Chapter 17 – Luigi
Chapter Seventeen
Luigi
W e sleep until eight in the evening. Angela makes us supper before we get ready for a night out. Delphine eats in silence, clearly suffering still from whatever fucked up internalized guilt causes her to pull away from me. I can’t wait to see her in the dress I got for her.
Mikey’s sister, Cosima Corsini, who goes by ‘CC’, brought the clothes over to my place while we slept, so I take the box from Angela and coax Delphine back to our bedroom so I can watch her open the dress box and eventually…
put it on. CC might be a brat, but she can keep a secret and she appreciates me because I’m not a dick like her brothers. The clothes arrive safely.
“I’m not really a club person,” Delphine says nervously. “So I hope this doesn’t make me look like a hoochie mama.”
I don’t exactly know what she means by that, but I don’t consider her or my tastes in clothing to be reminiscent of a “hoochie mama”.
“Open the box.”
“What will you be wearing?”
“I dress tastefully for every occasion. I won’t have you leaving the house looking like a runaway Buffalo Bills fan.”
“Fair enough.”
Delphine reluctantly unties the satin white ribbon around the black box and when she opens the dress, she admittedly looks confused.
It’s sexy – and the second I saw it, I knew I wanted to see her wearing it.
She sets the box on the bed, confusion replaced by curiosity.
I feel strangely excited to watch her reaction to touching the fabric.
She gasps and tries to restrain her reaction, but it’s enough to bring a smile to my face.
I feel like I’ve won some kind of challenge for her affection.
Getting her into bed was easy – thanks to my sister – but getting Delphine’s heart opened even slightly feels like it will be a much more daunting task.
Delphine’s fingers slowly work the dress out of the tissue paper. She handles the luxurious outfit with the grace it deserves and she’s classy – she doesn’t even check for the price tag or anything.
“This feels very nice, Luigi,” she asks, as if daring me to take it away or expose myself as making some effort to trick her.
“Put it on.”
She still has my cum inside her. That doesn’t stop me from desperately wanting to watch her take her clothing off again and wear a dress that I picked out for her.
Delphine finally rewards my patience by stripping her clothes off and I don’t look away for a second.
I don’t even make an effort to pretend that I’m not staring at her disrobing.
She’s going to look fantastic on my arm at 9th Circle tonight.
Her curves get me semi-hard as I watch her moving around with the dress, searching for the opening.
Delphine slides the curve-hugging one-shoulder dress in a deep, purple hue over her breasts, then her hips.
The fabric falls around the center of her thighs, drawing my attention to the thick, sexy legs that I want wrapped around me for the rest of the night.
It’s too bad we have to go out tonight and I can’t truly indulge my desire to stay home and fuck her because my attraction to Delphine heightens as I watch her move around and adjust herself in the fabric.
She pushes her glasses up onto her nose and turns around with a wrinkled expression on her face.
“How do I look?”
“Incredible. You’re going to look even better in the shoes I got you.”
“How do you even know my shoe size?”
“They’re at the front door. I checked before I left.”
I have a good memory for those details. Delphine will protest less once she sees the heels. I hand her the bright orange box and she glances inside, making a half-yelp before shutting the box and glancing at me in confusion.
“I don’t think I can stand in those heels,” she says. “I work in an office, Luigi. I kick my flats off and spend all day staring at a computer.”
“Okay. Tonight, you’re a mobster’s girlfriend. Tonight, you wear the shoes.”
She reacts visibly to my use of the word girlfriend , but I mean nothing by it. This is just the easiest way to identify our relationship for the night. It has nothing to do with my non-existent feelings for Delphine.
“Girlfriend?”
“Put the shoes on,” I respond gruffly.
Delphine rolls her eyes and takes her time to slip into the shoes. The heels are high on purpose. I don’t want her getting away from me and I also want to see her thick legs in towering shoes that make her look like a sexy, brown-skinned Amazon.
“I would never dress like this out of the house,” she mutters under her breath, pressing on her chest and stomach as if she could smooth them out by doing so. I take her hands, stopping her from fussing over a body that looks… perfect.
She’ll look even better when her stomach swells from my seed, but Delphine looks gorgeous right now too. Better than I deserve.
“Your only job will be standing as close to me as possible and staying out of trouble.”
“Couldn’t my job be to have fun?”
“You’re trying to stay pregnant. Having fun will be secondary.”
Just saying the word pregnant makes my dick throb, but unfortunately, I can’t fuck Delphine in here because Peter got a car to take us to the nightclub for added secrecy.
Angela calls us out of the bedroom again and I struggle to handle my arousal.
I hold Delphine close to me, like she really is my girl and not just somebody Angela contracted to fuck me.
She smells good, which I should have expected. And the news of the baby makes me disgustingly protective over her. When I kiss her neck, she shivers and pulls away, reminding me of the reality between us – there is no real relationship. This is just a cold, meaningless contract. Nothing more.
9th Circle has a line out the door, but Peter’s contact leads us through the back entrance so we don’t have to wait in line.
I squeeze Delphine’s hand all the way through to the bar.
Ruby, Mikey’s younger sister, works here a couple shifts a week and Mikey made sure she was on tonight to make surveillance easier.
She waves me and Delphine over excitedly once she spies us edging closer to the bar.
Running into anyone in my family reminds me that bringing Delphine out in public exposes me to more scrutiny than I’m ready to deal with.
Sure, we have more pressing concerns, but you never know how an Italian family will react to…
anything. Our people are loud, passionate, dramatic, traditional, romantic… and at times, completely unpredictable.
“Hello! Mikey and Peter are in the back at the card tables,” Ruby says. “They’re waiting for you.”
Angela emerges on my left side and shares a screeching noise with Ruby that passes as a greeting between the two women.
“I wish I could hug you! Free tequila?” Ruby offers.
“Yes, you bad bitch, I absolutely NEED some tequila in my body.”
“What about for you?” Ruby asks Delphine.
“Absolutely not,” I interrupt before Delphine says something foolish and crazy. “Do not speak to her for the rest of the night and tell absolutely nobody that you saw me out with a woman.”
Ruby rolls her eyes, flattening her voice with obvious frustration. “Is there something you want to drink, Luigi?”
“The nicest whiskey available here.”
Ruby shakes her head. “You won’t like it.”
“I’m not drinking it to like it.”
If I try to hurry her with the drinks, I know she’ll go even slower, but I am impatient enough to explode while Ruby pours.
An old 50 Cent song blares on the radio.
Can’t we let this one go yet? Delphine’s body moves involuntarily to the music, drawing my gaze to her ample curves in the perfect dress.
She looks even sexier than I thought she would in heels. If tonight is a big nothing-burger, my fucking dream would be dragging her off to one of the club bathrooms and emptying a fat load of cum between those sexy dark brown legs.
She makes me fucking crazy.
I order a seltzer for Delphine and drag her away from the bar so that Ruby and Angela don’t plot to get between us.
I want to be alone with her so I can watch her body move in that dress and hopefully get my hands on her.
I don’t know what the rest of the night will bring, but I’m hoping it’s nothing.
Following Ruby’s direction, I take Delphine to the private back room at the club where we occasionally host poker games.
If we’re not hosting for the night, we at least have a couple members of the family seated at the tables.
There are other high-rollers here, specifically men who don’t want to be seen.
A wide receiver for the local football team, for example.
There are a few Canadian superstars who find it easier to hide their gambling habits if they keep all their bad behavior on our side of the border.
Not just men on most nights although tonight, it’s just men.
Mostly Italians. I recognize three of the large family signet rings as being part of the Pittsburgh mafia family’s traditional heirlooms. We grew up with dad beating the knowledge of our history and our people’s history deep into our skulls.
He said understanding our Italian heritage and family history was just as important as the “bullshit history” in the classroom.
Given the situations I find myself in on days like today, I have to agree. Mikey whistles to get my attention once he sees me entering the room with Delphine. About half the men in the room rip their attention away from the poker game to stare at the doorway as we enter.
Delphine provokes whispers amongst the poker players, but I ignore their chatter because frankly… it doesn’t matter. She’s here with me and nobody in their right mind would say anything to Leandro Taviani’s son.
I take the seat next to Mikey and our hostess pulls out a red velvet chair for Delphine. I gesture for her to sit, responding to her display of nerves now that we’re in a place with ominous energy like a club’s backroom poker tables. I lean over and whisper to her, “Relax. You are safe here.”
She makes a disbelieving snort, but it isn’t very loud, so at the very least I can assure that she won’t make a scene.
“Where’d you find her?” Mikey asks. “I didn’t know you hung out on that side of town.”
“She’s a friend of Angela’s,” I answer. “We… are also friends.”
“You are the first Italian guy I’ve ever met who doesn’t have a type.”
I wish my cousin would learn when to shut the fuck up sometimes. Judging by the empty glasses near him, he’s drunk. Not like I consider that an excuse.
“Cut me in next hand,” I say to the hostess. “How much is the buy-in?”
I rifle through my pocket for chips from my last visit to this poker club.
“$25,000,” The hostess says.
“Damn,” Delphine whispers.
I take out my $25k chip. It’s white and silver, with an embossed ‘T’ in the middle, since these tables belong to my father.
“Blow on it,” I command Delphine. “Since we both seem to have excellent luck.”