get to listen to the track?” he asked.
“Let’s talk about it when I get there,” she cooed, wanting to add some suspense.
“I'm going to hold you to that, the talk and you being all mine,” he said. “Does 9:00 work?”
“Make it 10:00, just to make sure the photo shoot is wrapped up,” she said.
“10:00 it is. Can I pick you up at your home?”
“Yes, that'll work, Mr. Montovani.” Then she thought about it and asked, “Should I dress casually?”
Not expecting the question, he asked, “Was there something you wanted to do in particular? Someplace you want to go? We could stay in if you’d like. Your wish is my command.”
***
Paolo stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor of FutureShock Records, where his office was. The record company’s headquarters was on Hollywood and Gower, not far from his restaurant. Paolo liked Hollywood, the vitality of the people and the creative energy that was in the air. It suited him well and he was glad to be a part of it. This record business was one that gave him pleasure. Some of the others, not so much. The Montovani empire had been growing by epic proportions for years, but had become titanic once the family had been able to secure its fortune in marijuana. Raffaelo, with his pupil Paolo at his knee, had spent tireless days and nights behind the scenes working with lobbyists and being one of the driving forces in getting California legislators to approve medicinal marijuana. Judges were paid off and lawmakers were befriended in the long fight for California to pass its cannabis laws and for the Montovanis to be able to legally plant their cannabis plants alongside the grape vineyards in Napa. Along with the other, mostly illegal activities they had dealings in, the Montovanis had amassed such fabulous wealth, that they had become arguably the most powerful family in the Calabrian Mafia.
He walked through the glass doors. A futuristic silver-toned 3D logo, emblazoned with the name of the record company and sizzling electrical shocks popping, leaped out from the wall. The front desk receptionist greeted him first and he said hello. He kept walking until he reached his secretary, Willa, a tall, 30ish, rail thin blond with pale blue eyes and thin lips. She was waiting by her desk with a coffee mug and a wide smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Montovani. Ready for your coffee?” she asked with the mug suspended in mid air, smiling at him in the way that women smile at handsome men. He knew she had a crush on him. Hell, all the women in the building noticed him. Today Willa wore a navy pencil skirt and a champagne colored long sleeved silk blouse. She wore her thick straw like hair shoulder length and bluntly cut, with a side part. As she took a few steps toward him in her three inch navy pumps, he noticed she walked with an unsteady gait as if the shoes she had on were new and not yet broken in.
He smiled at her. “Good morning, Willa,” he said, taking the cup of coffee from her hand. “Give me five minutes, please.”
“Your father called. He’d like you to call him before noon our time,” she said, still standing there and smiling.
“Very well,” he said as he walked into his office and closed the door.
Paolo moved in behind the large ebony desk that sat in front of a massive window. On clear, sunny days like this, he could see the Santa Monica Mountains in their brilliant glory. He liked the way the sun danced off of them, bringing him a sense of contentment that helped him focus.
He looked around his plush, elegantly decorated office. Nearly everything, with the exception of his walnut desk, was lightly colored. The walls were white. He had poster sized black and white photos of his family covering that wall which he called the Montovani Wall of Fame.
Setting his briefcase on his desk, he thought about his Uncle Carlo who gave him the leather case when he left for college. His Uncle Carlo was his father’s youngest brother. He had been married three times to women who were all half sisters. All together, they’d given birth to his seventeen children. His father thought that Carlo was a clown, because of this, but Paolo knew better. And silently, so did Raffaelo. Carlo was fierce, fearless, and loyal to the core. He was a man that Paolo, as well as his father, could always depend on.
Sitting in his oversized swivel chair with the high back, Paolo twirled back and forth as he glanced at the portraits of his family members. Looking away, his thoughts centered on Karisma. He wanted her, but he would go as slow as she needed him to. He didn’t want to frighten her with his desires so soon. He was completely taken with her. He’d be remiss not to acknowledge that she frightened him, too. After all, he had bought a whole record label to get close to her. Everything about her turned him on, but, damn, that face, that body. He shifted in his seat. She was a dream, the whole package. “It’s going to be a long day until I see her,” he mumbled.
With a sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed his father, knowing just how impatient a man Raffaelo Montovani, Sr. was. If he’d called thirty minutes ago, Paolo knew he was pushing his father’s patience to its limit.
“Ciao, Figlio,” Raffaelo said, not hiding his annoyance with his middle son.
“Ciao, Papa,” Paolo replied.
“Happy to see that you could take time out of your busy life to return your father’s call. The corporate raider forgets his roots,” Raffaelo said, switching to a voice thick with a sarcasm that only Raffaelo, Sr. could pull off.
Paolo shifted in his seat and loosened his tie, not willing to enter into an argument with his father.
“I just got in, Papa. I phoned as soon as I got your message,” he answered.
“I hear that you lunched with a movie star yesterday,” he said, “that brown skinned girl that sings so beautifully. What's her name?”
What the fuck? Paolo thought. Then he knew…his brothers. “Haa. You know who she is, Pop.”
“Remind me, Son,” his father continued.
Paolo paused, not wanting to get irritated about anything. “Karisma Montgomery.”
“Ah, yes. Karisma.” Raffaelo chuckled softly. “Is she not the young girl you vowed to meet at some point?”
“Papa, why do you ask what you already know? Plus, it was simply lunch. We are both in the music business, after all.”
“And how did you finally meet this Karisma, Paolo?”
“At Goldtone’s Grammy party,” Paolo said.
“You were not at your own Grammy party?” Raffaelo asked with an accusing tone.
“I was at both,” Paolo said. “We had lunch to discuss some things. She’s very nice.”
“Is she not as beautiful in person as she is on television?” Raffaelo asked.
“Yeah, what do you mean, Papa?”
“Well, you've been infatuated with that girl for years. Seems you would mention how beautiful she is. Is she?” Raffaelo pressed.
“Yes, she is,” he conceded. There would be no other way to move on.
“Just remember your commitments at home, here in Italy. After all, you stayed in California af
ter school just to make your way, leaving your family and fidanzata behind…taking your brothers with you,” his father said.
“That guilt trip is getting old, Papa.” And why’d he always feel the need to bring up that woman he was engaged to?
“Maybe, Paolo, but it’s true, yes?”
“There are opportunities here that wouldn’t come my way in Italy,” Paolo said.
“Like buying a record company just to impress someone you didn’t know,” his father replied. He was using cautionary words, reminding Paolo of what his focus should be. Clearly he didn’t think it was Karisma Montgomery.
“That’s enough,” Paolo cautioned.
“So, was she what you’ve imagined?” he asked.
“She’s a lovely girl, Pop. If you think that I am becoming distracted after one lunch, well, you are not giving me enough credit for being Raffaelo Montovani’s son and heir. I know why I’m here. I haven’t forgotten.”
His father was silent. He eventually said, “Paolo, you need to remember that you are to be married in two weeks. I expect you to get over this obsession and get back on track.”
“It’s not an obsession, Papa,” he said.
“Whatever it is, it needs to end. You’ve finally met her. It’s over. Now, you and your brothers will be entertaining some of our friends tomorrow.”
Paolo sat back and swiveled his chair around, looking at the Santa Monica Mountains in the distance. “Ti sento.”
“Michele and Alberto Amatore will be there to assist. Capisci?” his father stated.
“Ti capisco.”
“Sara bene,” his father told Paolo.
Yes, Pop, I know it will be fine, Paolo thought.
When the call ended, Paolo let go a gust of air and took off his tie. He threw the silk material onto a chair sitting in front of his desk. He knew the assignment was a test. One that, if completed successfully, his father would reward him with power to rival his own. He buzzed Davit’s office. “Hey, Dave,” he said over the speaker. “Come in here a minute. Danny here yet?”