Chapter 4
____________________
ANASTASIA
My eyes can’t tear away from the petite gymnasts that spiral themselves from the ceiling to the floor, using ribbons to twirl and somersault for the pleasure of the guests all around.
It feels one step away from pole dancing which I’m not against at all, but at an event where most of the guests happen to be balding middle-aged men, it’s not the best form of entertainment to have.
Then again, my grandmother seems happy enough — but I suppose she’d have a smile on her face if the bikers rolled in blasting Metallica. Being a people pleaser comes naturally to her in the best way possible. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her without a smile .
My grandfather on the other hand is still sulking in the corner of the venue, nursing his fourth glass of whiskey. His scowl is a permanent fixture which appears to scare away anyone in sight.
How the two of them ever found their soulmates in one another I’ll never understand.
“Hey Pops,” I sit beside him, strategically using my dress to disguise the faint bruises on my thighs.
The idiot I decided to hook up with last night after a meticulous screening of his medical and personal history decided to fuck me over my kitchen table.
I was so lost in my own thoughts about how to get the Takashi deal secured that I was numb to the harsh pressure of oak against my skin. I woke up this morning extremely sore with a spattering of purple marks down my thighs.
My grandfather smiles, which is somewhat of a rarity, and offers me the rest of his drink. I down it, willing the alcohol to suppress every urge I have to leave the party and hole up in my office for the night.
“I’m guessing this party wasn’t your idea,” He muses as I set the empty glass down.
“They mean well. You are celebrating fifty years of unperturbed marriage after all. ”
He snorts, snatching two flutes of champagne off a waiter that passes by. “Your grandmother and I have been through more than you could ever imagine. There was a time when I didn’t believe we would ever make it here.”
“Then I guess you have even more to celebrate then.” I clink my glass against his, sipping on the bubbly champagne.
“And how are the rest of my grandchildren?”
“Calista is still living in that hole she calls an apartment.” He scoffs, hating the idea the same as myself and my dad. “But she does seem happier than when she was at Ravenswood and she sold a painting last week. Isla is still finding her place at school, but she loves the chemistry teacher already so that’s a plus, and Demetri is well…Demetri.” My grandfather laughs, understanding that no-one will ever begin to comprehend how Demetri feels. The boy is a walking Freudian tale to be unpacked.
“Ripley is in Thailand now I believe, and Eleni has her cheerleading finals on Saturday.” My parents were the only ones crazy enough to have more than one child. My uncles did it right.
He nods tightly. “How about—”
“She’s okay.” We sit in silence for a while, watching the party guests come and go. My parents are dancing, despite the fact nobody else is, sheltered by the thick bubble their love surrounds them with .
Sometimes I envy them, wondering what it would be like to have someone so in sync with you that even their heartbeats mirror your own.
“They went through so much to get there, Stasia.” I glance at my grandfather who seems lost in his own thoughts. Squeezing his hand, he tries to smile but it barely lifts with the sudden bout of despair that seems to wash over him. “To me, it was only yesterday that I was an obstacle in their relationship too.”
Ryder Romano has killed more people than I can count, destroyed more lives than most and yet this is his biggest regret?
“Pops, they've forgiven you. They’re happy now, they have way too many children and honestly, they’re so in love it’s a little revolting.” He laughs whilst I grimace at the sight of my parents making out on the dance floor. They’re like young lovers that never grew up.
He nudges me with his elbow. “And what about you? Are you happy, Stasia?”
“I’m fine.” His forehead wrinkles at my vagueness. “Look what do you want me to say? I’m the head of a criminal organization and a million-dollar company facing its biggest loss in profits in fifty years. I’m stressed, Pops. Really fucking stressed.”
Where the hell did that even come from ?
God, I want to bury my head in sand and never look him in the eye again.
Stressed? I can’t afford to be stressed, especially not with the meeting with Mancini in a few days
“Stasia,” He plants his hand on my shoulder. “Look at me please.” Sighing, I turn back to him, pushing down the vulnerability that managed to creep up before. “I’m one of the few in this world who knows exactly how it feels to be you. There were times I was close to giving it all up because it became too much. It’s important that you can talk to me, we can help you.”
“I don’t need help.” It comes out so abruptly, yet he doesn’t flinch back and recoil like most. In many ways, I’m just like my grandfather and I think he sees himself in me too. “Sorry, it’s just the board. I’m not used to…playing nice. I can’t just agree with them for the sake of it.”
“You don’t have to, but you do have to be clever. You can’t alienate yourself from them.” He pauses. “I heard from Rutherford that your last meeting didn’t go as well as expected.”
I debated telling my grandfather about the merger, but fear cripples the thought. Everything he worked for and built could become part of Mancini’s operations, dismantling the power he seized for this family. And it’s all because of me .
Instead I ask him, “What was the deal you made with Rutherford?”
He hesitates for a second. “He told you about that?”
I frown, not liking the fear I saw flash across his eyes. “Not all of it. He just said he was looking out for me, like he promised you he always would.”
Nodding tightly, he expels a heavy sigh like he’s been holding it in for years. “I suppose it’s time someone knows the truth. Not even parents know this but…two decades ago, Rutherford accidentally stumbled upon the darker side of the business. He used to be my personal accountant, the numbers didn’t add up, and we weren’t very discrete back then. When he confronted me, I knew I had only two choices — kill him or pay him. Normally it would have been former but we were friends in a way, I even considered him family and Gabi would have been devastated if he died. Instead, I told him everything. I half expected our friendship to secure his loyalty but I forgot about the one thing that would make a man do almost anything. Money. He wanted more than the ample paycheck I was providing him with, so as long as the money continued to flow to him, he stood by me and offered counsel in ways nobody else would.”
I try to understand my grandfather’s logic. To accept the deep hole he’s stuck us both into…but I just can’t .
“You paid for his loyalty?”
Loyalty is the one flicker of light that has always flowed in the darkness of our family’s power. The people who dedicate their life to our organization do so out of respect and desire, hence the blood ritual to bind them to us, but this…
My chair screeches against the floor as I push it back. Confusion and anger mesh inside of my stomach, sourced from the one person I thought could never disappoint me.
He reaches for my hand but I away from him. “He’s my only ally on the board right now and it’s all based on money. We’re losing business to the Bratva, to other companies and if we can't pay Rutherford then his support is gone. The rest will follow and all my support will be ripped out from under me.”
I try to think of a way around it. My head screams at the millions of possibilities racing through my mind but every solution leads to me paying Rutherford money that I just don’t have.
Maybe Mancini is my only option now?
“Anastasia please,” It kills me to walk away from my grandfather, but this isn’t some trivial family dispute I can just brush under the carpet.
It’s business, and family or not, I can’t just let this one go.
** *
I stare at the half full glass of wine that sits on my countertop, taunting me like it knows I’ll give in. Sighing, I grab the neck of the bottle and slug more of the rich liquid into the glass until it fills to the brim. Only two drinks in and my head is already beginning to throb.
It almost sloshes over the side as I raise it to my lips.
Fuck . A few droplets manage to splash onto my dress, staining the cream color.
Suppressing a groan, I dab at the stain with a napkin which does little to help the situation.
My stylist is going to kill me since the dress was on loan but really, what does he expect when I end up in my apartment alone for the night with a bottle of merlot in reach?
Carefully setting down the glass, I manage to wrangle the zipper of the dress down and I rinse it under the sink, using washing up liquid to cover the stain. My mom taught me that trick .
After a few minutes, I wash the soap off and leave it to dry by the window.
Goosebumps prick all over my bare body as I grab the bottle of wine on the way, opting to drink straight from the source instead. Kicking off my heels, I lounge across the couch, letting the magic of wine dull the ringing noise inside of my head.
I thought leaving the party would help clear my mind. I thought I would find some semblance of peace in being at home with no-one to bother me.
Instead, I just feel alone.
Part of me wishes I could be angry at my grandfather for making the deal, but then again, it always worked in his favor, in my parent’s…so why not in mine?
I gulp down another mouthful of wine, letting the alcohol inebriate me more than it should. It fills my mind with ideas — bad ones — yet every thought centers on one reckless choice.
I grab my phone and begin punching in the numbers that refuse to escape my mind. The line rings before I can register what I’m doing.
This is stupid. So incredibly stu—
“Hello?” My heart stills inside of my chest. It takes a second for me to remember how to breathe again. “Hello?” The guttural voice repeats, crashing into me like a wave that leaves this strange fluttering in my stomach.
I swallow hard, sinking my nails deep into my thigh. “Mr Mancini?” I’m almost praying it’s not him, so I still have some respect intact for when we meet .
“Miss Romano.”
I frown. “How did you know it was me?”
“I recognized your voice from the Ted Talk you did last year. Channeling success, right?” I almost roll my eyes. The fucking ironic.
Last year I was in the top ten young risers list in business and now, I’m in my underwear, drunk calling a man I’m supposed to meet in hopes of securing my future. “Yes, that was it. Sorry about this, it’s so late and—”
His laugh comes out thick and smooth. I down another mouthful of wine. “It’s barely even midnight. I consider that to be early.” There’s the slightest hint of Italian in his accent, conjuring a whimsy of nostalgia that surrounds me like a thick blanket. Except his accent was a lot thicker, his voice softer…Anastasia.
I can hear Mr Mancini in the background and suddenly the memory fades as easily as it came. “Sorry?”
“I asked if you were okay?”
“Do I not sound okay?”
“You sound drunk.” I open my mouth to rebuttal but close it shut again. It’s the truth .
What the hell was I thinking? This man could be my only chance at saving my family’s legacy and here I am screwing it all up.
“I’ll see you on Thursday—”
“Don’t.” That single word causes my thumb to hover over the end button. “Don’t hang up yet.”
“Why not?” Curiosity overpowers my pride for a moment and I set the phone back down.
There’s a smile in his voice as he says, “You surprised me, Miss Romano and I don’t get surprised often. Call me intrigued,”
“Intrigued huh? Surely Mr Mancini, CEO of Mancini incorporated, has more intriguing things in his life than me.” There’s that laugh again.
I set down the wine bottle. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Why haven’t you asked me to call you Enzo yet?”
“I suppose I like the way you call me Mr Mancini.” Me too. Though I would never admit it to him.
When you’re a power figure all day, walking around in four-inch heels and trying to demand respect from men who see you as nothing but a tight skirt and a pair of tits, it comes as a relief when finally you can just give up control and let the mask fall .
Even over the phone…I feel it. That warped sense of safety he exudes, wrapping around me like a safety blanket. Blame the wine or the fact I’ve barely had five hours of sleep today but that voice is enough to coax a wetness between my thighs.
A coy smile plays on my lips, despite knowing how much I’ll hate myself in the morning. “Well Mr Mancini, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time tonight.” My eyes drift towards my bedroom, itching to grab my vibrator.
Who needs a man when there’s a device that delivers multiple orgasms and doesn’t expect anything back?
“Won’t you tell me what you’ll be wearing on Thursday? I like to get a clear image of my business associates. It helps me to prepare better.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, suppressing a moan as my fingers trail up and down my bare thigh. “A Chanel dress, Prada purse, and Louboutin heels. All black with a pearl necklace.”
“And what about your hair?” He whispers so softly I can almost feel the breeze of it against my neck.
Courage plucks a chord inside of me. “How would you like it?”
I hear him suck in a sharp breath on the other line. “Up, twisted and fixed into place with a clip. ”
That will be…difficult. Normally I wear my hair down like armor but there’s something in this wine that makes me unable to say no.
“Okay. I’ll see you Thursday Mr Mancini.” Though how I’ll ever look this man in the eyes, I don’t know.
“Looking forward to it, Miss Romano.”
The line clicks and I let my phone fall to the ground. My chest rises and falls as I sink back against the couch.
What the fuck did you just do Anastasia?
And yet, I’ve never felt more alive. Dressed in nothing but my underwear I called the man who may just hold my future in his hands and all I feel is…light — so light I could levitate into the air and never come back down.
My head is a scrambled mess, allowing the alcohol to override my OCD as my fingers slip beneath my underwear, stroking those soft bundles of nerves that cause my back to arch. A heavy moan rolls off my tongue, one that almost slipped out whilst I spoke to him, and I let a finger slip inside of me.
It curls up and it’s his voice I can hear, coaxing me on, guiding me to orgasm.
I could blame the wine, but that man is dangerous — barely a ten-minute conversation with him and I’m now a writhing mess .
My fingers are buried inside of me, stroking myself to climax as I think of him. A man I’ve never even seen, a man that could be gray or balding with an ego as big as his pot belly.
Yet I don’t care.
It’s been far too long since I’ve felt desire like this. A desperate physical need to satiate myself.
The ethereal ripples of his voice cast this spell over me, squashing any ounce of self-control I had before. My orgasm strikes like thunder, unexpected and violent, causing a tremor to rush through my body all at once.
As I slump back down into the couch, my sane mind slowly pushing its way back to reality, I imagine how he would fuck, as if I could simply know that from just hearing his voice.
Either way, I know that I will never find out.
Business comes first — it always does. Not even Mr Mancini will get me to cross that line.