The Scandal: Mafia Vows

by SR Jones

  “No, I mean, it’s nice, but it set me back twenty thousand dollars, as she had to buy it in dollars. For a vase. Then there’s the thirty-thousand-euro rug she wants.”

  “Fuck me, let me know if she’s buying shit like that; I can get it a lot cheaper.”

  “Oh, no,” Damen says sarcastically. “I already told her we could get her the stuff at a better price. You know what she said?”

  My lips twitch as I shake my head.

  “She put her hands on her hips and said to me, all serious like, “Darling, if you get raided for your illegal activities, they’re not taking my ornaments and rugs. It is all being paid for above board with receipts from major suppliers.”

  I laugh.

  Alesso is cracking up in the corner. “I love it. You’ll be dragged away in cuffs, but Maya will remain calm because her precious vase is safe.”

  “You know it’s true,” Damen says.

  “Whereas, Star only buys things with cracks or breaks in them,” Markos says.

  “Yeah, what’s up with that?” Alesso asks.

  “Don’t know. She says it makes them more interesting, and no one else will buy them.”

  “Women,” Alesso says. “Love them, but their heads are funny places.”

  “What does Stella spend her money on?” I ask him.

  “Those dogs at the shelter; it’s her passion in life.”

  “She’s a good one,” I say.

  “Too good for me,” Alesso replies, and I don’t contradict him because he’s probably right. They are all too good for us, when it comes right down to it.

  Our life, our work, it seeps into things and poisons them. We never know if we’re safe, and we never know when the tectonic plates beneath our feet will shift as some boss becomes too greedy or another dies and leaves a vacuum. It’s a dangerous life, and I think about what Rhea said, about true happiness and contentment, and I know it is elusive for us men in this room. We’ll always be on edge and worried that something will come along and derail the fiefdom we have built.

  “So, no party then?” Alesso asks, mock pouting.

  “No.” At least, I think, not with these fuckers. I am planning on partying, with Rhea.

  Once the guys have gone, I make a call. I tell Rhea this address and instruct her to arrive at eight PM.

  I should walk away, but instead, I’m going to lose myself in her for a few hours.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rhea

  I’m nervous when eight nears. Stamatis called, asked if Gus was still going to his sleepover and then gave me an address. Told me to get a cab and meet him there. When the taxi pulls up and I step outside, I see a long drive. I get out, pay the driver, and go up to the iron gates. How do I get in?

  At the house up ahead, I see two men smoking cigarettes outside the house, and I wave at them to get their attention. One of them wanders down the drive to the gate.

  “You Rhea?” he asks in a gravelly voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Come on in then, darling.” He presses a button, and the gate swings open.

  He’s not big and burly like a lot of the men I’ve seen around Stamatis. This guy is wiry, small, and looks to be in his fifties.

  “I’m Ray,” he says. “Yeah, not a Greek name, I know. My father was American.”

  “Oh, do you speak good English then?” I’m making polite conversation, but I’m nervous as hell.

  “Yes, pretty good. Don’t get the chance to practice often these days, though. Haven’t been back for years. I’m one of Stamatis’ men, and I run much of his security. You ever need anything, come to me, okay?”

  “Thank you.” I shoot him a smile.

  There’s the sound of an engine as a car approaches on the road behind us. Ray looks beyond me, frowns and sighs. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?” I ask, but then the door to the car slams, and I turn to see Helena, Stamatis’ soon-to-be ex-wife.

  “Oh my God.” She shakes her head. “I don’t believe this. I come here to bring Stamatis his credit card, which I found still in the drawer at home, and I find you here.”

  I don’t say anything. Light hits me from the house, and I turn to see the door open and Stamatis standing shadowed from behind, his legs apart, arms crossed. It’s not a friendly stance.

  “Go on home, Lena,” he says.

  “What are you doing?” she cries out. “Trying to cause a scandal? We’re still married in the eyes of God.”

  “We’ve not been married, not truly, for the longest time, and if anyone’s causing a scandal it’s you; standing in the middle of the street shouting. What the fuck are you even doing here?”

  “You left one of your cards at home.” She sounds unsure now. “I brought it. Thought you might need it.”

  “Don’t need it, left it on purpose, and I want you gone. Go home, Lena. Don’t keep making this worse than it has to be. You got the house; don’t make me regret it.”

  She shoots me a venomous glare. “He’ll get bored of you, you know.” She sneers. “He gets bored of everyone and everything eventually. No soul.” She hits her chest when she says no soul. She then turns on her heel, marches to her car, and revs the engine as she drives off.

  Walking up the drive, I feel oddly self-conscious as Ray shadows me. He stops at the front door and nods at Stamatis, stubs out his cigarette and immediately takes out and lights another.

  “That man is going to damage his lungs,” I say as the door closes behind me.

  Stamatis looks delicious. He’s not wearing suit trousers, or smart, dark jeans. He’s wearing soft gray sweatpants, and a tight dark blue t-shirt with bare feet. His arms are powerful and tan with dark hair on his forearms. His hair is mussed, and he looks as if he’s been sleeping and just woken, but there’s an edge there too. He’s like a lazy lion coming around from a long nap and realizing it’s lunchtime.

  “This is nice.” I glance around at the huge house.

  He shrugs. “It’s perfect for what I need. Close to my daughter, the guys, lots of space, spare rooms over the garage for my men. It is defensible, which is something I always consider.”

  “Yes, I can see that with the men outside Maybe you need to, too. Your wife doesn’t seem too happy.” I shudder when I think about the hatred in Lena’s eyes when she looked at me.

  “She’s just making a scene. She hates me, but can’t let go.”

  I think about what she said. “It’s true though, that we might create a scandal, after all you are legally married.”

  He barks out a cold laugh. “Not for long, my lawyer is shit hot, and Lena has a whole host of reasons not to contest. Hundreds of thousands of them, to be precise.”

  I blink at him. “Is that the kind of money you’ve given her.”

  He nods. “That’s the kind of money I’ve given her.”

  “Rhea, you should let me put a man on you.” He sobers as he speaks, face serious. “Just in case.”

  We’ve had this conversation so many times, and it is my hard line in the sand. “I’ve said no, Stamatis. It would upset Gus.”

  “It would keep him safe,” he growls.

  “His life has been turned upside down in so many ways. I moved into the compound for you at Damen’s, but I don’t want to do this. If there are threats made then we can revisit it, okay?”

  It’s the only thing I’ve been insistent about. Everything else, I’ve let this man steamroller over me, but not this.

  “This is going to be so nice when you’ve got it all full of your things.” I change the subject.

  “Yes, it is,” he agrees cautiously.

  “But … I’m sensing a but.”

  “It’s not home, and I don’t think it will feel like one for a long time.” He shrugs.

  “Did home feel like home?” I ask.

  He blinks and regards me. “You know what? No, it didn’t. Sometimes, Rhea, you’re damn perceptive.”

  He smells gorgeous, a mix of lemony freshness and vanilla warmth. “I like you l
ike this,” I say.

  “Like what?”

  “Casual. It suits you.”

  It highlights his body in a way the suits don’t so much. He’s not as big as Damen or Andrius, but he’s muscled and toned, when you see him like this. He has a similar physique to Alesso, one of a highly trained athlete.

  “You must work out a lot,” I say looking at his arms.

  “You’ve seen me naked before, Rhea; only just noticing?” he teases.

  “No, but it just occurred to me. You must do a lot of exercise.”

  “I do. Every morning I hit the weights, and most days I go for either a long swim or a run.”

  “Wow. I ought to start exercising. I used to do plenty of physical work in the commune, and that kept me trim, but now, I’m getting lazy. I don’t want to get fat.”

  He puts his hands around my waist, his two big hands spanning me, as he leans close, his dark eyes glittering in the light of the kitchen. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

  Then his right palm skims down my hip and around to my behind as he grabs a handful of flesh and pulls me into him.

  “This house is cold,” he mumbles against my neck. “How about we warm it up.”

  He doesn’t mean cold in temperature; he means cold in appearance, in feel … more, he means lonely. Stamatis, I am discovering, has more walls around him than almost anyone else I’ve met. He puts them up between himself and his men, and I get that. He’s the leader, but he still has this barrier between himself, Damen, Markos, and Alesso that goes beyond that. He clearly has had a great big wall up between himself and his wife for a long time. His barriers even go so far as to come between him and Maya. I know he loves her, but he’s never completely at ease with her.

  The only time I’ve seen his barriers come down is when we’ve made love. Then, for a few precious minutes, he lets his guard down. I think it is the only time he truly connects with another person, and that makes me ache for him. He deserves more.

  I want to tell him that even the most powerful kings have people in their inner circle. I want to tell him he needs to let his guard down before the loneliness in him turns to a cancer eating away at his soul. I don’t. Instead, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

  It’s like putting a match to gasoline. The moment I touch his mouth, he groans and pulls me into him with a vice-like grip.

  One hand is in my hair, tangling in my redish locks, and the other is tugging my skirt up as he palms my core, pressing the flat of his hand against me, and easing the ache I’m already feeling.

  “I want to fuck you in this room, and then the living room, and the hallway. I want to fuck you in the poolroom, and the bedrooms, all of them. Then I want to fuck you in the shower, with you up against the walls, and me taking you from behind,” he says.

  “Not all tonight, I hope,” I gasp as he slips a finger inside my panties and strokes me.

  “Maybe.” He smiles against my neck.

  Then he spins me around. “Put your hands on the counter,” he instructs.

  I do as he says and place my hands on the kitchen counter. The marble is cool underneath my touch, smooth and hard, and I let the feel of it ground me as he lifts my skirt over my behind.

  “I like these panties,” he says.

  They are pale rose pink silk. I felt so naughty buying them. Now I’m glad I did. They aren’t overtly sexual like the thongs I saw, or the lace see-through panties, but they are soft and sensual, and in some ways, their simplistic style contrasts with the expensive raw silk, making them naughtier.

  Stamatis runs his hand over the back of them, and the calluses on his fingers snag slightly on the silk. I wonder where he gets those calluses from? Working out? Or firing a gun?

  “These panties make me want to do bad things,” he says.

  We already do bad things, so I’m not sure what he means. “You ever been tied up?” he asks conversationally.

  “What? No?” Then because I’m a moron, I blurt out. “My therapist says BDSM isn’t a good idea for me right now because I want to be punished, and I’d use it to harm myself.”

  He stops stroking and spins me around. His face holds an expression I can’t read. “You talked to your therapist about BDSM? I didn’t think you’d even know about it.”

  “I’ve read stuff, since I’ve been out, and I know that my thoughts of being publicly punished and humiliated, whipped and worse, they could fall into that category. Only, my therapist says it isn’t a good idea to mess around with that whilst I’m still so full of guilt. She says I’ll go too far.”

  “I agree with her,” he says.

  “You just said you wanted to tie me up.”

  “Darling, I hardly count tying you up as BDSM. I want to tie you up and then make you beg for me, not tie you up and horsewhip you. When I make you scream, Rhea, I don’t want it to be from pain.”

  His words send a delicious tingle down my spine. “I love to see you come undone for me because I feel as if it’s a part of you only I get to see. You’re so locked down, controlled, remote, and I get to break through that.”

  His words startle me because they resemble so strongly my feelings about him when we make love. It seems we’re two lonely people who, for very different reasons, can’t seem to connect with the rest of the world, but can with each other.

  “Anyway, I don’t have any rope here, so you’re all good for now.” He grins at me, and I reach up and touch his face. He’s so beautiful in these rare carefree moments. I want to give him more of them. I want to make him smile like this every day.

  With a jolt, I realize I want more. I’m greedy for him, and greedy for more than the mind-blowing sex we’ve had so far.

  I have an old handbag with me, and wrapped around the handle is a silk scarf. I’ve been buying up some fabric swatches as I’ve been getting the urge to try some sewing, and the scarf caught my eye. I had bought it from the thrift store it was in, and instead of putting it in my bag, wrapped it around the handle. I walk over to it and slowly unwrap the scarf, then I hold it out to Stamatis like an offering.

  He raises one eyebrow, but takes it from me, wrapping it around his big hands.

  “No punishment,” he says sternly.

  I swallow and nod.

  “This is all going to be about pleasure.”

  I think I can deal with that. I’m already wet at my core, and the idea of him tying me up makes me more so.

  “Have you got a bed or anything?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Nothing, darling. It’s getting delivered later. Take your clothes off.”

  “All of them?” I ask stupidly.

  “Yes, Rhea, all of them.”

  I do as he says and undress. It’s a warm, sticky night, and the house is hot. I wonder if it has air con, and decide it probably has, but Stamatis simply hasn’t turned it on yet.

  “Lie on the floor, here.” He points to the floor by the huge, sturdy table.

  Nervous, I do as he says. The floor is cold on my back, and I shiver, but it’s a nice contrast to the heat of the room and the fire pumping in my veins.

  “Put your arms above your head,” he instructs.

  I lift my arms, and he swiftly and expertly ties my wrists together and then to the table. My arms are stretched tight above my head, and I can’t move them except for up and down the sturdy table leg. My heart picks up speed as Stamatis grins down at me, devilish and downright scary.

  He has me where he wants me now.

  “Look at you,” he says, voice thick with satisfaction. “All tied up in a silk bow.”

  I squirm on the cool floor, and he shakes his head. “No, no, my beautiful, don’t go struggling.”

  Then he moves down my body and grabs my ankles. “You only have the silk scarf,” I say, voice trembling.

  “Nah, I have this.” He pulls the cord from his sweatpants with a smirk.

  Oh.

  He makes quick work of securing my ankles, and then he stands and
takes his clothes off. He’s wearing nothing under his sweatpants, and he’s soon gloriously naked. Big, hard, and hungry with desire, he looms over me, tied on the cold floor.

  I’m so vulnerable, naked, and small, compared to him, and increasingly cold.

  Not sure if this is a good idea or not, I try to calm the rapid pitter-patter of my heart.

  Stamatis leans forward and places his big palm on my chest, right between my breasts, where my sternum is rapidly rising and falling.

  “Shhh,” he says. “You’re okay. You want this to stop any time, say the word.”

  “What word?”

  “Stop, baby. Say stop. You don’t need a safe word, this isn’t a scene; this is a bit of fun. It stops being fun, and you tell me, okay?”

  I nod and swallow. It isn’t what I call fun. Scary, exciting, hot, and a tiny bit humiliating… No, not humiliating, that’s not the right word. I can’t decide what is, and as I’m searching my brain trying to figure out what else I’m feeling, I hear the pop of a cork, and then I scream.

  Cold, ice-cold, fizzy liquid pours over the warm skin of my breasts and stomach.

  Stamatis takes a swig of the champagne, kneeling over me, and then he bends down and kisses me. He tastes of the liquid, and his lips are cool. “Want some?”

  I nod, and he takes another swig, and then kisses me again, only this time he empties the champagne from his mouth to mine. It’s so intimate and erotic. I swallow the liquid and stare up at him. Then he dips his head and starts to lick the champagne from my skin.

  He licks my breasts, sucking each nipple into his mouth and laving it, before pouring cold liquid over it again, and then once more sucking it into the heat of his mouth.

  He kisses down my stomach and side, to my belly button. He pours more champagne over my stomach, making the flesh there contract at the cold sting, before he kisses and licks all over, sucking it out of my belly button. He pours some over my hips and kisses the bone there, before keeling between my legs, which he parts roughly.

  I can’t move my feet apart, so I have to drop my legs out to the side, knees bent. It’s a position that makes me feel exposed.

  “Are you still thirsty?” he asks. I know he’s not talking about the champagne. I nod and lick my lips.