Chapter 6
Two days after Sofia came to live with us, Yná's daughter arrived. She's a young woman and seems nice. Sara has been good company for Lola, and Sofia is radiant being with her sister—everything going as it should.
Tonight we're hosting a dinner here at the house. Besides those who live here, Giovani, Marco, and Paolo are coming—my underboss, who just got back from his trip. We're meeting with a potential investor for the nightclubs, who's also a mafioso and wants to partner with us.
The three girls were at the beauty salon we have here. They called in professionals to cut their hair and do their nails. It feels good to provide this for Lola and Sofia, since Sara has always lived this way.
I remember how it all began. My parents died in a car accident, and Sara was with them, but walked away unscathed. After that, we were raised by an uncle, my father's brother, who never married, and by Yná, who has always been like a second mother to us.
My uncle always gave us the best of everything. When he got very sick, he brought us up to speed on his businesses, the nightclubs, and only then did we realize what he really did.
That's when I became Don and formed my team. Marco, a friend since we were teenagers, became my consigliere and helps me with everything. And Giovani has always had more of a knack for handling things I don't like—he's excellent at extracting information.
But fate made a mockery of my brother, and when he suffered yet another fucked-up loss in his life, on top of our parents' death, he left the mansion and went to live alone somewhere else.
Giovani thinks no one needs to see his pain when it hits him.
And he says he's content there—I can't say he isn't.
Paolo is my cousin on my mother's side. He was orphaned too and came to live with us when he was still a teenager. My uncle already had his eye on the organization's future—that must be why he took him in as one of his own.
I think of the rings in the safe in my office, an inheritance from my grandfather—white gold wolf's heads with two emerald stones for eyes, one ring masculine and one feminine, that I can only wear when I get married.
My uncle never married, so he never wore them. Maybe I won't either. Giovani doesn't want to think about relationships, and then there's Sara, who's still too young to think about that.
I push these memories from my mind and grab the car keys to leave. I run into my housekeeper on the way.
“Yná, tell me—the gardener didn't come again today?”
“No. He has a sick family member who's going to have surgery, so it might take longer than expected.”
“I'll find another one right away.”
“Yeah, we really need to.”
“I'm heading out.”
“All right.”
I walk out quickly and scan the garden—what a mess. I still have to find a good gardener so I don't ruin the work the previous one did.
I pass by the salon and see a stylist with each of the girls. One is blow-drying Sara's hair, Sofia is having something done to her face, and Lola has a cap on her hair and is getting her nails done. Our eyes meet, and I lose my breath looking at her.
What a beautiful woman, fuck. I feel my cock stir when she bites her lower lip. I get out of there right away. I'm not one to get this fixated on a woman—I'm pretty detached.
When Veronica left and soon showed up with another man, I was certain I'd been cheated on. She never admitted it, nor would she—I had no proof, but I didn't need any. Some things are just what they are. Someone who loves you doesn't leave and take up with someone else right away like she did.
So even without concrete proof, she showed me what women are like. I get in the car and keep thinking. Is Lola that type of woman? Does she have someone, someone she's passionate about, someone she's already given her heart to?
Thinking about this, I feel hatred rising in me. I punch the steering wheel once, twice.
“That woman is going to be mine. Even if it takes time, I'll have her in my arms.”
I arrive home in the early evening and head upstairs to my room, but in the hallway I catch the delicious perfume of the woman who's been driving me crazy.
The bedroom door is half-open, and unable to contain myself, I look through the crack and see Lola in the mirror, wearing only lingerie.
Her hair is nicely styled. She picks up a bottle of moisturizer, squeezes some into one hand, rubs her hands together, and props one leg on the bed, smoothing it over her legs—my legs tremble.
She moves up to her thighs and turns, her beautiful ass reflected in the mirror—what a sight—spreading the product there too.
My mouth goes dry and I almost let out a moan, watching slack-jawed.
I run to my room, trying to erase that image from my head.
I get in the shower and turn on the cold water.
The image of Lola is more vivid than ever.
How am I going to look at her now without remembering that beautiful body in lingerie?
That gorgeous ass reflected in the mirror?
I get dressed, put on cologne, and head downstairs to the living room, where Marco and Giovani are already waiting. Yná appears in the room.
“Lorenzo, whenever you're ready, everything's set.”
“Thanks, Yná. We'll wait for the guest. We just want a drink.”
“I’ll ask Carla to serve.”
Moments later, Yná’s daughter enters with a tray and glasses. I catch Giovani staring at the girl in a way I’ve never seen before. She leaves and he looks at me.
“Who is that girl?”
“Yná’s daughter. She just started working here.”
“Really? I remember Yná mentioning her. She’s very pretty.”
I smile.
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
Paolo bursts into the room and greets us.
“Hello, hello, how are you all? Did you miss me?”
He shakes Marco’s hand and pulls him into a hug. He embraces Giovani, then comes to me and does the same.
Just then, Sara interrupts us from the top of the stairs.
“Well, well, so Mr. Giovani de Caruso decided to show up?” She descends, smiling.
Behind her comes Sofia, but my eyes are glued to Lola descending after them in a beautiful black dress that hugs her body and shows off all her curves. The neckline is different, more revealing. She’s stunning. I feel the urge to climb those stairs, pull her to my room, and fuck her all night long.
Giovani pushes my chin up as if to close my gaping mouth and teases:
“Drooling there?”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
Paolo is behind me and whispers:
“Damn, who’s that hottie, Lorenzo?”
I give him a hard look.
“Don’t start. You’ll scare the girl.”
“Man, my dick is going crazy in my pants.”
“Then calm it down unless you want me to rip it off, balls and all,” I growl at him.
Sara hugs Giovani, then goes to Marco, who plays it cool, but I notice the way he looks at my sister. I hope he’s not crazy enough to mess with her the way he does with other women.
I look at Lola, walk over to her, and whisper.
“Wow, you look stunning—even more beautiful than usual.”
She stares at me and doesn’t respond. Paolo approaches her and extends his hand. She takes it, and he kisses the back of her hand.
“Hello, precious. I’m Paolo. What a pleasure to meet you.”
She smiles at him, and it irritates me to my core.
“Pleasure. I’m Lola.”
“What a beautiful smile, Lola,” Paolo compliments her.
“It’s Aurora to you, Paolo. She’s Aurora. And settle down,” I warn him, once again.
The doorbell rings and our guest arrives with a woman.
We exchange greetings, have drinks while chatting, and after dinner, we men head to my office—we don’t discuss business at the table.
Once there, we sit down and I get to the point.
“Let’s get down to business. Tell us what you want from us, Accioly.”
He clears his throat, hand over his mouth, and looks at us. He speaks calmly.
“Well, Don Lorenzo, I’ve heard your nightclubs have a dark side—weapons and drug sales.”
“At the nightclubs, it’s only weapons. At the casinos, we only transport drugs—we don’t sell.”
“Hmm. I have a product that makes a lot of money. Wherever I invest, profits only increase.”
“And your product is?” Giovani asks.
“Prostitutes. Women of all types—blondes, redheads, brunettes, tall, short, and...”
“Don’t continue.” I raise my hand toward him. “We don’t deal in that.”
“What? What kind of mafiosos are you if you don’t do anything?”
“Cousin, have you thought about changing some things? We could start—”
“For God’s sake, Paolo. Are you crazy?” Giovani says.
“We’ve been descendants of Italians for generations. We were born here, and what we have of the mafia was passed down from father to son. We were trained to kill and survive, to fight for what we want and for our ideals. We learned to create our own rules.”
“Exactly,” Giovani continues. “We even change them every time leadership passes. When my uncle Donatello de Caruso the Second handed over control of the mafia and gave Lorenzo the title of Don, he told us the rules would now be Lorenzo’s to make.
And along with his advisors, capos, soldiers, and the underboss—which is you, Paolo—we established certain limits.
Prostitution and drug sales are among them. ”
“That’s right. We do a lot of things, but we don’t keep prostitutes and we don’t sell drugs,” Marco adds.
Accioly looks at us with a judgmental air. He raises one eyebrow, studying our faces, his gaze passing over us one by one. He crosses his arms and remains silent, as if analyzing what we just said.
“Is that your only product?” I ask.
“Yes,” is all he says.
“Then unfortunately we won’t be doing business,” I conclude.
“All right, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
He stands up, grabs his briefcase, and extends his hand to shake ours.
“We won’t,” Giovani says, backing me up.
We head back to the living room, and soon he says goodbye and leaves with his companion.