Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance

by Watson, Meg

  She sucks her teeth to tell me that she’s not buying it. She knows exactly what I’m doing. In fact, I’ll bet she’s been keeping a running tally since the first time she noticed that I separate my tips. She’s good with numbers.

  “Do you have enough yet?” she murmurs.

  I sigh and glare at her, begging her to stop.

  “Are you gonna do it for real? Are you gonna leave?”

  Shaking my head, I aim my eyes at the ceiling so I don’t have to look at her. “Gianna, nobody ever leaves, you know that.”

  “Right,” she breathes. “I know it. I just wanna make sure that you know it.”

  I can’t look at the ceiling forever, so I tip my head back down. I give her a big, apologetic smile and a shrug. Leaving is hopeless. Everybody knows that. Having the cash is just sensible planning, even if I never get to do it.

  “If you need to go home, you can just go,” I offer. “I can close up the club. It's not a big deal to me.”

  She tips her head as she plucks the bottle of Iordanov vodka off the granite and puts it back on the shelf. We don't carry a big selection, but everything we have is top-of-the-line, rarest in the world. Crystal-encrusted bottles. Liquors that are filtered through precious stones. The most expensive champagnes, the best escorts at the touch of a button. Cigars that smell like the islands. They don’t even stink like you would think they would. They’re like perfume.

  That's why people keep coming to our cigar club. It's sort of an old-fashioned thing, I guess, but it's been in the family for eighty years or so. It's been the site of dozens of peace negotiations and probably more shakedowns and hard deals than anybody's going to admit. But no bloodshed. That’s strictly off-site. It’s in the code.

  Everybody thinks of us as the center of the neighborhood. Their very own Cosa Nostra headquarters, hidden in plain sight. The cops actually avert their eyes when they drive by the front window.

  “No, I can close. It’s all right,” she says with a resolute sigh. “You should've been done hours ago anyway.”

  “Well, I have to wait for Daddy. I can't leave without saying goodbye, and he is still in there with them.”

  She nods, inhaling through her nose. I know she's not leaving. Gianna is not the sort of person who takes the easy way out of anything.

  But even as I'm saying this, I hear the soft click of the door being opened. Billows of cigar smoke roll out even though the air filtration system was probably working double time in the room.

  I hear the laughter of men and then one of the big Russians comes out of the room, walking backward and still chuckling with someone. Daddy follows right after, throwing his arm around the Russian’s broad shoulder as they both step into the hallway.

  A smaller, silent man comes after, his eyes shifting nervously from side to side as he scans the front of the club to see if anyone else is observing them. Other than Gianna and me, I mean. We may as well be invisible.

  Daddy's eyes flicker toward me and then away as he keeps laughing, nodding and encouraging the Russian to walk with him. Stosh, I think his name is. He is as big as a bear. His arms are as thick as my thighs, meaty and somehow absurd. He's covered in weird tattoos all the way up to his jawline. The white hair on his head is so closely shaven that it almost looks like an angelic halo, but that hard gleam in his icy blue eyes tells another story.

  He looks right at me and narrows his eyes slightly as Daddy walks him forward. His upper lip curls over one side of his teeth in what almost seems like a smile.

  I realize that I'm looking right back at him when Gianna pinches me hard on the back of my arm as a warning. Flinching, I automatically look away and begin clearing the counter, preparing for closing time.

  “You have a beautiful daughter, Don Lauro,” he says in his weirdly slippery accent. My skin crawls when he says it, even though Daddy is chuckling like he gave me a great compliment.

  “I'm the luckiest man in the world!" Daddy agrees in a bellow. “Well, maybe the second luckiest…”

  Chuckling, Stosh comes right over to the counter and leans his paw-like hands on it, looming over the granite like a shadow. I act like I'm looking for my keys in my pocket, any reason not to stare up at him.

  “Do I frighten you, devushka?” he says in a low growl.

  I force myself to stare up at him and blink several times as though I didn't know he was standing right there. “No of course not, Mr. Menkov,” I say smoothly, even as my heart flutters in my chest.

  “Good, that is good,” he purrs, though I get the feeling that it's actually not good at all. The tip of his tongue snakes out between his teeth and rummages under his upper lip along the gums. The way he's looking at me, I feel like he's licking the inside of my ear or something, and I hope he stops before I throw up.

  “Marie, will you please credit Mr. Menkov's check to my account?” Daddy says jovially, as though this Russian thug isn't trying to rape me with his eyes.

  “No need for that, Don Lauro,” Stosh purrs. He drags a wad of hundred dollar bills as thick as my fist out of his front pocket. When he lifts up the hem of his shirt, I see the butt of the revolver sticking out of the waistband of his tracksuit pants. I can't believe that Daddy would let himself be alone in a room with these animals.

  Stosh pulls a handful off the top, overestimating his room tab by about $600. He puts the bills on the counter and covers them with his palm. Then he slides them toward me, daring me to touch him to retrieve them. I fold my hands behind my back and smile innocently at him.

  “Daddy loves to be generous, Mr. Menkov.”

  “As do I, principessa,” Stosh says, using the Italian word for princess as though that's going to do anything for me. Still, I go ahead and giggle because that's sort of my job.

  Daddy inhales and claps his hands together loudly, indicating that the meeting is over and everyone should disperse now. He rubs his palms together with a dry noise and grins as widely as he can.

  Stosh opens his arms and cocks his head to the side as Daddy takes him in a brief, manly bearhug. The other, smaller guy shifts toward the front door and peers out of it suspiciously before nodding to Stosh. He jerks his rock-like chin at Daddy in a sort of goodbye salute.

  “Well, I couldn't be more pleased with how today has worked out,” Stosh booms, his accent oily and metallic. “It looks like everything will be coming up with the roses! I'll be seeing you soon, Don Lauro.”

  His eyes slide over to me, slithering up and down my body and making me wish I hadn’t worn this tight black sweater dress. When his gaze dips between my breasts, I'm starting to think I should have worn a bathrobe or muumuu or something instead.

  Daddy keeps smiling and nodding until the Russians leave and the door is closed firmly behind them. Then he turns around to face me and Gianna. His smile sort of falters and he shifts his eyes to the side, indicating that he’s about tell me something I do not necessarily want to know.

  “Oh! I should really be going!” Gianna announces suddenly. I want to roll my eyes at her obvious getaway move, but I don't want Daddy to see that or think that I'm rolling my eyes at him. Instead I ignore Gianna and just plaster a smile on my face so I can stare at him.

  “All right, thank you, Gianna. Good night,” Daddy says, grateful he doesn’t have to ask her to leave.

  Gianna gives me a secret squeeze on my hand as she slides behind me to get her purse. Seconds later, I'm listening to her footsteps fade away as she walks down the back hallway to the parking garage entrance. Daddy is just looking at me with a carefully frozen expression, as though he's somewhere far away.

  I take a deep breath. “So, I guess your meeting went... well?” I say. Might as well get this over with, whatever it is he's trying to work up the courage to say to me.

  He nods, taking the chance to walk up to the counter. I think it's so sweet, the way he is so nice to me. Everybody thinks he's this big, scary guy, but really he's puppy dog, at least to me.

  Folding his hands on the counter he jerks h
is chin toward the Scion, a 155-year-old port wine that usually only comes out over the most dire contract negotiations.

  “You want to taste?” he says to me, letting me know that whatever he’s got on his mind, it's really bad. Daddy doesn't approve of my drinking in the least. He certainly wouldn't be offering me anything stronger than a sweet chianti. Now I have to wonder if I'm dying or something.

  Scowling, I turn around and get a couple of wide bowled glasses from the crystal shelves. I turn them up on the counter and uncork the bottle of wine, pouring a healthy splash into his and just a half ounce into mine, since I am such a good girl.

  Taking the glass in his big hands, he holds it in the air. I tip the rim of my glass against his, making a small clinking sound before bringing it to my lips. Squinting at him suspiciously, I watch him take a deep breath before he downs the amber liquid in one gulp.

  Exactly what the hell is going on here?

  “Daddy, whatever it is, just tell me,” I say. He is starting to freak me out, to tell you the truth.

  “Bunny, you understand that what I do is very important. For us. For the family.”

  Oh Lord, he's giving me the speech about family responsibility.

  “Did I ever tell you how your mother and I met?”

  I gulp, feeling like he’s just taken an abrupt left turn. “Mama? You never… No I don't think you ever did.”

  “I can't believe I never told you,” he says in a faraway voice. His eyes crinkle already as he seems to be remembering her. Thoughts of Mama always make him sort of sad so I don't know why we’re talking about this now. “I was just a young guy, you know? Still wet behind the ears and everything.”

  Despite my curiosity about what he’s clearly avoiding telling me, I can't help but be excited to hear this story. I always imagine his younger life in some kind of sepia-toned newsreel style. I mean, he's not that old. This would've been like the 70s or something, but I always imagine it with flapper girls and fedoras.

  “Well, your mother was a New York girl. Some uncle’s wife's sister's cousin’s kid or something like that. So when Nonno told me about her, you can imagine what I thought. Right?”

  I shake my head. How am I supposed to know what he thought?

  “Well, I thought she was going to be ugly. I mean, the only girls I'd ever seen from the New York side of the family looked like grown men by the time they were 18. I didn't expect much, is what I'm saying.”

  Nodding slowly, I realize my mouth is dry. I should've poured myself a bigger drink.

  “So when Nonno called me to the house and we set down, I basically thought my life was going to be over. But you know how it is, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. This is starting to sound suspiciously like that speech he gave me last year when he told me he was marrying me off to one of those Russian guys.

  “But when she walked in, I almost cried for joy. Hand to God. I almost cried, right there in front of everybody. She was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my whole life. Hands down. The most beautiful, your mama.”

  His eyes glisten with tears, and I move my hand to cover his in sympathy. I understand how much he misses her. You can see it all over his face. He's never been the same. I wish I had known her, but she died when I was just a baby, taken by a sudden aneurysm. One moment there, the next gone. Even though I never really knew her, the pain in his heart is so fierce it’s almost like the ghost of her. She’s still with us, in a way.

  “So what I thought was a duty to the family, to your Nonno e Nonna, turned out to be the biggest blessing of my life. That's what love is. Having a woman to love is the biggest blessing in any man's life. A woman… Children…”

  His voice trails off wistfully. I see his eyes go vacant as though he’s far away. Though I would like to be more sympathetic, I’m really hoping he will just tell me what’s on his mind and get on with it.

  “Daddy, what are you trying to say?”

  He shakes his head, lips pressed hard together. “Just that it's the most important thing in the world. It's the only thing worth fighting for, is your family. We’re nothing without our family.”

  I nod. My head is starting to swim.

  “These Russian guys, they're not so different from us, you know? They're just the same sometimes. Maybe they do things a little bit differently here and there. Maybe our business interests don't always align. But deep down, all men are the same, Marie. You should know that.”

  Yeah, I'm starting to get that impression.

  “I mean, I was so happy that you were willing to join with Dimi…”

  “But he's gone, Daddy,” I interrupt. For once, he either doesn't seem to mind or doesn't seem to notice. He hates being interrupted, even though he could really go on and on sometimes. Waiting for Daddy to finish with his long stories is part of my family obligations, you could say.

  That he crosses himself quickly and kisses his knuckle in respect. “May God rest his soul,” he mumbles.

  “May God rest his soul,” I repeat numbly. I'm starting to get the picture, and the picture is terrible.

  “I just wanted you to know that your mama was the best thing that ever happened to me… In my whole life…”

  “But, Daddy, Dimi is gone. I know that I said that I could —”

  “They have someone else now,” he says, his eyes going stony.

  My breath hitches in my throat. I know I'm shaking my head, I can’t control it. When I heard about Dimi’s death I was sad for him, of course, but in a remote way. I'd never even met him. The men had decided that I would be the bride of somebody in the Russian organization without ever talking to me.

  Daddy gave me a speech about family obligation, and Uncle Joey had just been killed in the middle of the street. We were all so sad about Joey, how could I say no? Daddy promised me that it would mean peace for everyone if I would make the sacrifice.

  “But Dimi is gone,” I say again, as though repeating it is going to magically close this chapter.

  “Piccola, there is always another guy. A new one has come to take Dimi's place, just like we knew there would be —”

  "— you never told me this!” I begin to yell. I feel the air inside me inflate, and all I want to do is yell. It's an Italian thing.

  “But, piccola, what did you think? You've already been promised…”

  “I'm not a toy!” I blurt out, and he purses his lips at me in disapproval.

  “You're not a toy. You're my daughter, and the most precious thing in the world to me. You know that I would never ask you to do something like this unless it was absolutely critical for our family. This is your duty, Marie. You will do this.”

  “I won't! This is not 1956!”

  He shrugs, his hands waving in the air with his palms up in his what-you-gonna-do gesture. “What's the difference? This is how we do it. A sweet, innocent girl like you is like a diamond. More valuable than a diamond. You are the only thing that could make our families unite. Do you understand that?”

  Innocent. He actually said it out loud, and I can’t believe it. He's trading my virginity like a baseball card to keep blood off his hands, keep blood off the streets. He's literally betting my vagina on peace. I just cannot even.

  “Daddy, I'm not that innocent.”

  He looks like I slapped him. His mouth falls open and he rocks back a little bit. “Marie!”

  “No no! Not like that!” I object, though I don’t entirely know why. I feel like the state of my tender bits is really not daddy-daughter conversation, yet I’m compelled to defend my own honor. My hands fly up to show my surrender. “I didn't mean it like that! I'm just saying… It's a new world. Girls don't just get married off anymore! I shouldn't have to be, you know… Just put in the middle like this!”

  “Marie Francesca Lauro, our world is our world. I don't care what those others do in their world. In our world,” he taps his fingertip over and over again on the granite countertop to make his point, “in our world, gir
ls do what they're told. You'll understand one day. I promise you. This is how it's done, how it's always been done.”

  My mouth opens and closes helplessly. I don't even know what to say to him. Trying to talk him out of it would be absolutely fruitless, and I don't want to anger him.

  Daddy is rigidly old-school. He really believes in this death before dishonor stuff. All the rules that the family hands down, they’re like blood oaths to him. He honestly believes that the Russians are going to do what he says if he just offers up his only daughter as a trade. Like I’m a milking cow or an old piece of jewelry or something.

  I'm not sure if it makes me sad or furious. Actually it makes me both. Definitely both.

  It's like I’m being torn between two totally different worlds. In one world I’m just a half-person whose only value is as a breeder and housekeeper. In the other, I’m a woman with $12,000 stashed away who could just disappear and start all over, maybe somewhere where they acknowledge that women can even vote these days.

  And yet, I'm the one who is the 22-year-old virgin, right? I must believe it too. Everybody else I know lost their V card years ago, while I've been hanging onto mine like it’s an American Express Black Card or something. For emergency only, break glass to access.

  Well, hold on, maybe there is one thing I can do on my own. If he's sending me off to some Russian monster as blood payment for peace, I can maybe at least have control over that. Maybe it's time to turn in my V card for a little bit of autonomy, hm?

  “Daddy, I want to leave.”

  He shakes his head at me furiously. “Marie, you're going to do what you're told!”

  “I know that!” I yell back, and I can’t help but be pleased at the amount of volume I can push out when I really get going. Even if it means nothing, at least I know he hears my words. “I mean I want to leave this place now. The club. Right now.”

  “Oh,” he says uncertainly, faltering as he puts it together. “I thought you meant… Well, of course you didn't. You’re a good girl, Marie. Of course you may go.”

  I snatch my handbag from under the counter and hook it over my shoulder. Then I fling open the front door and walk out into the brisk evening air. Daddy can lock up tonight. I just want to take a walk. I want to do something on my own two legs, with my own decision-making, while I still have the chance. Before every man around me starts telling me what to do forevermore.