9. Constantine
CHAPTER 9
Constantine
“ S he has denied your order, Constantine,” Rico informs me apathetically.
My lips tug upwards as I lean back in my leather chair and settle my clasped hands against my lower abdomen.
Pride fills me despite her defiance that would have led to the death of any of my men who would have thought to do the same.
“Very well,” I say as my smirk transforms to a satisfied smile. Seems as if Carina has taken what I said and has decided to use this newfound knowledge on me rather than her brother and papa. Nonetheless, I’m just pleased she’s realizing her worth and exercising her demands for a change. All of her life has been controlled by her papa, her brother, and even her mamma. If she ever wants to become the Queen on the chess board Carina needs to stop acting as the pawn her family has forced her to become.
Rico tilts his head to the side and raises his brow, an act of mine he’s adopted to appear engaging while in conversation. “And you are pleased about this.” He states rather than asks.
“I am pleased that she is forming a spine, Rico,” I correct him. “I am pleased that she is using a mind of her own without influence.”
“Even though it’s against you.”
“Si.” A dark chuckle escapes me as my smile turns wicked. “Soon enough she’ll be standing up to her papa and dear fratello.” Disgust plagues me as I mention them. But it dissipates quickly when I think of their demise by their own pawn. “And when that day comes, Rico, our world as we know it will change.”
“You sound eager for this new world, Constantine. Why, I have no clue, since you are already the King.”
“A King is nothing without his Queen.” I don’t expect Rico to understand since he doesn’t have his actions governed by his emotions. He can’t possibly understand what lengths I’ll go to, and what it means to have someone by my side. Someone who I can consider a true equal. And once Carina accepts the darkness within her, once she cuts the strings her papa controls her with, she will be my perfect equal.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
That causes a genuine laugh from me, one Rico doesn’t respond to.
Rising from my chair I button my suit jacket. Rico stands properly on guard and ready for my command. “Do you have her location?”
He nods his head. “Staten Island. Saint Peter’s Cemetery.”
Carina is visiting her mamma’s grave. It will be her first visit since she had placed a bullet in the center of her little brother’s head.
Before then she had visited her mamma weekly.
I wonder what brought about this sudden change.
Out of the various hidden drawers I have under and around my desk, I place my thumbprint on the finger scan and the drawer located on the top right side opens. Taking the burner phone I call the only contact it possesses.
He answers on the first ring, “Yes, Don?”
“What were her exact words?”
He clears his throat but I can still hear the amusement in his tone as he echoes her words, “After I had explained you wait for no one she simply said, ‘and now he’ll wait for one. Capisce?’ It’s the most resolute and unswerving I have seen her since I’ve been her bodyguard.”
Inside I am bursting with pride. It’s as if I achieved the most sensational victory.
Despite what Carina Fiore believes she is not dead.
And as long as I am in her life she never will be.
With every reaction I gain from her it sends an electrical impulse to her heart, reviving her, bringing her back to life. Bringing her to me.
“Grazie.”
“Is that all, Don?”
“No, I’ll be seeing you both shortly.”
He snickers. “I told her you wait for no one. Figured you would be making an appearance.”
“I’m making an exception,” I remind him not too lightly. “If it were anyone else I would have them dragged to me pleading for their life for wasting my precious time.”
His tone sobers. “Of course, Don. My deepest apologies.”
“Accettato. Keep vigilant.”
“Always do. I’ll be waiting for your next call.”
I end the call and place the burner back where I had it hidden originally.
“How is Gino?” Asks Rico with not one care in his tone or shown on his face.
Gino, a trusted friend of mine since I was young, was appointed as Carina’s bodyguard after her mamma’s death by me.
I didn’t trust Savio not to do the same to his own daughter one day. Not after I had known Viola wanted to escape New York City with their daughter. And certainly not after I had discovered her suicide was an illusion.
Before her death, my papa, when he was Don, had Gino infiltrate The Fiore Famiglia as a mere soldier to keep eyes and ears on the inside of Savio’s business. With the inside information we gained we had always stayed five steps ahead, much to Savio’s dismay.
However, after the death of my own papa, then shortly followed by Carina’s mamma’s death, Viola, one of my first commands had been for Gino to find a way to be appointed as Carina’s bodyguard.
It took planning and scheming on my end. I had a lowly criminal on the street paid with a hundred thousand cash to put a hit on Carina Fiore.
Yes, my methods were extreme and drastic.
Yes, I had put a hit on her life.
But, he was a pawn on the piece of my chess board. I had full and utter control.
Much like everything in the underworld where I rule.
And so the lowly criminal went about his duty one hundred thousand dollars richer with a greater future in his eyes only to be killed by Gino who had been with Carina at the time to stop the attack.
And that act of selfless loyalty had proven enough to Savio, and therefore gave Gino the promotion from being a soldier to being Carina’s bodyguard.
Checkmate.
I arch a brow. “Do you really care for his well-being?
“No.”
“Then why ask?”
“I thought it would be polite.”
He causes another genuine chuckle from me. Honestly, his lack of emotion and empathy is comedic gold. Only some can truly appreciate it. That is if they have a twisted sense of humor. And living the life that we lead it’s impossible not to.
After all, I laugh death in the face every day.
“Have Pietro on standby for me in my parking garage.”
Rico nods his head.
Rounding my office desk I cross over to my large bookcase with a hidden gun cabinet on the backside. It opens with my thumbprint and I retrieve my STACCATO C2 DPO Tactical 9mm Pistol.
Making sure I have a round fully loaded and that the safety is on I then place it in my gun holster.
One thing a Don must always carry is a gun.
You can never be too careful.
After all the failed assignation attempts and impromptu torture sessions I’m called to I always have my trusted gun on my personnel.
Even in Church.
Rico follows one step behind as I make my way to my personal elevator that only allows access to my penthouse suite and personal garage.
I apply my thumbprint and then a retinal scan. Only three other men are granted this access as their thumbprint and retinas are in the security system.
Rico, Pietro and Gino.
The day I find they betray me there will be more than just a bullet in their head.
As the elevator doors open Rico stands on the other side. He nods his head in goodbye and I do the same.
The elevator doors open once it has descended and I am greeted by a joyous yet maniacal Pietro. He stands by the handful of vehicles I have at this location, particularly more towards the newest Maserati I had custom made and in special order.
“No.”
His face falls like a kid who has been denied candy. “You really know how to kill a man’s fun.”
Fucking children. I swear, between him and Gino, I work with children.
“We are going to St. Peter’s Cemetery, Pietro.”
He raises his brow. “Your point?”
“I honestly thought that would explain itself.”
“We can’t ride in style even for the dead?”
I simply shake my head at him. “Pietro, has anyone ever told you that you must hold a decorum of modesty?”
“Of course,” he puffs and then adds with a wink, “when the situation calls for it.”
As I said, I work with fucking children. “This situation calls for it. Carina will be there.”
“We’re going to St. Peter’s Cemetery for Carina and not to visit your papa?”
I try to hide my exasperation but I’m sure he can sense it. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
“It’s your ass that will be haunted by the old man, not me.” Unfolding his arms he then goes towards one of my more tame automobiles. Still luxurious but not as flashy.
I meet him, throwing over the keys for him to drive. As I open the passenger door I say to him, “The dead can’t haunt you, Pietro. They’re dead.”
He shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Even the living can haunt you, Constantine. Carina already does.”
I have no chance to rebuttal him as he slides in the car and starts the engine. And even if I did it would be a weak argument.
But I’m not as sure if Carina haunts me or if it’s just my mad obsession.
Maybe the line between the two is not as sharp as I once believed.
Pietro’s eyes cut to mine with amusement as he turns on the chaotic streets of New York. “It would kill you to say I’m right, wouldn’t it?”
“Just drive, Pietro.”
His eyes return back to the road but the amusement in them has intensified, along with the smile he can’t hide. “Si, Constantine.”
As we ebb and weave through the lanes of traffic in New York City what would normally take a twenty-five minute drive turns to almost an hour.
I adore New York City.
It’s the city my Famiglia went to war for.
This city was always meant to be mine.
The stench of desperation from the people who live here along with the heavy aspiration of those who choose to reside here have led to my grand success.
And there’s a darkness to this city even though at night it’s lit to rival the sun. And that darkness people can’t help but want to draw nearer to. Anything to satiate their hunger, to prove they’re worth something, to achieve their goals.
Cloaked in the light of day they're the worst kind of people hiding in plain sight, and at night they come out of the shadows and show themselves.
In a city that has a population of a little more than eight million it would be naive to believe that all who reside here are good.
This city was made for sinners.
But this city, I felt it flowing through my veins when I was just a young boy. And I knew with absolute certainty that it would one day be mine.
And here I am, all those years later, with not only New York City under my rule, but the entire east coast.
I became more than a man.
More than flesh and bone.
I became more than a monster.
I am the perfect ideal.
A King with his own legacy.
And New York City, the city that holds so many dark souls and even darker corners, gave that to me.
For as chaotic as it may be, for the stench that can’t leave your nostrils, or the trash that litters the streets, it will always be a part of me.
Because this city, this beautiful dark and ambiguous city has given me everything to be the man that I am today.
One man's trash is another one's treasure.
New York City proved to be more valuable than any treasure.
But with all its beauty and darkness, with all its sin and temptation laid before my feet like precious jewels, there is one thing this city never gave me.
And that’s the fallen angel who walks amongst it.
As we enter the cemetery the car cruises slowly around the bend until it stops about twenty feet away from where the one thing this city has denied me stands.
Her hair, dark and voluminous, serves as a veil as it cascades down her back and around her face.
She stands tall, her lithe body surprisingly being held in a dominant stance. As if she’s become the rock that has endured the powerful tides of the ocean storms.
Gino, who stands on guard, is a few feet behind her, allowing her the privacy to be with her late mamma.
Even surrounded by death, the gloomy atmosphere evident, Carina Fiore evokes the strongest emotions in a man by catching only a glimpse of her.
Engrossed by her mamma’s statue instead of a common headstone, my presence has gone unnoticed. Even as I open the door and shut it lightly behind me she doesn’t move a muscle. Reminding me more and more of the rock against the ocean storm.
Giving a nod of my head at Pietro he stands dutifully by the hood of the car as I button my suit jacket and proceed towards her.
As I’m halfway to her I give another nod of my head, this time to Gino. He nods his head back respectfully and takes another step back, standing under the limbs of a willow tree.
I come to a halt just a mere two feet behind her. Her posture hasn’t changed and it causes me to believe that my presence is still unnoticed.
That is until I hear her monotony voice. “Disturbing one while visiting their loved one is considered inconsiderate and highly inappropriate.” She then turns her head slightly, looking over her shoulder, her emerald eyes peeking through the veil of her hair. “Yet that means nothing to you, isn’t that right, Signore?”
My lips twitch despite myself. Her voice may be monotone but the choice to deny my order of calling me by my name, and the fire simmering in her eyes betrays her.
I cock my head to the side, studying her face in great detail. Her eyes stay determinedly on mine. And I must say her unwavering bravery, her absolute defiance, excites me.
“I told you I’m a man who doesn’t concern himself with what’s appropriate or politically correct,” I remind her with a smirk upon my face.
“Nor do you concern yourself with respecting one’s privacy.”
“With you, Carina,” as I say her name, rolling it off of my tongue in a velvet caress, I take notice of how her eyes come more alive, “nothing concerns me.”
“How fortunate of me,” she sarcastically remarks.
If she were someone else her insolence wouldn’t be tolerated. It would begin with the cutting of a tongue and end to a miserable painful death.
Yet her insolence, her defiance and spirit, is a great welcome.
She’s becoming more and more alive each and every time that we speak and for that I could never reprimand her for it.
After all, a Queen must know her worth and not be afraid to speak her mind, to whomever she’s conversing to.
If she can speak to me this way she can speak to any man this way.
And that is power money can not buy.
That is the power of a natural born ruler.
She then gives me her back as she faces her late mamma’s statue in where she lies six feet underground.
The Catholic symbol in all its grand glory stands ten feet tall before us, Gate of Heaven.
For as much as I know my religion and held respect for it when I was younger I never once believed in it.
There’s too much corruption and sin in religion for me to have faith in any of it.
Priests who believe they were called upon by God himself to spread his word only to then lure in young boys and girls under their wicked thumb.
Catholic schools that will beat their students into submission without an ounce of remorse in the nun’s eyes.
The worshippers themselves who follow the Bible as if it’s law, as if it excuses them of their horrid behavior and terrifying actions.
Sinners, the worst kind, rapists and child abusers, confess their sins to a priest in a confessional to be forgiven and be led to a path of redemption. Only then to go back out into the world to rape again, to abuse their children again.
The cold hard and bitter truth that people choose to be blind to is there are people who don’t deserve forgiveness. There are people who can not be redeemed.
I’m the first to admit I’m not a good man. I’m no hero. Never once was a white knight riding gallantly on his steed.
Unlike those who give their life to religion believing they are good, even after everything they have done.
It’s as hypocritical as it is hysterical.
The Catholic Church, the entire religion, is nothing but corrupt and hypocritical.
And unlike me they hide, wearing a false facade of innocence and goodness, before they capture you in their ever lying webs of darkness and sin.
“My mamma was heavily Catholic,” Carina says in a soft yet flat tone. I stand beside her, hiding my surprise at her strike of a conversation. I had thought it would be like pulling teeth to have her talk to me. What a delightful surprise. “Went to church faithfully every Sunday. Said grace before each meal. Prayed before she fell asleep. Respected her elders and treated everyone with a kindness the God she worshiped would’ve been proud of.” I remain silent, unabashedly staring at her striking angelic face as she stares at the Gate of Heaven. “Even when she would commit a sin, which was rare in itself, she suffered from Catholic guilt. And that guilt ate away at her until she confessed her sin, did the steps of repentance, and then finally allowed herself redemption.”
“These sins,” I inquire carefully, something I’m not known to do, “do you consider her committing suicide the ultimate one?”
Although I know the truth of Viola’s death, Carina does not. And I’m rather curious to know her thoughts and feelings. It will give me insight on the woman I’ve come to obsess over all of these years. It will give me a glimpse that she’s allowed no one else to see.
Carina Fiore is a beautiful tapestry but she allows no one to see the workings behind the masterpiece.
And selfishly I want to be the only one who sees.
For the first time since my arrival she looks at me full on. Her eyes, emerald jewels, are fixed on mine with a flicker of emotion dancing in them. “No,” she answers me and by her tone and the look upon her face I know she’s telling the truth. Then I see the fire begin in her eyes, simmering like embers. “The ultimate sin my mamma ever committed was falling in love with my papa.”
Revulsion.
A deep seated revulsion clouds her eyes.
Eyes that have been dull and lifeless for far too long now show a flicker of the life she denies inside her.
Her lips, soft, plump and pliable, painted in a merlot red, are set in a firm line. One of distaste. Of loathing.
What I had suspected ever since I saw her papa handle her roughly on the streets long ago, when I had caught my first glimpse of her, is true.
She grew to hate the man she calls her father. And it wouldn’t surprise me if that hatred has also extended towards her brother.
And yet that same hatred she has for them I also see in her eyes for me.
I saw it when we were dancing together.
And again earlier this week before we had parted.
But there is a fine line between love and hate. Carina will come to cross that line soon enough. And when she does, when she finally accepts the attraction between us, the darkness within her, her love will set fire to the entire world without it ever burning us.
Her brows then furrow with confusion and self disgust. “I don’t even know why I am telling you any of this,” she muses more to herself than to me. Her lips twist as she declares to me, “I don’t even like you.”
My lips twitch, amusement lighting my eyes. Leaning down I bring my lips to the outer shell of her ear. Her body stiffens as her muscles lock. And I would believe that she wouldn’t want me close if it wasn’t for the flush blooming across her skin. Or how the rise and fall of her chest with quickened breaths betrays her.
My lips graze the outer shell of her ear as I say rather impressed, “You do have the gall to lie to me.” A shudder wracks down her spine and before she casts her better judgement to pull away from me I place my hand on her lower back.
A hiss slips between clenched teeth as her eyes are overtaken by fire. “Remove your hand.” Her voice is as hard as steel.
Beneath my fingers, under the thick material of her wool trench coat, lies bandages that wrap the entirety of her torso.
Bandages the color of beige that seeped splashes of crimson when I had seen her earlier this week.
Bandages she must wear because of the person who had inflicted the wounds upon her already scarred skin.
Despite her demand I keep my hand gently on her lower back. “Does it hurt?”
Her nostrils flare. “No.”
“Have you taken a liking to lying to me, or is it your pride preventing you from speaking the truth?”
Her lips remain in a firm line however her eyes burn brighter. There is so much power there, such strong emotion for a woman who believes she is dead.
Boldly I trace the outline of her luscious lips with the pad of my middle finger. Her lips then part as she inhales a sharp breath. My eyes remain on hers the entire time and it’s a beautiful sight to behold when her eyes start to burn for the desire she loves to deny.
Cocking my head the side I study her like the rare breed that she is. I take in account how her eyes betray her before her body does. And when her body does betray her it’s almost indiscernible unless you peer awfully close.
Then as if she remembers who I am, and how she’s supposed to act with my hands on her skin, she jerks her head violently to the side, exposing her delicate neck and denying me the pleasure of gazing upon her face.
Not deterred in the least I allow that same finger to trail her jawline and down her neck. Then when my finger meets her maddening pulse point I press against it.
“Ah, would you look at that,” I say in wonder with a smirk playing on my lips. Her mouth returns to that stiff firm line but her eyes betray her. As they always seem to do around me. They glance at me with curiosity. “Your heart beats.”
Stiffly, she takes a step back from me, but my smirk transforms to a wicked dark smile.
She places her pale delicate hand against her throat, right over the pulse point my fingers had touched.
And my god, what I wouldn’t do to have my hand wrapped around her throat as I’m balls deep inside her wet cunt.
“What are you doing here? I thought the kidnapping was scheduled for tonight at my papa’s home.”
I take notice how she mentions the place she resides as her papa’s and not a place she calls home.
I arch a brow at her. “Is it considered a kidnapping when I am not abducting you? You are, after all, coming to me willingly.”
“And yet I’m still a captive.”
Closing the distance between us I wrap my hand around her delicate neck. The air leaves her body as electric sparks around us. I know she can’t deny the charge we create. The heat of fire that rises to an inferno.
“When will you realize, mia leonessa , that you are not a piece on the chess board to be manipulated and coerced? How long will it take for you to realize you’re the Queen?”
Her eyes flash, the undulated fury turning them a bright green. “When people start treating me as one.”
My finger flexes over her pulse point and it goes wild. She inhales a sharp breath that does nothing to calm the fire rising inside her. Nor does it stop the chaotic storm of emotions.
Bending slightly I tilt my head downward until our lips almost meet. Her lips part on a breath and it takes great restraint to not claim them as I want.
Our breaths mingle together as I say to her on a low purr, “A Queen demands respect. You can’t expect people to treat you like royalty when you pose as a doormat.”
“I’m not a doormat.”
“Aren’t you? What have you done to prove otherwise, Carina?” I ask her. She remains silent although her anger is as loud as thunder.
“You have no idea what I’ve endured,” she seethes, her body trembling with rage.
“It’s not about what you have endured, Carina. Everyone has endured. It’s about when you decided you’ve had enough and stand against the patriarchy.”
“So easy for you to say. You were born a man with an empire bestowed upon your feet by your papa, another man who had been gifted the very same. How could you possibly grasp what I’ve endured? And how can you stand there insisting that I have done nothing of my own volition. You, Signore, claim to know me but you know nothing at all.”
Violently she removes my hand from her neck and takes a healthy step away from me.
But oh, on the inside I’m filled with pride and turned on from her outburst of rage.
This, this is the woman who is meant to rule by my side.
This is a woman who knows power and understands it.
This is a woman all men will bow down to.
“Now only if you would use that fire and intensity against the ones who are responsible.”
She arches a cool brow. “And you believe you’re not?”
“I’m responsible for many crimes, Carina, but this isn’t one of them.”
Her brows furrow as her face contorts with confusion. She studies me then, as if I’m on the most difficult conundrums. “Why is it that every time we are finished talking I am left with more questions than answers?”
“Because you find me intriguing,” I supply an answer for her, the one she hasn’t admitted to herself. She goes to open her mouth but I silence her. “And before you can deny it I think you have already lied to me enough today.”
She pins me with a deathly glare and I’ve never been more turned on in my entire existence.
“Then I shall leave you with an unspoken truth.”
My lips broaden to a downright sinful smile. “Why Carina, those are becoming my favorite with you.”