"Maman Margot," I say, and a small smile spreads on my lips. She lifts her head slowly, returning the smile.
"My boy," she holds her arms open and I don't hesitate in hugging her.
"You've lost weight, maman," I add as I take in her gaunt cheeks and sallow skin. Just at that moment she starts coughing, holding a hand up for me to let her catch her breath.
"Hand me that glass, will you?" She points towards the table, and I quickly get it for her.
"Maman, is this vodka? I thought you quit." I bring the glass to my nose and take a sniff. Yes, vodka.
"Shh. Not yet." She waves her hand dismissively, taking the glass from my hand and downing the contents.
Maman Margot hasn't had an easy life, and the many things she'd been through have left their mark on her body — particularly her face.
She stifles a cough as she finally turns to me, her scarred cheek hidden by the play of shadows.
"I didn't expect you back so soon." I settle opposite from her, finally letting my guard down in what feels like an eternity.
"There were some unexpected developments." I add, sighing deeply.
"Want to tell me about it?" She smiles, the lines on her face deepening.
Maman Margot is in her fifties, but the white hair and her frail appearance don't attest to it. She'd been eighteen when she'd left her home of Lyons to come to the States, wanting to try her luck at Hollywood and banking on the assurances of one obscure agent.
She'd gotten a few small gigs in the beginning, but her resources had quickly run out, and so she'd resorted to the only thing that could keep her afloat — high end prostitution. She'd started with movie directors and producers, and her luck had seemed to turn around.
Until she'd met my father.
She'd still been starry-eyed, despite living among stars, and her infatuation had quickly developed into obsession, and so she'd left LA to follow my father to New York. Rocco, too, had been rather enamored of the young beauty, and he'd set her up with an apartment on 5th Avenue that he started frequenting more often than not.
Soon, though, my mother got wind of it. She wouldn't have minded it though, as she hadn't the string of women who'd come before maman Margot. But she'd minded one thing — Margot's dazzling beauty.
The affair had been cut short when one afternoon, Maman Margot had been out walking her dogs, and one mysterious assailant had jumped her, taking advantage of her inattention to permanently scar the right side of her face by throwing acid on her.
The police hadn't managed to catch the perpetrator, and as her looks faded, and her sanity dimmed, my father too dropped her and installed her in one of the many clubs he owned, where she started earning her bread on her back again. But this time, the johns were some of the worst dregs of humanity.
Maman Margot's seen a lot in her long time working in those conditions, and she was treated like dirt more often than not.
It just so happened that one night the two of us crossed paths. She saved me and later I returned the favor.
I was thirteen when my father initiated me into our world. I took an oath, and my spilled blood served as a promise to always put the famiglia first. Rocco took great care in explaining to me the entire business, the restaurants that serve as fronts for a wider network — human trafficking. I don't think I grasped entirely what human trafficking entailed until my father took me for the first time to his club.
I was still struggling with my newly found maturity, and puberty was slowly turning me from a child into a man.
"I'm proud of you son," my father had patted me on the back, showing me inside a private room full of made men — men who'd killed and maimed for the famiglia.
And I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be seen as more than just a pretty face. I was a man through and through.
Except I wasn't.
Everyone had quickly joined in on the celebration, regaling me with different stories from their time in the mob, how they'd escaped the cops or how they'd perfected their killing techniques. The anecdotes captivated me, and I listened attentively to every word, soaking in the apparent wisdom of my elders. Because that's exactly what I wanted to be like — feared, so no one else could ever harm me again.
I may have been born in the mob, but I embraced the life wholeheartedly when I learned that the world is not always colorful, and that shades of gray can vacillate between white and black. Too bad for me that they'd leaned a little too much towards the dark side.
And so, faced with the people I idolized, I sought nothing else but make them like me. Alcohol was flowing freely, and the elders liked nothing better than to make me try the different varieties, laughing when I'd try hard not to barf at the taste.
That was the night I'd had my first cigarette too, choking on the smoke and adding to the overall amusement.
But soon, everyone had become a little too sloshed. The stories had degenerated to lewd talk, and soon the words had become reality.
I'd been barely awake when the women had come in, at my father's special request. They'd quickly mingled among the guests, each finding a man, and the true debauchery had started.
Except when it did, I wanted to be anywhere but there.
"Wow," someone had whispered in my ear, and the smell of cheap perfume had clogged my nostrils, "you can't be real." More shuffling, and a woman had come a little too close into my personal space. "I don't think I've ever seen someone as handsome as you. How old are you?" She'd asked, stroking my arm up and down suggestively.
I couldn't even answer. The alcohol had hit my bloodstream, and the room started to move. So I'd stood up and headed for the exit, hoping some fresh air would help me recover. I don't know exactly what had happened, but one minute I'd been in the hallway, the next I'd been in a foreign room, the feel of a soft bed under my body.
I'd closed my eyes briefly, the room still spinning with me. A moment later, or maybe an eternity later, I hadn't exactly been aware of time, I felt hands on my body. The haze that covered my mind made it hard to get a sense of what was happening, so I'd swatted my hands against the invasive touches, hoping to stop whoever was bothering me.
The hands had stopped, momentarily. The next thing I knew, my shirt was being lifted off my body, my pants unzipped. My movements were sluggish and uncoordinated as I tried to stop whoever was touching me, my hands pushing at shoulders.
It hadn't worked.
My underwear followed, and suddenly I found myself completely bare. Something must have clicked in my mind, and I don't know if it was the cold air brushing against my skin, or the chilly fingers stroking my flesh, but I'd let out a strangled moan, the word no tumbling from my mouth.
"Stop." The sound had come out quiet at first, but as I felt more unwanted touches, I started squirming, using my legs to kick around.
My eyes were glazed, and a thick mist still covered my sight, but I could somehow make out a couple of girls looking down at me, satisfied smiles on their faces.
"I'll go first." I remember hearing the words, and as a wet mouth had covered my skin, I'd lost it. Somehow, in the deep recesses of my mind, I'd managed to realize their intentions, and the idea of it happening again had spurred me into action.
I'd struggled to put myself into a seating position and throw the woman off my body, but in the process I'd fallen too, my face hitting the hard floor, my forehead taking the brunt of the fall.
"It seems I'm first then." I don't know if my mind was playing tricks on me, but the second voice had been male, and immediately after, calloused hands had touched my ass, moving, probing.
"I told you I'd find you a pretty boy." Someone had commented, and a new type of pain assaulted me as I felt a finger push into my body. Only a strangled noise came out, but I started struggling in earnest, even though my limbs would not obey me.
A weight had settled over me, and my mouth could only form two words.
"Help me."
I don't know if I managed to get the words out loud or not, but out
of nowhere the weight had disappeared, and raised voices had hinted at a fight. Suddenly, a sheet had been draped over my body, and a gentle voice had whispered words of comfort in my ear.
"It's ok, you're safe now." That's what maman Margot had said to me the first time. When I'd sobered up and clarity had returned, she'd stood by the side, avoiding the direct light that would emphasize her scars.
But for me, that hadn't mattered. I'd seen enough rotten beauty in my world, and her imperfections in no way detracted from her beautiful soul. She'd saved me that night, and I took an oath to save her too.
It had taken me some more time, but I'd made enough money to securely move her out of the club and into a nice apartment. But a quiet life wasn't for maman, so I'd bought her a club and she'd become the chief madame. Almost a decade later, and she's my closest friend.
"Where did your mind go?" She shakes her head, amused.
"At the night we met. And how I never properly thanked you for what you did for me."
"Really? Enzo, what do you call all this?" She motions to her garish but luxurious apartment.
"I should have made you quit this life; I shouldn't have enabled you further. Now, look at you. Every time I stop by you look even sicker."
A sad smile plays at her lips and she lets out a long sigh.
"We're all bound to die one day, Enzo. But let us not diverge into morbid talk, non? Tell me about those unexpected developments." She shifts her attention to me, a mischievous grin playing at her lips.
"I'm married." I say, raising my hand up so she can see the wedding band.
"Non, c'est pas vrais!" She exclaims, jumping out of her chaise and coming towards me to study my ring. "Are you really? Or is this some sort of prank? You know how much I want to see my petit fils before I die." She bends her head down, squinting her eye at the band.
"It's real." I confirm.
"Non," she whispers in disbelief. "Tell me it's not la putain, comme s'apelle elle..." She pauses, closing her eyes in consternation.
"No, it's not Gianna Guerra. It's someone I met on my way to Malta."
"Enzo... Mon Dieu!" Her eyes grow wide in wonder. "Tell me everything."
So I do. I recount our entire journey and how I'd come to have a deep respect for her. And how my admiration for her strong morals had prompted me to consider her as my future wife and mother of my children. I finish with the events from the wedding, only to find maman staring at me curiously.
"What?"
"It's the first time I've ever heard you talk positively about a woman. Makes me want to meet her."
"I'll bring her over next..."
"No, of course not." Maman interrupts me immediately. "How can you bring your wife here? Non, 'tis not done. But I'm happy that you found yourself such a nice girl. Tell me more."
"She's...." I pause, trying to find the words. "unpredictable. I don't know what it is about her, but she's unlike anyone I've ever met." A smile plays at my lips. "She doesn't like me, you know? I can see the contempt in her eyes, and yet I can't stop myself."
"Enzo, what did you do?" Maman asks suddenly, her eyes narrowing at me. She knows me too well.
"I trapped her." I admit, and maman raises an eyebrow at me. "I did what I do best. I manipulated her into marrying me."
"But why?"
"It's ironic, isn't it? I've spent my entire life fending off unwanted advances from women, and the one woman that intrigues me hates my guts." I stand up, grabbing the bottle of vodka and pouring myself a glass. Maman hands me her cup and I fill it too.
Bringing the cup to my lips, I take a big swig, lighting a cigarette afterwards.
"I can see how unhappy she is here, but I can't stop myself. I don't know what it is about her, but she awoke something primitive in me."
"Enzo, are you in love?" Maman tilts her head to the side, studying me.
I chuckle, because she couldn't be further off the mark.
"No, it's not love. I don't think I'm capable of that type of love. Not after everything that happened." Maman is the only one privy to my deepest secrets, my most insidious shame. "I want to own her... tame that wild spirit of hers. I want to hide her away from the world so no one else can steal her from me," the words tumble from my lips, and I feel a weight being lifted off my chest as I confess this.
For weeks now I've been living in a state of pure torment, the thought that Allegra would escape me somehow eating at me day and night. I'd planned everything to a T, but then she'd had to overhear my conversation with my father. My fingers clench around the vodka glass, the confrontation from that night still playing in my mind. I'd nearly snapped, and my control had cracked. After years of self-discipline, it seems I finally found someone who can make me react.
"Own her?" She gives a small laugh. "That sounds rather dangereuse, Enzo. She's a human being, not a pet."
"And now she's mine. Forever." I say confidently, the only thing that seems to bring me any satisfaction these days.
"Hmm, from what you're saying, she doesn't seem too willing," she notes thoughtfully.
"She'll come around." And even if she won't, there's no turning back.
"Us women, we're delicate beings, mon fils. She won't come around just because you will it. And seeing that the stem of the glass might snap at any moment, I'd wager she must have done quite the number on you."
"We had a minor disagreement," I give her a quick outline of our argument and maman's eyes widen as she shakes her head at me.
"I never thought you'd be a great romantic, Enzo, but I didn't think you'd be such a brute either. You must woo her if you want her to submit. You can't simply expect her to agree to your caveman demands. From what you've told me so far, she's only seen your hard side. Show her that you can be soft too. Women love soft."
"So what, chocolate and flowers?" I ask drily, almost regretting I'd brought the topic up.
"Mais bien sur que non. Enzo! Sometimes I forget that for all your high IQ, your emotional intelligence is the size of a pea."
"Why, merci pour le compliment, maman." I reply ironically, rolling my eyes at her.
"C'est vrais, n'est pas? You need to do more than the bare minimum." She raises a finger to stroke her chin thoughtfully. "Good thing you have me on your side. I will help you romance your wife."
"I'm not sure I want her romanced. I don't want her to misconstrue the nature of our relationship. I just want her more... pliant."
"Oh, my child, you have a long road ahead of you. The beauty of romance is that it isn't rooted in reality, but illusion. Feed her the illusion, and you'll get yourself a pliant wife."
I narrow my eyes at her, the idea moderately appealing but not without its pitfalls.
"But what if she actually falls in love with me?"
"And would that be so bad?"
I don't reply, because I don't know the answer. Part of me would like nothing more than to have Allegra in love with me, because then she'd be completely mine, but another part is afraid that once I see adoration on her face she will disgust me, like all the others before her.
So no, I don't want her love, but I don't want her hate either.
Is there a middle ground, I wonder?
A LITTLE BUZZED FROM the alcohol, I make my way downstairs and I'm greeted by Nero, one of my father's soldiers.
Even though he theoretically answers to father, we've developed a mutual respect for each other over the years. He might be the only person in the organization I'd trust with my more secretive endeavors.
He'd come to serve the famiglia around the same time I'd been initiated, so our closeness in age had helped us develop a tighter bond. Though his past before the famiglia is a mystery, his work has been nothing short of excellent.
If there's ever been someone simply unphased by human cruelty, it's got to be Nero. And that makes him the perfect soldier.
"Your father requires your presence," he says stiffly, nodding towards the waiting car.
I take a deep breath, already dreading th
e interaction. He hadn't shown it outwardly too much, but he hadn't been pleased with my decision to marry Allegra. Fact that he'd made painfully clear at the banquet, even as he was praising the union to Benedicto Guerra. He'd intentionally kept me away from Allegra's side, essentially leaving her to the wolves.
I also don't doubt for a moment that either he or my mother had had something to do with the dress she'd worn. Even though she'd openly defied the dress code, she'd looked magnificent in that red. The way her decolletage had dipped low, her breasts even more emphasized by the tight fit of the dress, had had me staring at little else the entire night.
And I hadn't been the only one.
Anger simmers inside of me anew. The way those men had leered at her, looking at something that does not belong to them...
She's driving me crazy, and I need to get a fucking grip.
The car pulls up in front of father's club, and I climb out, heading directly to his office.
"My boy!" He exclaims, coming to kiss my cheeks before motioning me to sit down.
"Was there something urgent, father?"
"I've been talking to Tito, and I've decided to let you manage the Midtown venues." Tito is my father's first cousin and his consigliere. His background is in the stock market, and he's ensured that our family's assets have multiplied over the years — to insane amounts.
"What prompted this decision?" I ask, curious. The Midtown branches of our restaurant are the most famous, and the most exclusive. The fact that father decided to hand them over to me is no small matter.
"You're finally a man, Enzo. You have a wife now, albeit one that I don't approve of, and will soon have a family. It won't be beneficial for you to keep traveling for your art business. Not when I'm anxiously waiting for a grandson."
I let a slow smile envelop my features, showing my appreciation for such an offer. But on the inside, I'm thinking of the unspoken. What will father do if I take over?
"Of course. That's very generous of you, father."
"You must know that I expect to become a grandfather soon, though." He reiterates his point, clearly this being the main reason for the sudden switch in leadership.
Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3) Page 12