Mafia King

by CD Reiss

  “You may speak,” I say the second time I inhale.

  “You understand,” he says with just enough respect to counter his own insult at being bailed out like a child, “I cannot go home with this hanging over my head.” He rolls his cigar between wet lips, then puffs. “The contracts are signed. The business is done. Cosimo’s blessed it. Damiano wants the marriage and he is paying the debts. There’s no need for you to stick your nose in it. All due respect, of course.”

  “Stick my nose in it?” I shrug as if that’s an interesting way to put it that doesn’t deserve a more violent response.

  “With all due respect.”

  “When you sent Gia—your daughter—to America, you asked me to watch over her. You put her well-being in my care. And I took that seriously. I’ve kept her away from dishonorable men and risky activities. I gave her a job to keep an eye on her for you. Here, in America, she is my responsibility because you asked for her to be. So don’t you come here now and tell me it’s not my business.”

  “After all I’ve done for you,” he sneers. “This is how you treat me?”

  I snap his fucking cigar out of his mouth and point the hot side at his face. “All you did was ignore me. You treated me like shit on your shoe because I didn’t come out of your balls. You called me the little bastard of the house and wouldn’t give me three euro for a fucking train to visit my mother. And I still would have paid your debt from the beginning.”

  “I don’t want your money,” he says from the bottom of his guts. “I’m just going to pay the way I want. It’s my prerogative.”

  Marco’s got a little laugh to his tone that makes me want to break every bone in his body. It’s a chuckle of we’re all men here, and a wink of, così stanno le cose—it is what it is. What are you going to do?

  I stamp out his cigar.

  “My wife misspoke,” I repeat the agreed-upon lie. “But I’m not going to turn her into a liar. I will pay your debt, and in return, you will not sell Gia into marriage.”

  “You know your chickens,” he says without seeming to have a single reservation. “Look at how you came to marry your own wife?”

  Calmly, I wedge my cigarette between my lips as the skin under my collar runs hot, and my blood carries instructions to my body faster than a thought. In less than the blink of an eye, my fingers grip his throat.

  “I came to marry her out of duty, Marco.”

  Marco gags, gripping my sleeve. I didn’t realize how many years I’ve wanted to choke him, because it feels better than anything I’ve ever done.

  “Do you understand?” I squeeze tighter, sucking on my cigarette and exhaling out my nose.

  He nods against my fingers.

  “Liar.” I squeeze until his knees buckle. “You don’t understand duty.”

  My uncle’s face is bright red. He’s choking out something that could be apology or curse, and I let him go to hear which it is. He drops back, hand to his throat, landing on the patio couch.

  Behind me, someone coughs. All of the men are outside, staring at Marco gasping for air. No one runs to his aid.

  Bene. They need to see this.

  I turn to address the men gathered behind me. “Any of you. When I speak, I speak one time. You do not question me. And when my wife says I’m paying this cavolo’s debt, you assume it’s the truth.”

  I start back inside, where the women have set up the table for cards and the TV for the children. I can hear their chatter and coins clinking as if everything is back to normal. Violetta waves me in. I want to be on the other side of that glass with her more than anything.

  “Santino,” Marco calls timidly, so I stop and look back. “When my daughter returns…”

  The last part of his sentence falls into silence, but I know it ends with him telling me what I already know. That the wedding is happening as soon as Gia gets back, and if I want to change the arrangement, I have to tell Damiano and Cosimo Orolio. They can—and will—refuse.

  “Do not ask me another thing. Your job isn’t questions. It’s obedience. You’ll know when you know.”

  I go inside to play cards, and the men follow.

  27

  VIOLETTA

  “It was a lovely evening.” Zia kisses my cheeks and cups my chin. “You make me so proud, Violetta.”

  My cheeks flush red—in part because I have missed the connection with my zia in person, in part because her compliments always make me wonder what my mother would say, but mostly because I took a risk today and it paid off. That threshold between adolescence and adulthood was not only crossed but eviscerated, and my family got to witness it firsthand.

  Violetta Moretti is not a plaything. Violetta Moretti is not a toy. Violetta Moretti is a dangerous bitch who will move mountains to save people she loves.

  Violetta Moretti is going to be a good mother.

  “Thank you for coming. I have missed you so much.” I squeeze her in a tight hug.

  Zio comes from behind Zia and the three of us stand there for a moment, savoring this. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see them again, not after what I just did. I changed the rules.

  I would do it again in a heartbeat. The power I felt commanding that room, laying the groundwork for a plan I concocted? Intoxicating. And there was never a better cause. I swear on my life. These bastards aren’t going to steal another girl over money or territory or a few chunks of old metal ever again.

  “It was lovely tonight, Santino.” Zia nods politely to him.

  “You’ll come again,” he says.

  We stand outside, Santino and me, arms around each other, as these last guests climb into their Buick and drive away. I have so many memories of my aunt and uncle, but now I don’t feel grief when I think about them. Maybe I really have finally grown up.

  Their tail lights clear the driveway, leaving me alone with my husband.

  “Did you make the offer?” I ask.

  “I did.” He nods and goes inside.

  “And?”

  “I told you he wouldn’t accept.”

  I sigh and follow him. No words need to be spoken. We have to move to the second part of the plan.

  “Upstairs,” Santino says when we’re inside the house and the door is locked.

  I hesitate. Is he angry that we have to go to plan B? Or just surprised?

  “Now,” he barks.

  He’s so big when he yells, and all my defiance melts away, and I run upstairs. He catches me in the hall before I have to decide which room to run to, picks me up and carries me to his room, throwing me on the bed.

  “Undress,” he orders.

  My breath catches in my throat. I study his face. There’s something else there, something besides the desire to peel me open and devour the soft, sweet flesh inside. It curls darkly under his skin like blood set free of veins.

  “Undress,” Santino commands again, but in Italian as if that has more force. “Spogliati.”

  It does.

  My fingers fumble with my straps. Maybe there’s a different name for the power I cannot define.

  I’m naked in front of him when I see it clearly.

  It’s fear. He’s afraid of the partnership he’s offered me, and he’s afraid of what I’ll do with it. Or he’s afraid I’ll die. He’s afraid he can’t protect me.

  I can’t parse any of it, but it all leads to one conclusion. Santino is human. He thinks he’s showing me his power, but he’s lonely and desperate and afraid, just like me. I, Violetta DiLustro, am not just a wife to service him, but a companion and a mate who needs and who is needed.

  “Santino—” I start.

  “Basta.” His pants and underwear drop to the floor. He steps out of them neatly, revealing his powerful cock—more magnificent than ever. He grabs my hand and puts it on the glorious beast, and it hardens even more. “Succhiami il cazzo.”

  Suck my dick. I flush warm and drop to my knees, opening my mouth obediently. All insolence is gone. I just want him to use me. I want him to show me I fucki
ng matter. Never do I feel that more than when his cock is in me and his hands are on my shoulders, as his powerful frame comes with ragged breaths.

  I take a deep breath to steady myself, so I don’t come before he can touch me. Mixed with the fear from only twenty minutes earlier, I want nothing more than to have my entire world obliterated in dark pleasure.

  “Tomorrow morning,” he says from above. “Tell me what you do first.”

  He pulls out his cock. I breathe. “Call Anette. Tell her I want to go with them to pick up Gia.”

  Santino takes my cheeks and squeezes, pressing my mouth open. He isn’t gentle. He’s forceful. He’s scared. He’s mine. His length threatens to choke me in one thrust, sending hot electricity through my veins.

  “You beg them,” he says. “You cry. You tell them I want you to live over the river and you don’t want to leave.” He twists my hair in his hands and pulls just enough, and I respond with gasp and a groan. “You don’t want to be alone in another house with only one kitchen, so far away.”

  I rule this man’s cock. I build into a quick rhythm, sucking and licking his length with each stroke from my lips, then he pushes me away.

  “I just can’t be alone right now,” I say, spit dripping down my chin. “I don’t assume Anette told him about seeing me at the drugstore. With the test… because he told you that, not me. But if he mentions it, I say I’m pregnant and I want to tell Gia right away.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Santino drops onto a high-backed leather chair, legs apart, elbows resting on the tufted arms. The fear is gone; the power is not. “Come here.”

  I stand between his legs and he turns me. In the mirror, my naked body blocks him. He puts his hands on my waist and guides me down, impaling me on him. We are slick and smooth against each other, root to root without friction or resistance.

  “Oh,” I gasp.

  “And then what?” he asks, spreading my legs open.

  I can’t see him. Just the edges of the chair and the place we’re connected.

  “On the drive there.” I move up and down on him. “I tell them you’ve been thinking… and you decided to set up Gia and Damiano over the river. And you want to show him a big surprise before Gia gets home.”

  “Do you want Gia to marry?” His hand snakes between my legs and fondles my clit.

  “Yes, I’ve…” I stop, unable to finish. He slaps lightly, bringing me back to my senses. “I’ve come around. Our babies can play together but… Santino… I’m so close.”

  “Finish.” He taps, then rubs my clit as I speak.

  “Not so far away over the river.” My hands work with his, touching my clit, his wet shaft, his fingers twining with mine. “I’ll be so happy to see Gia. I’ll tell her it’s okay she’s getting married today. I’ll be at the church. Right beside her.”

  “Then I pick you up to come home.”

  “To get ready.” I’m so close to orgasm I can barely think. “But we don’t. We go to the lawyer. And when we come back… we have… can I come now?”

  “And when they find Damiano in the basement?”

  “The next day. Oh, God, I can’t hold it. I’ll act shocked. You act shocked. Bosco says, he…” My breath comes in sharp gasps. “Didn’t know the cellar locked automatically. But we have the crown and… keep going. I feel you everywhere.”

  He thrusts his hips up and deep into me, then again, fucking faster, our hands tangling between our legs until I can’t hold it. I fall back against him and come with the back of my head against his shoulder.

  “That’s right,” he murmurs, then groans in an exhale, exploding inside me. After he settles, he pulls me into him. “And we’ll have the crown before the sun sets. By the time Damiano’s out of the basement to claim Gia, there will be no more forced marriage where I wear the crown.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

  The clock Santino hangs on the wall to spite his grandfather erupts in thick chimes.

  We both look at it.

  It’s midnight.

  At the last chime, my husband looks at me and says, “Happy birthday.”

  28

  SANTINO

  When I first contacted Bosco about this house, I thought I was trying to make my wife happy. It’s close to the school and away from the eyes and ears of Secondo Vasto. I thought I was keeping her safe, because once the crown is in my hands, I’ll be a bigger target than before.

  I fooled myself. I wasn’t trying to make her happy. This house was meant to placate her.

  I’d tried to buy her silence, but she wouldn’t sell.

  In the early morning hour, the concrete walls of the foundation keep the cellar chilly, as they should. Hammers bang on the outsides of the windows. Drills whirr. A man installs a new lock at the top of the stairs. The basement will be sealed tight in no time.

  This will be a fine cucina for Gia—I run through the lie I’m going to tell Damiano—it’s safe, and near enough to St. John’s University that Violetta can take her to the American coffee shops easily. His new wife will be happy here.

  I call him. He picks up on the fifth ring.

  “Dami,” I say. “I have something for you and Gia. A blessing.”

  “I heard you tried to buy Marco out. That ain’t a blessing.”

  “My wife had ideas. I was covering for her. But she’s been corrected.” The last word carries the weight of definite threats and possible violence. It seems to satisfy him.

  “Can it wait until Gia gets in? We’re getting hitched today.”

  “I have an appointment.”

  He pauses. I don’t break the silence.

  “It’s her birthday today, isn’t it?” he finally says. He’s aware of the importance of the day and not afraid to mention it. Now I can either tell him I’ll keep my promise that he can join my business, or I can prove it.

  “You want to come to the lawyer’s? See the crown’s pieces again before we reveal them?”

  He’d have to put his wedding on hold, and doing so would be a proof of trust. Nothing would change about the plan though.

  I’m not surprised by his quick reply.

  “Nah. I’ll see it when you get back. Where’s this blessing you got for us?”

  I give him the address and he estimates he’ll be at the house in an hour. Probably less.

  My phone rings. It’s Vito—a man more trustworthy than his brother Roman, who I am sure told Theresa Rubino that I was engraving numbers inside wedding rings.

  “Pronto,” I say.

  “The lawyer’s office is secure as I can make it with what we got,” he says. “But…”

  “Spit the toad, Vito.”

  “We got Carmine on the roof across the street, but we got holes on the other side of Gateway Ave.”

  Having to bolt the windows in the River Heights house has stretched my men thin, but this has to be done, and though no one knows where the lawyer is, it has to be secure, and Violetta can’t be left alone.

  “How many do you need?” I ask, walking outside.

  “Four, but we can make it with three.”

  I have five men locking down the basement, but only three work for me. The other two install locks and window bars for a living.

  “I’ll call you back.” I cut the call and walk around the house.

  Gennaro’s no carpenter, but he’s nailing a window shut before it’s barred. Two more of my guys are clearing the cellar of anything that can be used to tie, break, or cut. I approach a man in a red sweatshirt who’s crouching at the base of the house.

  “How long?” I ask him.

  He flips up his welding mask and checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes?”

  That means twenty or more.

  “Ten,” I say, figuring I’ll get fifteen. “And it’s an extra thousand for you.”

  He looks as though I’m asking him to jump over Vesuvius for a million, but he really wants the money. “I’ll try,” he says, then flips down his welder’s helmet.

 
I have one man left. Armando, and he’s at the house with Violetta.

  I start to call him, but instead, I call her.

  “My beautiful wife,” I say.

  “Hey,” she says smoothly, and I think of how much more I want to fuck her than I want to be here playing with the locks and windows.

  “Did you call Anette?” I ask.

  “They’re coming to get me on the way. I didn’t have to beg too hard.”

  “Everyone has to hear you say it,” I say, looking at my watch again and finding no surprises. I pace back into the house. “Do it for me.”

  She playacts her story, complete with teary gasps and hiccups. “Santino? Hey, it’s me. Can you meet me at home? Then I pause like I’m listening.” She pauses. “In the bathroom, I was gushing. Bleeding so much. It was terrible. Please come home. Please.”

  She can pull this off. I have no doubt. But the minutes between now and when she’s picked up are critical. A loud grind and a hard smack come from the other side of the house. I go to it. The man putting the lock on the basement door curses and drops something heavy.

  “When are they getting there?” I ask.

  “Should be five minutes?”

  It’s eight o’clock. The lawyer is an hour away, and our appointment is at ten. Damiano will be here in half an hour. The airport is forty minutes away from my house. I calculate everyone’s placement on the map and how long it will take to put all of them into place.

  The locksmith heads for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” I ask him.

  “I need a different size. I think I have one in the truck.”

  “You think?”

  He shrugs, and I can keep him there to yell at him or let him go check, so I turn my back on him.

  “Everything okay?” Violetta asks.

  “Is Armando there?” I ask.