Chapter 5 #2
“Non comodamente.” Not comfortably.
“I have to go to Zurich. The deal’s about to fall apart because the motherfucking ‘Ndrangheta are trying to elbow us out.”
They’re a rival Calabria—southern peninsula of Italy—Mafia, but they usually mind their own business and avoid branches from America.
Sometimes they work with the Cosa Nostra—Sicilians like my family—but usually they stick to their own enterprises.
If we weren’t straying into their territory—Switzerland—then we wouldn’t have a problem with them.
But Uncle Mano insists we use Zurich as a weigh station for products we move through Western Europe into Russia.
He wants to make sure nothing gets lost in transit, so all our transporters must stop and weigh in there.
Part of what he needs Stella’s dowry for is to set up all of this.
Once he does, we’ll increase our profits fivefold.
The extra money coming in will ensure the Rizzos not only can’t expand, but they won’t be able to keep Chicago unless Uncle Mano gives them permission.
He has delusions of grandeur.
Ones I’m likely to be saddled with one day. A fucktastrophe that’ll take me years to unfuck.
“Per quanto tempo?” For how long?
“I don’t know. At least two weeks. Maybe longer if I need to visit more than Zurich and St. Petersburg.”
I grit my teeth. Vladamir Lushak is already shitting bricks over this. The New York bratva pakhan just found out Uncle Mano’s started exporting product grown in South America to Mother Russia. The man is a psychopath. If anyone’s likely to kill my uncle, it’s that man.
Enrique Diaz is new to his position as jefe to the Colombian Cartel in NYC.
The man’s shrewd and vicious with a smile that makes panties—and boxers—drop.
He’s got internal problems—an uncle who everyone knows but no one can prove just committed fratricide—so Enrique’s flexing to prove a point.
He’s making that uncle his bitch. I expect he’ll be the jefe de jefes within the next six months.
That means Uncle Mano’s operations in Brazil and Bolivia are about to dry up.
Enrique won’t let any shit into or out of South America without his permission.
Only the other NYC syndicates have the strength to push back.
“Si aspettano l’evento tra due settimane.” They’re expecting the event in two weeks.
I don’t want to say Rizzos or wedding. He knows what I mean.
“Bring her here. Your mother will deal with her.”
This marriage is made in hell.
“E quando i suoi genitori non troveranno niente? La trascineranno di nuovo qui.” And when her parents arrive to nothing? They’ll drag her back here.
“Deal with that.”
My jaw clenches, and I’m tempted to run my hand over my face in frustration.
“Bene. Lei resta qui, ma lo faccio anch’io.” Fine. She stays here, but so do I.
“I’m not paying for your hotel or food. Not when you can have all that for free here.”
I bought my house with cash, and I buy my own groceries. And it wouldn’t be his money. It would be the organization’s, which has the funds to send him jet-setting around the world.
“Bene.” Fine.
I went through a teenage phase where that’s all I would say when my mother asked me a question. I did it so much she banned me from using the word. What else is there to say here?
“I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.”
The bastard better let me know everything that happens between now and then. We hang up, and I turn to face Stella. She appears to be watching the crew move like molasses in January. If she didn’t understand everything I said, I’m certain she got most of it.
“There’s a change of plans. I need to speak to your father.”
She looks over her shoulder at me and nods.
I step next to her at the porch railing where she now rests her hands; the breeze lifting her short hair.
Her haircut makes her appear youthful, but her eyes show a soul-deep wisdom.
She won’t believe any lie I spin, and I won’t bother to come up with one for this.
“Uncle Mano has to go to Europe for an unexpected set of meetings. It can’t wait.”
“But the wedding can.”
“It has to.”
I see her grip tighten to where her knuckles turn white. She realizes what she’s doing and flexes her fingers, extending and spreading them.
“But the contracts still mean I belong to him. I’m forced to wait in the wings until he’s ready to trot me out in his three-ring circus like a show pony.”
“You may not want to accept this marriage or the man you’ll spend your life with, but the only person that’ll hurt is you. Everyone else will carry on with their life. Bitterness will make you ugly.”
I don’t wait for her response because I don’t want to hear her pain and frustration. It’s written across her face. There’s nothing I can do, so it’s better I keep my distance.
“Wait.” It’s a command, so I ignore it.
I take orders from no one but my uncle. Even my brother-in-law, Santino, as our family’s consigliere, doesn’t outrank me. I take his advice and ask for it more often than not. But he doesn’t tell me what to do. I won’t be at Stella’s beck and call. I’ll look like a lovesick puppy if I am.
“Tommy, wait. Please.”
Too little, too late.
I head into the house and walk to Stella’s office. I’m about to shut the door when she slips her hand around it and pushes. I could force it closed, but I would trap her fingers. She knows that. I step back.
“Don’t walk away from me when I’m speaking to you.”
“You might sound like la madrina, but you aren’t one yet. You don’t seem to understand who gives the orders and who obeys.”
I stand to my full height, my glower genuine.
She needs to curb her independence. She might have spoken like an equal to the men here because of her rank within the don’s family, but that isn’t how it’ll work in Boston.
Only my mother does that, and she’s earned the right.
If someone else were don—if I were—I’d welcome her as she is.
But I’m not marrying her. I won’t give her a false sense of security, either.
I shut the door behind her. There’s still a single chair in here, and I plan to make use of it.
I snag her arm and toe her behind me. Before she knows what’s happening, I sit and pull her over my lap.
I take only a moment to enjoy the view before my hand lands across her ass.
I want to run my fingers down the back of her bare thighs and squeeze each globe. But I don’t.
I rain down ten hard smacks as she fights me to get up. I wrap an arm around her waist, but it isn’t enough. I capture her legs beneath my right one, my arm tightening around her. She’s immobile. The dirty things I would do to her if I had the chance.
“Stop. You have no right. I don’t agree to this.”
“I told you last night I would punish you. I told you last night you are a Vizzini now, and as my family’s underboss, I have the right—the obligation—to punish anyone who steps out of line. You don’t issue the underboss orders.”
“If I’m already a Vizzini, then I’m your la madrina. That means you have no right to touch me at all.”
“But you don’t recognize yourself as a Vizzini, so you can’t call yourself that.”
I land a particularly hard slap across her horizontal crack. Her back arches, but she swallows her scream.
“Enough!”
“No. Not even close. Be still, or I’ll just add to the number you already have coming.”
She glances over at me and sees something in the harshness of my expression because she goes still. I give her five more healthy swats before I stop.
I rest my hand on her ass, again tempted to massage it.
It would ease the burn, but I don’t want her to think I regret what I did.
I don’t want her to think I’ll go easy on her after being so strict.
I want her to feel that burn deep within her ass and remember I’m not a man who doesn’t follow through with what he promises. So, my hand rests heavily on her.
As I look at her thighs, her shorts have inched up high enough for me to see almost the top of them.
It tempts me to run my fingers under the fabric to her pussy.
I’m certain I see a hint that she’s wet.
As much as she protested, she enjoyed her spanking, or maybe that was part of it.
It makes me wonder if it’s because of me or if she’s a natural submissive.
Nothing about the woman I’ve met so far makes me think she’d submit to Uncle Mano.
But I wonder if she met a man she cared for—or at least tolerated—would she submit to him?
That’s the last thing I need to think about when I’m already far too attracted to her.
I’m certain she can feel I’m hard for her.
It’s far easier for her to hide her reaction to this than I can.
As my cock lengthened, I allowed her to gain more space between our bodies.
Despite that, I’m certain she still knows.
After a couple of minutes, I help her sit up.
Something in me tightens, and it’s not my dick.
Instead of letting her go, I ease her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her.
When I’m at my club, and I’ve just done a scene with a sub, I always ensure their aftercare.
That often means moments like this. I might offer them praise, but rarely do I say more than that.
Rarely do I feel like saying more than that.
But as Stella burrows into my chest, the shift in my emotions scares the shit out of me.
“Stella—”
“Tommy—”
We speak at the same time. She remains silent, expecting me to go first. She’s taking my lessons to heart, but I’m curious about what she has to say, since there was no defiance in her tone.
“What is it, Stella?”
Tears pour down her cheeks, and she swipes at them. They appear to surprise her, and she doesn’t enjoy showing what she clearly thinks is a weakness. But she’s subdued when she speaks.
“Will you—forgive me now—or will you—always—think badly—of me?” There are long pauses in between her words, and I can hear her anxiousness.
“Stella, I already forgave you. You didn’t make a good choice last night, but you’re also learning what it is to be in a different family. The spanking was more to reinforce those lessons than for contrition or restitution.”
“So, you don’t hate me?”
I tilt her chin back and gaze into fathomless blue hazel eyes.
“I definitely don’t hate you.”
We stare at each other for far too long, and the temptation radiates from both of us.
It hangs heavily between our bodies, as though it’s its own presence in the room.
We’d be fools to act upon it, so I release her chin, but I’m not ready to let go of her.
I press her head back against my chest, and she relaxes.
I glide my hand up and down her arm while my other hand rests on her hip.
It’s far too possessive for the only relationship we can have.
But she feels so damn perfect in my arms.
It makes me wonder how I can keep her here. There’s only one way to make that happen. It’s a thought I’ve had far too many times already.