by Evie Adams
“What are you doing?” I said to her under my breath.
“Something I'll have to be punished for later. Stay here.” She walked over as Elio climbed over near her. He was getting ready to dive into the quarry again when she called to him. He kept yelling for us to watch. Trying to impress her.
I watched them talk nervously. Waiting for one of his rages. The talk lasted minutes and it didn't go as I feared. Maybe I was coddling him. Maybe he could handle it, it might make him grow up a little and quit being so selfish. I protected him, partly because it was my job, but he was family too. He would be the boss in 5 years maybe.
Family comes first. Before everything. Before beautiful girls in string bikini’s even.
Cris turned her back to him and called to me, “Come on Luca, we're taking Elio home. He's fine. He understands.” And she waved me over.
He stood behind her, but I saw him clearly.
First he looked at me. We locked eyes and he smiled. Then he pushed her off the cliff with all his might.
I saw her go over and heard her screams as she hit the rocks below.
Elio watched, a smile on his face as he watched her fall and hit, he lost his footing, but fell back, not towards the water and the rocks below, but still a nasty fall.
When I finally went over to check on her, she was a bloody unmoving mess of strings and blood. I checked on him second, his head was cracked open and his blood ran into the water of the shallow pool making the water incarnadine.
I could have left him there to die. Maybe the world would have been a better place. Maybe he deserved that.
Instead, I called 911 and waited for an ambulance as the operator told me what I could do for him. He spent three days in the hospital and had two brain surgeries but he recovered.
When the cops asked me what happened I told them she fell and he tried to grab her but she pushed him away so he fell.
He woke up as a hero.
Family comes first.
CHAPTER 1 -- NINA
"This one's not good enough either?" Ezrah asked me, showing me the picture of the guy he wanted me to marry.
"I knew him, he's not good enough, trust me."
"He's strong, you need a strong man to help you."
It wasn't much use arguing with my father, Ezrah Brown. He was old school when it came to those things. “And I will, but not him.”
“Fine, not him. But you have to find one soon. I don't know when I'll be gone, but it could be any day now. If your brother was still around, all this wouldn't fall on you.” He trailed off for a moment, and looked away.
My brother died two years ago and it still hurt to think of him, for the both of us. Especially because he followed my mother after not even a year had passed. But before he could think too long, he looked at me again and smiled, “But you're it sweetheart. If you don't find someone the family is going to splinter and war. Or one of my guys will step up but you already refused all of them.”
A strong man was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was the strong one. Maybe Ezrah didn't see how a woman could run it, but I could. I needed a man who knew his place. A man to stay in the shadows while I led. Not one who wanted to put me in the shadows or the kitchen.
“They're all in their 50's Ezrah. You don't expect me to marry one of them right?”
“Not unless you have to. But if you don't find a decent man around soon, yeah, I'll make you.” He tried to give me a mean look, but it didn’t work.
“Okay, but not today right?” I used my girlish charm, he was putty in my hands.
“No, not today.”
I kissed him on the cheek as thanks and let him get back to business. That was another of his old school ideas. He never talked business around me, but I knew every move he made.
Ezrah Brown – he made me stop calling him Dad when I was 12, made me call him by his first name, like an equal. Ezrah was the leader of the Brown crime family in Harlem. But he was getting old, I knew it, he knew it, everyone knew it. Since Mom died, then my brother, he had got old really quick. He was almost 50 when he had me, but these last ten years, from when I was 15 to now, he seemed to age another 50 years.
We were in Miami, Ezrah had business, but I had pleasure in mind. The nightlife in Miami was as good as New York, maybe better, but it didn't start until late and almost never ended. A friend had told me about a party on an out of the way beach tonight. Somewhere in the Keys or close to them. I would need the boat to get there.
Ezrah had a boat. Well, he had a boat and a yacht. The boat was still pretty big, but perfect for me to get away on. I called down to the docks and told them to get the boat ready for me.
I dressed and packed a small bag and went down to the docks. When I got there, I didn't recognize the driver at first. He wasn’t Mr. Preston, he looked familiar, but he startled me when I jumped on board and he turned around.
“Who are you? Where's Preston?” I asked.
“I’m David. Preston went out fishing today and he had a little too much sun....” he flashed a smiled at me and cocked his head to add, “And rum.”
I liked him already, much younger than Preston, but seemed okay. I had never spoken with him, but I had noticed him around, his face was familiar. Usually I was careful not to be alone with men I didn't know very well. I was the heir to the family after all, but I needed to get out, so I didn’t think too much of it.
“Where to?” he asked with a grin.
“Oh, just around,” I wanted to feel the wind in my face and get the last bit of sun before the party. I undressed to my bikini and laid in front of the boat.
He drove around not too fast, and I could feel his eyes on me. Preston was like a grandfather so I never felt strange in my swimsuit with him. But this guy was different. He watched me and didn’t try to hide it.
“We can't wander around at night here so close to Miami,” he shouted. “The coast guard might think we're drug dealers. Or worse, drug dealers might think we're the coast guard.”
It was a joke, but he was right. The waters could be dangerous at night. “How about we have a drink then I take you over to your party?” He asked with a familiar smile.
“Okay, one drink,”
I got up and wound the sash around me and went in the cabin. He followed me down and made drinks, one for me, one for him.
“There's a party on one of the keys, do you know them?” I asked.
He sipped his whiskey, “I do. Takes about three hours to get out there.”
“You should come, you're about my age, it'll be fun. Just don't drink too much so you can't get me back home.” I joked with him.
He sipped his drink coolly again, then his eyes came up to me, “I don't think you're going to make it.”
“No? Why not?”
“A couple reasons. One is the roofie I just put in your drink. You won't remember anything pretty soon. And the other is you won't see home again for a while.” His cute smile turned devilish, and his face started to lose focus for me.
“What? What?” I tried to say, but my mouth was slow, my brain knew exactly what it wanted, but my body wouldn’t do it.
“There it comes, don't fight it. You won't remember anything and you might even pass out but I hope you don't. At least not until I'm done with you.”
There were two of him now, and the words seemed to be coming from further away. “Roof?” I managed.
“The Agnelli’s paid me to take you and hand you over to their men. I'm not sure why, but I'm sure they have some plans for you.” He sipped his drink again.
The Agnelli’s were my families’ biggest rival, but we stayed away from each other. They did their thing and we did ours and we both stayed out of each other’s way. “Bastard,” I slurred.
“Maybe.” He walked over to sit next to me. There was only one of him when he was this close but one was even worse than two. My mind was starting to get confused too now, and my hands were too weak to push him.
“I'll be roughed up a little. So maybe you should be roughed up a little too?” He pulled the sash off from around my waist and began to run his hands over me. I tried to push again but I was too weak. It felt like a fight in a dream, where you move too slow.
“Teasing me all day like that. Looking at me watching you. You're such a cock tease but soon you won't be.”
“Please,” I tried to push again, but my body wouldn't do what I told it to, even when I focused everything I had, I was still too weak, too slow, too confused.
“Good, I like a little fighting,” he said and pushed me to the floor.
I felt his body over me, I felt his mouth on my shoulder. I felt him put his hand under the elastic of my bikini bottoms. I tried to scream but my throat muscles were weak, a half sob, half yelp came out.
He laughed and rolled me over, “I think I'll take your ass first, I bet you'll be nice and tight back there, they usually are,”
I heard footsteps above deck and a voice over me, “Get off her.”
I rolled myself over and saw the glint of a knife on David’s neck, and piercing green eyes staring at me before everything was darkness.
CHAPTER - 2 NINA
The smell hit me first. A violently foul fishy smell. I tried to sit up and managed to roll on my side on my elbow. My body was still sluggish and not listening to me. I threw up into a small bucket that someone had conveniently and thoughtfully placed next to me.
When I was done, I wasn't sure if the bucket or the air smelled worse.
A voice next to me spoke, “It'll pass,” I moved away from the noise and tried to see where I was.
A dank boat that stunk like fish.
Either I'm on a fishing boat or in hell.
I looked at the voice, a kindly looking grandfatherly man with white hair and white beard. His hands were scarred and his skin was dark and sunburned.
“What will pass?”
“You're either sea sick or it’s the drugs still in you. Both of those usually pass with time.”
“I think it’s the smell more than anything.”
He smiled. “That will pass too. I was just baiting the long line for tonight. Once it goes over and I wash the deck you won't smell anything. Except maybe the chum in that bucket right there.” He grabbed the bucket from me to empty. “Would you like something to drink?" He asked.
“Anything.”
He stood up and knocked on the ceiling, “She's awake,” the boat slowed and footsteps came down the stairs.
The white haired man came back with a soda that I gulped down, and when I looked up again, the kind grandfatherly man was gone, driving the boat upstairs as it sped up. There was a new man watching me. A man with sparkling green eyes.
“I thought you'd never wake up,” the man with the green eyes said.
A shiver ran through me at his voice. This was the man who saved me. I was saved from David, but what exactly did this savior have in store for me?
“We're north of Miami now, probably near Georgia. We're taking you to New York, the Agnetti’s so that hasn't changed for you. But this boat ride should be better than your last one. Do you have any questions?”
I had a million but only one important one. “Where's the bathroom?”
He pointed a little further back, near what looked like a bedroom. It also looked a lot more comfortable than where I had slept. I walked to the bathroom and closed the thin door behind me.
There was a small window and I thought I could see a red buoy not very far from the boat. Red buoys meant rocks, a warning for boats not to get too close to them. Rocks meant land. This was my chance. I wiggled out of the window and hesitated for a moment as the water rushed by and the wind hit me. But I didn’t let my brain try to talk me out of it. I jumped.
The cold water pierced me and snapped me awake. Almost as quick as I started to swim, the boat stopped and turned around.
“Where do you think you're going?” The green eyes yelled out as the boat idled behind me.
I swam on.
“Where do you think you'll go?” He yelled, “Should we get the net or the gaffe for you?”
I looked for the buoy. The boat couldn't follow near the rocks, not without sinking anyways.
There it was, the red can. I swam towards it and the boat followed, then I heard the boat reverse and idle again.
“Damn you.” I heard the voice say behind me and kept swimming.
The splash behind me focused me harder on swimming as fast as I could. I put my head down and aimed for the shore that must be on the other side of that red can.
Before I was tired, I felt arms on me and I screamed.
“Where the hell do you think you're going?” He asked as he gathered me in his arms.
“Anywhere is better than that boat.”
I pushed him away and kicked and tried to get away again.
He caught me again and this time he pulled the strings of my bikini top until it slipped off and into his hands, “Stop,” I screamed, "I'd rather drown,”
“Don't worry, I prefer my women willing,” he took my wrists and tied them together with the bikini top, then forced my arms over his head. “And it’s too long a swim for all that right now, maybe if you play your cards right we can get to know each other later, but you'll have to do all the work. This swimming is going to tire me out.” I’m not sure what enraged me more, the condescending voice or the cute dimples when he smiled.
If I had a hand I would have slapped him, but they were bound and around his neck. And he didn’t wait for an answer, but turned around and started swimming back to the boat with me on his back, my arms around his neck. I heard the waves lapping, felt the sun baking, and heard his heartbeat through his chest as he swam.
I struggled against him the closer we got, finally having energy to struggle and feeling the energy leaving him as his muscles tired from work.
“Don't make me tie your legs together too, just think what I'll have to use there.” He said and I collapsed against his back.
He stopped at the boat and turned me around, facing him, naked against his chest.
“If I unbind your hands and allow you some modesty up there, will you try to swim again?”
I didn't answer.
“That's a no then?”
“I won't if you promise you won't touch me.”
He kissed me, hard and fast and deep until he broke it off. “I promise to not touch you again until you touch me,” he said and took my arms from his and untied the bikini top and climbed up. “Or until you try escape like this again of course.” He watched me in the water, grinning as I pulled the top on, and climbed up after him.
The rest coming Soon……………
MARCUS
“. . . Whether it be better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but it is much safer to be feared than loved. . . fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails.”
– The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli (1515)
(Back to Table of Contents)
PROLOGUE - MARCUS
Is it better to be loved or feared? It’s a question powerful people have been asking themselves for centuries. When I was a business man, I thought people feared me, but I didn’t know what fear was, not really.
Six months ago I was in this club getting a blow job from a little blond bartender while I drank my scotch in the stockroom after closing a $75 million dollar takeover. That seemed like a lifetime ago. I'm technically a criminal now, but why I wasn't considered a criminal then is beyond me.
Today I was in the same stockroom taking a case of scotch from them for my personal stash, while a fat sweaty Italian thug beat the shit out of the owner. Paulie's ham-sized fists were raining down on the poor guy, as he was crying and shrieking, “I'll pay, I'll pay.”
“That's what this case of scotch is for, this is you paying,” I told him as I set it on th
e bar with a thud that sounded a lot like how Paulie's fists on his body sounded. “You're going to order 10 more cases of this 15 year old scotch for next month, and we'll give you a list of what else we want you to order.”
“How am I going to pay you if I gotta pay for all this booze too?” He asked. The balls on this guy, to question me when Paulie was still standing over him, a dog on my leash.
The man ran this club for years and he doesn't seem to understand business. His other problem was gambling, and hookers and cocaine, but the gambling was what he owed us money for. “I don't give a shit if you pay for the booze or not. You've been running this club for what 10 years? I bet you have about a million dollars worth of credit with your suppliers before they stop delivering to you and want your bills paid. Lucky for you, you only owe us $100,000, but at 2 points per week, the longer it takes you to pay, the more it adds up. Next week you'll owe $102,000. I'm trying to keep your costs down here. This case is 12 bottles of scotch, at $300 a bottle, so retail it’s $3,600. But you pay what, half that? And sell it for three times that. So it costs you $1,800, but to show you what a nice guy I am, I'll round up and call it 2 grand. So you're good for this week.”
“But if I don't pay the distributors I'll lose my club, if you take my booze then I can't sell it and pay my bills for the club.”
“So you water your drinks down a little bit more- and don't tell me you don't do it, I've seen your bartenders pour them- and you buy the cheap bottom shelf booze and fill the nice bottles with that – which I also know you do anyways- that's not my problem pal. If you lose the club, you'll be ok. That's what bankruptcy is for. This is America remember, if you don't like it you can always make more money.”
The door opened and sunlight streamed into the dark club as a little blond in a baseball cap came in and didn't even notice us until she was standing in front of me. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I recognized her before she understood what was going on.
Those lovely lips.
“Hello lovely,” I said to her as she froze, looked at her boss bloody and beaten on the floor.