Chapter 33
Camillo Vicari
Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
I woke up at six in the morning, despite barely having slept.
Daisy's muffled sobs filling the room next door kept me awake until dawn. I'd like to say I didn't know what had come over me to treat her that way, but that would be a lie. I was jealous of Daisy Parker. She had gotten under my skin like poison, eating away at me from the inside.
The hot water from the shower ran over my body, washing away the weight on my shoulders.
I couldn't allow myself those emotions. The truth was, I wanted Daisy for myself.
Only for myself. I wanted to sink into her until she cried my name for the best of reasons.
I wanted her begging in my ear, scratching my shoulders, asking me for more.
My dick throbbed at the thought of her. Cazzo. I was behaving like a hormonal teenager.
With not much else to do, I slid a hand over the length of my cock, moving slowly, over and over.
My head tilted back, allowing the hot water to cover my face.
With eyes shut, I imagined Daisy’s legs over my shoulders, my dick sliding into that blonde pussy of hers as she moans, and it didn’t take long before the pressure started to build in my balls.
I came with a low moan, watching my release swirl down the drain, wishing her mouth was there to receive it instead.
Moments later, already dressed, somehow humiliated by my own weakness, I left the room and peeked into hers.
It was empty.
I checked the time on my wristwatch, a Vacheron Constantin Traditionnelle in midnight blue, realizing it was close to seven in the morning. At that hour, Daisy would watch the sunrise in the garden.
Once again disregarding common sense, I quickened my pace and in seconds was in front of the living room shutters, with only the towering mahogany bookshelves as witnesses to my idiocy.
On the other side of the glass, at the end of the path lined with beautiful citrus and laurel trees, Daisy was sitting on the stone wall.
The image of her mustard yellow dress, dotted with small red flowers, falling to mid-thigh, revealing her slender, sun-kissed legs, was enough to make my blood boil. Yesterday, being confronted with the possibility of her being with another man had driven me to the brink of madness.
There was nothing I wanted more than to fuck my blonde, cheeky prisoner.
Dio, masturbating like I was back in my teenage years would never be enough. I would only be able to get that woman out of my system when I buried myself deep inside her and left the trace of my seed in her guts.
I swallowed hard.
I wouldn't allow myself to repeat the same mistake I made with Valentina.
Getting emotionally involved with another woman was out of the question.
However, what I wanted from Daisy Parker was very different.
Having her in my bed wouldn't be the same as bringing her into my life.
There would be no risks involved, only pleasure, and maybe I could allow myself that.
Maybe it wasn't that risky after all.
When the sun finally rose on the horizon, her hair turned to liquid gold, and I knew that in a few moments she would return to the villa. I turned my back and strode to the kitchen, taking my usual place at the small table.
I closed my eyes, drumming my fingers on the tabletop, letting the sun that streamed through the huge windows to my left wash over me. It was going to be a scorching day, I could already feel it, but there I was, in my three-piece suit, ready to go and deal with matters that refused to wait.
I was going to meet with several Capibastone from prominent families, including Don Ettore Zaccaria—the Capocrimine of the ’Ndrangheta, capo locale of Reggio Calabria, and the man who oversaw the Gioia Tauro quotas.
We were going to have lunch that day in Reggio Calabria, and I was the host. As usual, we would use the private room at Carlo Mancuso's restaurant, because anything could happen.
From a surprise appearance by the Carabinieri or the Guardia di Finanza to a trap where we would end up with our bodies riddled with bullets.
Annoyed by the whole situation, I sighed. Recovering the Gioia Tauro quota would not be so difficult if certain Capibastone did not have eyes bigger than their stomachs...
Damn Cissio Accorinti.
The famiglia Accorinti was a relatively new ‘ndrina, which had started operations about fifty years ago. Unfortunately for the community, this brought its own problems.
The Accorinti didn’t enter the business the right way.
In our industry, as in any other, there was no easy money.
Everything required patience, deliberation, and concrete action.
So much so that most of the ‘ndrine were not even known to the Guardia di Finanza, the Carabinieri, or the most enthusiastic prosecutors.
Discretion—Omertà—was everything in our lives.
The Accorinti, however, were never up to the task.
As soon as they signed their first cocaine import contract, they started staging pathetic initiation rituals.
Things that no one else did. In a ‘ndrina, no theatrics were necessary for someone to become a soldier or associate.
Any intelligent person knew the risks and obligations that working with a società entailed.
When there were transgressions, we didn't worry too much. The person was killed. Finito.
However, the Accorinti wanted to assert themselves and, from the beginning of their activity, held ceremonies where new soldati kissed the hands of the Capobastone and swore to kill their own famiglia in the name of the Accorinti if asked to do so.
It was an unthinkable request. Loyal soldati were only found among men with valori familiari.
Anyone willing to betray their own blood could not serve any self-respecting ‘ndrina.
This was something the Accorinti did not understand and often proved.
Cissio Accorinti was a twenty-seven-year-old idiot who had risen to Capobastone in the most sordid way possible.
He had set a trap for his parents and siblings and executed them in cold blood.
A real bloodbath, according to reports. As if that weren't enough, his lack of discretion on social media, where he flaunted parties full of drugs, prostitutes, and money, as well as flashy clothes and cars, had caught the attention of one of the most voracious prosecutors in all of Italy.
The police had never come so close to biting our ankles as they did at that moment, and it was all because of that imbecile.
But while he was busy with his parties, too high to form a useful idea, his existence was irrelevant to me.
The problem now was that Cissio Accorinti woke up and set his sights on our share in Gioia Tauro and was waving a very lucrative, and equally inhumane, deal at the other Capibastone: human trafficking.
I cleared my throat. My famiglia had worked hard to keep Castello dell'Fiero alive and safe.
Our cocaine and arms trafficking business always took place outside the village.
We didn't want our people consuming our products and falling into disgrace.
What we sold was intended for the idiots who thought a few minutes of ecstasy were worth a lifetime of addiction.
Cocaine, weapons, those were personal choices.
Choices we didn't allow at our table, but choices nonetheless.
Individual freedom. Human trafficking, on the other hand, was dark, sordid, and no Vicari ever wanted anything to do with it, nor would any Vicari want to as long as I lived.
But it wasn't just the Vicari. The other ‘ndrine in the region also abhorred the business. Or used to.
Cissio Accorinti had been meeting with other Capibastone regularly.
He organized dinners and generous gifts, and presented numbers that were too good to ignore.
When he tried to do the same with me, he received a refusal that greatly displeased him, but which I hoped left him in no doubt about the irreversibility of my answer.
Now he was devising ways to lead the police to my cocaine shipments in Gioia Tauro and trying to usurp our quota.
And on that day, I would know whether I could count on the other Capibastone of our region or not.
At lunch, I would find out which of the four families who ran businesses near our territory intended to enter the human trafficking business and which did not. It would be an efficient way to protect myself from unpleasant surprises. But business would have to wait until later.
For now, I had other priorities.
That villa and the skinny American woman who was stealing my sanity.
Daisy stormed into the kitchen. She didn't even look at me. She walked around the island in the center of the room and began preparing my breakfast.
“Buongiorno, Daisy,” I murmured with a smile on my face, but the truth was that guilt was coiled around my throat.
“Good morning, Mr. Vicari.”
Mr. Vicari. I sighed, letting my shoulders slump. I deserved that.
When she set the espresso and a chocolate cornetto in front of me, I could see her face was extremely puffy from crying the night before, and I couldn't resist grabbing her wrist. Her skin under my fingers felt like silk and sent waves of heat through my body.
“About yesterday...”
“I understood everything you said, Mr. Vicari.” Her formality left me feeling cold, but I still didn't let her free herself from my grip. “I'll follow your rules.”
“Daisy...”
“Mr. Vicari?” Finally, she held my gaze, and there was no trace of the cheerful, cheeky Daisy I knew. There was no sign of my Piccola Furetta. Her expression was cold, almost unreadable.
I stood up slowly, never letting go, and pulled her toward me, leaving barely a foot between us.
“I was too harsh in my choice of words.” She didn't take her eyes off me, but although her breathing was rapid, her distant expression remained. “Can you forgive me?”
“Of course, Mr. Vicari.”
“Daisy... I'm being sincere.” I murmured, her strawberry and chamomile scent penetrating my lungs. My gaze lingered on her lips, thinking of the countless things I could do with them. “I didn't mean to threaten you or insult you.”
“I understand... Mr. Vicari.” Again, the same distant response.
She tried to pull away.
I didn't let her.
Very slowly, seeing the look of astonishment on her face, I turned her back to me and held her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her delicate frame.
I held her close, burying my face in the curve of her neck so I could inhale her scent, and smiled as I felt her heartbeat quicken and her skin break into goosebumps.
“Scusa...” I purred in her ear, lightly brushing my lips against her earlobe. “Scusa, sì?”
“L—Let me go!” she stammered, but barely tried to break free from my embrace.
I moved my hands down to her waist and pulled her closer to me, pressing her pert bottom against my groin. She moaned softly and I smiled, satisfied, realizing that the attraction I felt was mutual.
“I'll let you go when you forgive me...” I purred again and pressed my lips against the skin of her neck, lingering there as long as I could.
Dio, her skin was so soft.
“I already told you, Mr. Vicari—” I bit her skin, stealing a whimper that almost sounded like a moan of pleasure, and rubbed my groin against her ass, feeling my body stiffen more and more with that closeness.
I slid my tongue along the curve of her neck, stopping only at her ear, savoring it.
Cazzo.
My pants were too tight for my erection. I rubbed myself against her again, so she could feel exactly what she was doing to me. Hearing her breath catch and feeling her whole body stiffen, I realized she was well aware of the reaction she was causing in me.
Dio, if I could, I would fuck her right there, standing up or against the counter, I didn't care.
“Daisy?” I asked, my voice too distorted by the pleasure I was feeling, but she didn't say anything. “Do you forgive me?”
My hands moved in opposite directions. My left hand moved up to cup one of her small breasts against my palm, and my right hand moved down, disappearing under the skirt of her dress.
I caressed the warm skin of her thighs, watching her chest rise and fall with each movement, gulping air, and her body melting against mine.
When my right hand made its way up the inside of her thigh, she grabbed my left arm, which was kneading her small breast in circular motions.
I searched for her nipple with my thumb and found it. I pressed it until I heard little moans of pleasure escape her lips and felt her butt rub against me. With each movement, my penis throbbed, begging me to sink into her.
My right hand found soaked fabric between her thighs, and it was my turn to moan. I moved up to the waistband of her underwear and sank my hand there, caressing the layer of silky hair.
Dio. To say she was wet was an understatement.
I slid a finger between her soft lips, feeling their delicate folds, and she rubbed against me, moaning softly. I felt her entrance soaked, ready to receive me, and slid a finger inside, feeling her body squeeze me. Her breathing broke into moans, and I pulled away slightly, breaking the trance.
“Hands on the counter.”
She looked at me, wide-eyed, and hesitated.
“Hands on the counter, Daisy.” I demanded, and she obeyed, moving slowly to the kitchen island. As soon as her hands rested on the marble, I pushed her gently, bending her body. “Spread your legs.” Again, she hesitated. “Daisy. Spread your legs.”
Her feet slowly moved apart and her body relaxed. Slowly, I fell to my knees behind her and lifted the skirt of her summer dress, seeing the gray piece of fabric of her underwear damp and soaked through between her legs. I slid two fingers over it, immediately hearing her gasping reaction.
I wanted to fuck her in every way imaginable, just not this time. Now, I owed her an apology. Italian style.