Tied to Him

by Tia Siren

  *****

  Michael was sitting in an armchair working out how many roses were on the wallpaper while Cassy was lying on the sofa, feeling queasy. CNN was on TV, more as background than active viewing.

  Cassy started to listen when she heard the words “Albanian and Russian.”

  “There has been a shootout in Brighton Beach, New York, between what is thought to be a Russian gang and an Albanian gang. It isn't clear what the motive was, but eye witnesses report a group of about twenty Russians bursting into a well-known restaurant that belongs to Murat Hyka, an Albanian businessman. The whereabouts of Mr. Hyka is unknown, but it is thought he was taken away from the scene by a group of Russian men. So far the police have made no comment, except to confirm that three Russians were killed in the shootout and five Albanians.”

  “No,” Cassy said. “Oh god no. Please don't let it be him.”

  “Cassy okay?” Michael asked.

  “Yes, darling. I'm fine,” she sobbed.

  “Don't look fine,” he observed.

  “No, really, I'm fine.”

  Cassy left the room and tried to call Igor. No reply. She tried Dima. Also no reply. Now she was frantic. If it was him, what would she do? No, it couldn't be. The reporter had said there had been twenty Russians and only three were dead. Chances were Igor wasn't one of them.

  Throughout the evening, she kept CNN on and saw the same report time after time. It was of no comfort. The names of the dead weren't given. All she was doing was making herself more miserable, she thought.

  “Bedtime Michael,” she said at half past ten.

  When Cassy got ready for bed, she prayed that he was still alive. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but it was useless. An hour later she got up and wandered down to the sitting room. She turned on the TV and again waited for news.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Michael, go to bed,” she said.

  “It isn't Michael. It's me.”

  Cassy jumped up and threw herself at Igor. “How the hell did you get here so quickly?”

  “It's only a five-hour flight from New York.”

  “I thought you were dead. They said on CNN...”

  “Never believe the press.”

  He kissed her and lifted her up. “There's only one place I want to go with you,” he said.

  “You'll have to be very careful with me from now on,” she said. He looked at her quizzically. “I'm pregnant.”

  “What? How?”

  “That's the dumbest question I've ever heard. I'm about five weeks.”

  “So it's mine?”

  “Jesus, Igor, what do you take me for? Of course it's yours. You're going to be a father.”

  “Oh my god, really?”

  “Yes.”

  He took her to the bedroom and made love to her. He was a passionate lover, but this time he was gentle, tender, and loving. Cassy fell asleep more satisfied than ever before with the knowledge that he was safe.

  When they woke, she rolled to him, and he put his arms around her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Dima, me, and a few others went to his restaurant. We asked him about Michel. He told us to fuck off. He was very rude. A few of his men came out and started shooting, but we soon silenced them. Then we took the fat little asshole and threw him in the river. At the time, he was wearing a concrete sock.” He squeezed Cassy to him. “It's over, Cassy. You and Michael are safe now. We can go back to New York.”

  “I don't want to. I'm selling all my assets in America. I want Michael to have a happy home here. England is much less violent than the US. He's been through a lot. I'll pocket a few billion from the sale of the toy business, and then we can live a happy life without worry.”

  “Okay. What do you think about us?”

  “I don't want you. You are far too violent.”

  Igor sat up and looked at her face. She was laughing. “Joke, right?”

  “Of course it's a joke. I love you. I was terrified you'd been killed. At that moment, I knew you were the one for me.”

  “And I love you. So, let's stay here. I'll make some inquiries about a school for Michael.”

  That morning at breakfast, Cassy announced to her brother, “Michael, I'm having a baby.”

  “Baby,” he repeated.

  “You know what I mean, don't you? We’re going to have a baby in the house.”

  Michael looked at her and put his hand on her belly. “Okay. A baby,” he said.

  *****

  Cassy had a boy and a year later a girl. She and Igor were married when both children were old enough to walk down the aisle with them. Igor concentrated on buying and selling real estate and never again entered into dubious activities.

  Michael lived with Cassy and Igor. Their children loved him and looked after him as a brother.

  *****

  THE END

  MAFIA Romance - Kidnapped

  “You bitch. You fucking whore!” Fabio screamed. “Is this how you repay my kindness? Thirty years of marriage and this is all you can do to me?”

  Maria rolled over and covered her breasts with a sheet. The man lying next to her looked at Fabio and wondered how he was going to escape.

  “Was she good? Was she a good screw? I hope she was fucking worth it, because you're gonna die a long, painful death,” Fabio said, his voice cracking into a higher pitch under the strain.

  He'd been home to Italy to see his very old mother. He hadn't seen her since the magnificent party he'd thrown for her at his brother's home in Naples more than a year ago when she'd turned a hundred. He'd come home before Maria had expected to find her naked, on all fours, a man banging her from behind.

  Not expecting to find his wife in bed with another man, Fabio hadn't bothered to carry his pistol into the bedroom. He'd left it in his jacket, which he'd hung up in the hallway. His house was the most heavily guarded home in Chicago, but he hadn’t thought he needed to defend himself inside his own residence.

  He walked round to Maria's side of the bed, wound his fist into her hair, and yanked her in one movement from the bed. She landed on the floor in a crumpled heap. “Get out, you pathetic bitch,” he said, pushing her toward the door with his foot. “Get out while I see to your lover. I'm gonna cut his cock off and hand it to you as a memento of the day you crossed me, you filthy piece of trash.”

  Maria continued to crawl along the floor, eventually reaching the door. Fabio closed it behind her and turned to the man lying in his marital bed. Fabio didn't need a weapon to rip a man apart; he was perfectly capable of doing it with his bare hands.

  “So, you think you can cross Fabio Affini, do you?”

  “It's the first time we have met, Mr. Affini. I am very surprised by your lack of good grace.”

  Fabio wasn't sure whether he'd heard the man correctly. “What? Did you just say...”

  “Yes.” The man pulled his arm from under the sheet and pointed a gun at Fabio. “You see, I always come prepared when I fuck someone's wife. Especially when it’s someone as dangerous as you. Now back up against the wall.” Fabio walked backward and watched as the man got out of bed and put on his shorts. “I said get back,” he repeated when he noticed Fabio creeping closer. This time Fabio backed right off and waited. Once the man had pulled his pants and shirt on, he pointed the gun at Fabio and opened the bedroom door. “Thank you for your hospitality. Your wife, as you have no doubt forgotten, is the most amazing fuck. Did you teach her all those things?”

  “Get out of my house,” Fabio hissed.

  When the man was gone, Fabio left the bedroom, ran down the stairs, and called Christian. “Get your ass over here now,” he shouted.

  While he waited for Christian to arrive, Fabio looked for his wife. He found her hiding from him in the basement.

  “Why, Maria? Why, after all these years? I've taken care of you, haven't I? You've never wanted for anything.”

  She looked at him and shook her head. “You have given me all the material th
ings I needed. But the one thing I wanted most, you have been unable to give me.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  She noticed how old he was beginning to look. When they'd married, he'd had a full head of black hair. Now, apart from a few strands of comb-over, he was bald. “Love and affection,” she answered. “I needed your love more than anything, and you haven't been able to give me it. I have never felt you really cared about me.”

  “You crazy bitch, of course I cared about you. Even though you haven't been able to provide me with children, I still loved you. Maybe you were too self-absorbed to see it. I want you to get out of my house. Go wherever you want; I will give you money. But if you ever darken my door again with your presence, I will have you killed.”

  He walked up the basement staircase and into the hallway. He lived in a mansion he'd bought thirty years ago from the proceeds of the first really successful drug deal he’d done. It had netted him five million. Thirty years ago that was a lot of money, and he was suddenly able to move with the jet set. He'd met Maria at a party on a ship in the harbor. She and her parents had arrived a few years earlier from Milan. He remembered how beautiful Maria had been that evening. She was still beautiful, but she'd crossed him in the most despicable way, and now he wanted rid of her.

  “Christian, do you know what happened to me half an hour ago?” Fabio asked when a tall, dark, and very good-looking man arrived in his office.

  “No, boss. Something good I hope,” he said, a cheeky grin etched across his face.

  “No, Christian. While you were, in all probability, dipping yourself in some super model, I was being held at gunpoint in my own fucking bedroom.” Fabio's voice reached a deafening crescendo. To add effect, he slammed his fist onto his desk, which sent a pen flying up into the air.

  Christian's expression changed. “What? How?”

  “You tell me. This house is supposed to be guarded like Fort Knox. I want you to find out why it wasn't.”

  “Sure, boss. Who was the man?”

  “I don't know, but he was fucking my wife. She's in the basement. Go down and make her tell you who it was. Use as much force as you need.”

  Christian went down to the basement and opened the door. He saw a tearful Maria sitting on top of the washing machine, smoking a cigarette from a gold holder.

  “Who was he, Maria?” Christian asked.

  “What are you going to do to me if I don't tell you?” she said.

  Her mascara had run, and her skin looked blotchy. She'd obviously been crying for some time. “I'll have to torture you until you tell me,” he said harshly.

  “That's Christian, ever faithful to my husband. You'd jump from a bridge if he asked you, wouldn't you?”

  “Yes. He's been very good to me. Without him, I would have been a nobody.”

  “You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen, but you're an asshole,” she said. “You're stupid for believing what he tells you. He's just using you.”

  “The name please, Maria. I really don't want to have to hurt you. Spare yourself.”

  She knew what he would do to her, and it would hurt. “You will never find him. He lives abroad, far from here.”

  “After this, I won't ask again. What's his name?”

  “Alexander Gorev.”

  “And where does he live?”

  “I just told you, dumbass. He lives abroad.”

  Christian walked toward her and knocked the cigarette out of her hand. “Don't ever call me that again. Now, where does he live?”

  “He's Russian. He lives in Moscow, and if you're stupid enough to go there, you'll never come back.”

  “Thank you, Maria,” he said. “I really wasn't looking forward to dragging it out of you. You know I've always thought you were a nice-looking woman. If Fabio hadn't been my boss, I might have had a crack at you myself.”

  “Don't flatter yourself,” she said.

  Christian took a look at her. Who knew, it may have been the last time he saw her, he thought. He'd been working for Fabio for ten years, and he'd always fancied sleeping with her. She could have been his Mrs. Robinson. He would have like that.

  “He's called Alexander Gorev, and he lives in Moscow, boss,” Christian said. Fabio looked out of the window and noticed the guards doing their rounds. “Maria says there's no way we'll be able to get him.”

  “If he's fled to Moscow, we probably won't. We don't have anyone there. Find out if he has family, anything we can use in the States to persuade him to come back. And find out why my guards missed him.”

  “Maria. She told them he'd come to fix the boiler,” Christian said immediately.

  “Make sure she leaves as well,” Fabio said.

  Half an hour later, Christian returned with a smile on his face. “He’s got a daughter named Amy, and she lives in LA. She's an American citizen.”

  “How the hell did you find that out so fast?”

  “Maria knew more than I thought.”

  “Did she tell you where she lived?”

  “I had to really persuade her to tell me that, but yes.”

  *****

  “Right, listen up, Alberti,” Fabio said as he looked at Christian and Alberti. “Christian has found out that the dog that fucked my wife has a daughter named Amy. We're going to kidnap her. This afternoon she's attending a friend’s wedding. Christian is going to the wedding, and he's going to charm her.” Alberti nodded and drew on his cigarillo. “Christian is going to befriend her, get her to the street under some pretense, and bundle her into the car. You are going to drive her to Oaktree Lodge and keep her locked up.”

  “Okay, boss,” Alberti said.

  “Remember, Christian, no fooling around with her. I know what you're like. If you put a finger on her, I'll cut your hand off.”

  Christian recognized the look Fabio was giving him and knew he meant it. “Don't worry, boss. I'll behave perfectly.”

  *****

  When Christian walked into the wedding reception, women turned their heads. The reception was in the garden of a luxury hotel in Beverly Hills. The guests were the smart set, people from Hollywood and big business. Christian also recognized a few people from his line of work, organized crime. He laughed to himself when he noticed the chief of police talking to man Christian new had murdered someone just two days earlier.

  Christian didn't have an invitation, but no one would notice; there were so many people.

  “Hello. What's your name?” a woman asked.

  “Christian,” he replied.

  She was in her sixties. She had been good looking at one time, Christian could tell, but she was way past her sell by date now. “You're very handsome. How much do you charge?”

  “What?” he said.

  “Your price. What is it? Dear boy, do you think I could get a man as nice looking as you into my bed without paying him?”

  “I'm not a gigolo.”

  “But you do have a price, don't you?” she asked.

  He flashed his white smile at her. “Yes, of course. Five million dollars. Now fuck off out of my way.” The woman looked frightened and moved away.

  “That wasn't nice,” someone else said, coming up to him.

  “What wasn't?” Christian asked.

  “The way you spoke to her. She's old.”

  “Not too old to ask me to fuck her,” he protested.

  “I'm Amy,” she said.

  Sometimes Christian wondered about life. Here he was trying to find Amy, and something had brought her to him without him even having to try.

  “Nice to meet you, Amy,” he said. She was wearing a long silver dress that revealed her breasts and clung to her hips. She had long dark hair that curled its way to the middle of her back and the most beautiful face Christian had ever seen.

  “How do you know Madison?” she asked.

  He had no idea who Madison was, but he guessed she was the bride. “Oh, I'm on the groom’s side. Went to school with him,” he bluffed.

&nb
sp; “It was a terrible shock, her getting pregnant so soon after they'd met, wasn't it?” Amy said.

  “Oh yes, such a shock,” he replied, hardly able to keep a straight face.

  This is one hell of a good-looking guy, Amy thought as she let her eyes flow over him. Tall, athletic, and the most wonderful eyes. Decent bulge as well, she noted.

  “Come and dance with me,” he said, taking her hand. Before she had time to respond, she was in his arms, being carried effortlessly around the dance floor.

  “You're very beautiful,” he said. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I'm a student of music.”

  “You can play my instrument all day long,” he joked.

  “Vulgar,” she said.

  “That's me, though. I say what I want. I don't care whether you think it's vulgar or not.” She gasped when he pulled her tighter to him and navigated them around another couple.

  “You dance well,” she said, aware that her thigh was dangerously close to a place it shouldn't be.

  “Self-taught. Hundreds of hours dancing with beautiful women like you.”

  “You're not very modest, are you?”

  “No. Why should I be?”

  “How many women have you had?” She noticed she was slightly turned on by his arrogance.

  “A lot. Many different kinds of women. I love women; they are so unpredictable.”

  “You are Italian, so I guess it's in your genes. Italian men are continually horny.”

  The music changed, but Christian still held her and danced at his own pace. He wanted a slow grind, and that was what he was going to get, just as soon as he'd warmed her up.

  “Yes. We're all sex mad,” he said, laughing a bit.

  “You aren't married, are you?” He shook his head. “Girlfriend?” she asked.

  “No. You can have me if you want.”

  She laughed. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you keep putting your thigh against my crotch and make no attempt to remove it. You know you are turning me on, and you want to.”

  “I do not,” she protested.

  “Oh yes, you do. You can deny it all you want, but you like me, and you want me. Look at the color of your cheeks.”