Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Twenty-Five

Francesca

“I think my ass is sunburned,”I said as we rode back toward the stables.

He smirked, looking very pleased with himself. And why wouldn’t he? I had just fucked him stupid out in a pasture under some olive trees. Between my legs was a sticky mess, but it had been worth it.

“Or perhaps it is red from the spanking I gave you last night.”

Right. Of course, he would remember that.

I grinned and tilted my face up toward the sun. It was hot but there was a nice breeze, which Fausto said came off the ocean.

Today has been one of the best days in a long time. I loved being on a horse again, and Fausto explained the various plots of land and the animals they raised as we rode. His knowledge of the estate never failed to impress me. It was clear that he loved the land, and from the stories he told he’d obviously spend a lot of time out here.

We had stopped for a bite to eat, which Fausto produced from a bag tied to his horse. There were olives and figs, cured meats and cheeses. And one of Zia’s pastries, because he knew how much I loved them. We shared ciró from a bottle, except for when Fausto dribbled some on my naked breasts and licked it off.

He undressed me slowly, then put me on top of him. I had a thing for being naked while he was clothed—a kink that was no secret from Fausto. After we came, he closed his eyes and I relaxed on top of him, just breathing in the scent of lemon soap and sex.

“I wish we could do this every day,” he whispered into my hair.

My toes had curled into the grass, the flutters in my chest nearly an earthquake. I was so happy with him—and he seemed happy, too.

Now we were headed back to real life.

“Are you returning to work this afternoon?” I asked him.

“Yes. I have a few important calls. Will you miss me?”

“No,” I lied.

His expression said he didn’t believe me. “Since you are in a good mood, I must tell you that I’ll need to skip dinner tonight.”

“Oh.” Disappointment crashed through me. I liked eating dinner with him and his family. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“I like to hear you say it, dolcezza.”

“Do you have late calls?”

“No, I must go out for a meeting.”

I pulled Piccola Monella to a halt. “You are leaving the estate?”

He leaned forward on the saddle, bracing his forearms on the horn. “Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“You know I cannot tell you that.”

“Why?”

Bringing his horse closer, he reached out to touch my face. “You cannot ever know details of my business. I won’t risk getting you sent to prison.”

“The police won’t care if you tell me one tiny thing, Fausto.”

“No, Francesca. The only person who goes to prison is me.”

“I don’t want you to go to prison, either.”

His expression softened. “There is an expression in Italiano: ‘Hai voluto la bicicletta? E adesso pedala!’”

“What does it mean?”

“‘Did you want the bicycle? Now ride it.’ I wanted the bicycle, Francesca. Whatever the consequences, I will face them alone.”

I pressed my lips together and stared out at the cows grazing in the field. “Will you be safe?”

He dipped his finger inside my shirt, then inside my bra, to graze my bare skin. “I will take every precaution, if only to return back to this.” He fingered my nipple. “Will you wait up for me?”

“Yes.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, worrying about car bombs and bullets instead. “Are you taking guards with you?”

“Of course. And Marco.”

“Good.”

The horses grew restless and we started toward the stables again. Worry had settled in my stomach, but I tried not to let it show on my face. The thought of losing him….

Something that had been bothering me popped into my mind. “Why doesn’t Marco like me?”

He tried to cover his surprise but failed. “What makes you say such things?”

“I can tell he doesn’t like me. You don’t need to hide it, Fausto. I just don’t understand why. We’ve hardly spoken two words to each other since I arrived.”

I hadn’t ever seen Fausto uncomfortable before, but he clearly was now. He studied the ground and fidgeted with the reins. “He believes my attention is lacking, which is not true. But he blames you for it, for distracting me.”

My jaw fell open, but I closed it quickly. “You work more than anyone else I know.” Certainly more than my father or uncle.

“Still, I have taken more time away in this last month than ever before. But it doesn’t matter who likes you, piccolina. Only if I like you.”

“And do you? Like me, I mean.”

I sounded needy and insecure, but I didn’t care. Chuckling, he grabbed the reins of my horse and pulled us both to a stop. Then, he grabbed me by the back of the neck and brought our mouths together, kissing me deeply. It felt like a stamp of possession with no respite, no escape, and I reveled in every second.

“What do you think? Do I like you?”

My grin nearly split my face. Who needed words when he treated me like a queen and kissed me like his life depended on it? “Yes, I think you do.”

“See? And they say Canadian girls aren’t smart.”

I smacked his shoulder. “You’d better be nice or this not-smart girl won’t suck your dick again.”

He made a dismissive hand gesture. “You could never resist my dick, even if you tried. You’re practically panting every time I take my clothes off.”

“True. I’ll have to think of something else to threaten you with.”

I was smiling as we rode into the stables and dismounted. Fausto returned to the castello, leaving his horse with a groom, but I insisted on unsaddling and brushing Piccola Monella myself. Once she was settled, I decided to go in and shower. I smelled like sex, horses and Fausto.

In my room, I saw something green on my pillow. What on earth? Were those caterpillars?

They were pea pods. Zia had obviously stopped by. Shaking my head at her, I started to get undressed while munching on the peas. The poor woman. Giulio would give her great grand nieces and nephews, but probably not anytime soon. And I knew I wasn’t—

I paused mid-chew. Wait, when was my last period? Had it been three weeks ago? No, that was Rome. Was it a week before that?

Had I even bled since coming to Italy? Yes, when I first came, because I had been relieved to find tampons in the bathroom.

Panic started building in my chest, but I forced it down. It was too soon to be pregnant, right?

I snatched my phone and opened my calendar app. I usually tracked my cycle, but my phone was back in Toronto. With the kidnapping and everything going on here, I hadn’t even thought about it. My shot should still be effective, right?

Shit. I hated that I was now doubting myself. I was always so careful.

I looked back and tried to remember when I’d had my last period. Six weeks ago.

My stomach dropped. This couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. I used the birth control shot, which had never failed me before. I’d never even had a scare with David. My cycle was as regular as rain.

I searched my brain for the date of my last shot. It was supposed to last for three months, so I should still be covered. My heart raced in my chest, my breath coming faster as I remembered that my last shot was four and a half months ago.

That shouldn’t matter, right? I should be okay. This was not happening. I wasn’t pregnant. I was late because of the stress of being taken from my home and kidnapped, then seduced by a sexy older Italian man.

I opened a browser and began searching to see if the shot remained effective after the three-month timeframe elapsed.

The results had my eyes welling with tears. The effectiveness plummeted when the three-month period ended.

Okay, don’t panic, Frankie. You can handle this.

Could I get a morning after pill? It’s not the morning after, you idiot.

I took a deep breath and texted the one person I thought I could trust to help me.

Emergency. Come home ASAP.

* * *

Fausto

The club’sbasement was sparse and musty. There wasn’t much down here to speak of, just a table and some chairs. A metal storage box in the corner housed the equipment needed to work over unwilling captives. While I didn’t like having meetings outside of the castello, these weren’t the kind of men I wanted anywhere near my home—especially with Francesca there.

Two men were strapped to chairs, their eyes burning with hatred but also fear. They knew they would die here tonight, but also it would not be an easy death.

It had taken time, but we finally located the captain and first mate of the ship that stole my product a few weeks ago. The coke had long disappeared, sold off to one of the Sicilian families I couldn’t touch. We had an agreement with the Cosa Nostra not to interfere or intrude in their business, and vice versa, unless absolutely necessary. And this theft was hardly worth breaking peace over.

But I would have answers and vengeance.

I’d already removed my suit coat and rolled up my sleeves. I sat in the chair opposite the two men and spoke in Greek, knowing these two wouldn’t understand Italian. “Do you know who I am?”

One of the men closed his eyes and began reciting Greek Orthodox prayers.

Yes, they knew me.

“That boat you hijacked last month? It and everything aboard belonged to me.”

The man not praying swallowed loudly.

I continued. “The pirates in my waters know to leave my ships alone. They know the risks of interfering with my business. Which means you were new to this, hired by someone else. Before I leave this room, you will tell me who.”

The captain shook his head. “We don’t know, I swear.”

I didn’t believe him for a second. “We will see, won’t we?” I nodded to Marco, who handed me my favorite weapon of choice—a long hunting knife. I could carve a man from mouth to ass with this thing without breaking a sweat.

I fingered the sharp tip, pressing hard enough to pierce my skin. A tiny drop of red ran down the blade. Darkness crept into my soul like vines, preparing me for what needed to be done.

Flipping the knife in my hand, I drove the blade into the captain’s leg. His scream filled the sound-proof room. I left the blade in, both for shock value and to prevent blood from coating the floor too soon. “Who hired you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Bullshit. Someone paid you to rob me, gave you information on where to find my ship. Tell me who.”

He was trembling, eyes dull with pain. “We don’t know.”

I ripped the knife out of his leg, and blood surged down his calf and onto the ground as he screamed again. Then I plunged the knife into his partner’s leg. I knew exactly where to stab to avoid bone. “I will continue to do this until I get answers from one of you. Whoever answers me will die quickly. Whoever doesn’t….”

The first mate shook his head, breathing hard through the pain. “Please, il Diavolo.”

“Tell me.”

The captain’s head was hung low, saliva dripping from his mouth. “We-We saw him once. He was Italian. No names.”

“Young? Old?”

“Young. Early twenties, maybe.”

“And?”

When he didn’t answer, I jerked the knife out of the first mate’s leg and put it into the captain’s non-injured thigh. When the screams died down, I said, “What else can you tell me?”

“He sounded different than you. From a different region. North, maybe.”

“His shirt,” the first mate added. “It had a round circle, blue. With an N in it.”

I glanced at Marco. Sounded like the Napoli football club, Gli Azzurri. My cousin and I were both thinking the same, that D’Agostino was likely behind the theft.

I stood and began rolling my sleeves down. Then I put my suit jacket back on. The two men begged in Greek for their lives, but I didn’t reply. I instructed Marco and Benito to deal with them and then I went back upstairs into the club.

It was packed, as usual. Gratteri, my man who ran all the nightclubs, had turned this old warehouse into Siderno’s latest hot spot. My son did a lot of work here, as well. I headed to the VIP area to see if either Gratteri or Giulio was here.

Gratteri was in a booth with some of our men. They all had women on their laps, champagne bottles on the table. “Rav!” Gratteri yelled when he saw me, waving me over. “Vieni, unisciti a noi!”

I wasn’t in the mood for women and champagne. “Ha un momento?”

He got up and came to where I waited. I shook his hand and slapped his back. “The place looks fantastic. And the numbers are even higher than that club last year. You’ve done very well.”

“Thank you, Rav. Are you all finished in the basement?”

“Marco and Benito are still down there.” I filled him in on what we’d learned. I had always liked Gratteri, which is why I trusted him to teach my son. He was older and had seen a lot over the years, so I didn’t hesitate to ask his opinion on how to handle D’Agostino.

While Gratteri talked, I saw movement from a back hallway over his shoulder. It was Giulio and another man, one of Gratteri’s lower foot soldiers. My son looked to be in a hurry, his eyes on his phone as he texted furiously. I swear, I didn’t know how he and Francesca did it. I’ve never seen anyone text so fast.

Just as I was about to look away, I saw the foot soldier’s hand swipe across Giulio’s back. It was a familiar touch, one that spoke of intimacy and affection, and lasted a shade too long. Like how I might touch Francesca as I quickly walked past her.

It happened in a blink and I thought maybe I imagined it.

But I knew I hadn’t.

Italian men were demonstrative, even sometimes with other male friends, but this had been different. This touch had been more than friendly. I knew it in my bones.

He’s never one to play with the girls at the clubs or the waitresses. Never even accepts a blow job.

What did this mean? That my son...preferred men?

No, that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. He was my son. The Ravazzani heir. He was not gay. I would know it if that was the case, wouldn’t I?

I watched as Giulio strode across the floor, still texting. He’d never seemed attracted to Francesca, which is a miracle in itself, considering her looks. Instead they had played in the ocean like siblings.

I shook off these thoughts. If he were gay, someone would have noticed. There would have been talk. Rumblings. The men gossiped worse than Zia and her friends when they were playing a game of briscola. Marco would have undoubtedly heard and brought this news to me.

Still, the back of my neck itched as I finished up with Gratteri. I gave him half of my attention, while the other half remained on my son as he left the VIP area and went downstairs. He never noticed me, which was probably for the best.

Bidding Gratteri goodbye, I went to find Marco.

The bodies were being dismembered and shoved into drums for disposal. Marco and Benito were laughing and chatting, unaffected by the grisly work. “Marco,” I called.

He came over, his gloves covered in blood. “What is it, Rav?”

For a moment, I hesitated. I trusted Marco with my life, but this was my son. If Giulio were gay, I could not even begin to fathom the repercussions.

Still, I needed my cousin’s help.

“I saw Giulio come out of the back hallway off the VIP lounge with one of Gratteri’s soldiers. The boy seemed overly familiar with Giulio.” I let that sink in, and Marco’s eyes went wide.

“You think? No, Rav. It’s impossible. Your son?”

“I’m sure I am wrong, but I have to know.”

“As far as I know there aren’t cameras outside that exit, just on the inside of the door. I can put one outside if you want.”

“Do it. No one is involved but me and you. Not even Gratteri. And no one sees that footage but me. Capisce?”

“Of course. I’ll get it up tonight, when no one’s around. We have those new tiny cameras the Guardia uses. I’ll put up one of those.”

“Good.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “Grazie.”

“Rav, don’t worry. Maybe they were out there doing blow. You never know with kids these days. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I nodded and clapped his shoulder. “God willing.”

Because the ’Ndrangheta did not tolerate gay men. They were feared and distrusted, and usually one of their family members killed them to save face.

I could not even contemplate what this meant for my son if it were true.