Catherinelle by Diane Portman-Ray

 

10

 

I was waiting for her by the front door. I still couldn’t shake off the feeling that I was marked for life and death by this woman. She’d be my end, but she was also my beginning.

Sex was fun. I’d had a lot of it, but whatever happened earlier between Catherine and I was something radically different. It left me hungry for more and desperate to hold her, like some kind of force was pulling her away. No woman had made me feel anything remotely close. A nagging voice in the back of my head keep telling me that Catherinelle Nucci had put a leash on me, and the chain was in her hands.

She appeared at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a long, elegant fur coat that was covering the dress underneath almost entirely. All I could see were her satin gloves, a part of her skirt and the tips of her boots. The coat was mink with an extravagant white fox collar. Her grandfather had it made in Russia for his little princess’ birthday last year. It cost him over 30 grand, but if Cat wanted, Cat got, no questions asked, at least when her grandfather was concerned. The old man was still feared and respected across two continents, even if now his eyesight was too weak to aim a gun, but he had no chance in front of his granddaughter.

“You’re going to be hot in that. Freddy has a heated tent, Cat; it’s going to be 80 degrees in there.”

She rolled her eyes and stopped next to a mirror hanging on the wall by the bottom of the stairs to check her hair. She had washed it and fluffed it with a round hairbrush. Her pink frosted tips were hanging over her shoulders slightly curled, getting lost in the fur coat.

“It’s just for dramatic effect. How’s my make up?”

She turned to me in one move and waited for my input.

“You look hot.” The dark, thick eyelashes made her blue eyes seem even more whimsical, and the flaming red lipstick was calling for me to bite her lips. She was a fucking siren. “Can we go now?”

She smiled and touched my face with a gloved hand.

“You’re handsome too,” she said and then fixed the collar of my black silk shirt. “You should wear Versace more often.”

I didn’t dress up. It made me feel phony, like the ugly duckling who kept trying to be a swan or however that stupid story went. I was still an orphan from a family of Albanian immigrants that were killed in their own house. I starved. I slept in the sewers. I ate from trashcans and pickpocketed the rich to survive. The pile of cash I was sitting on now could never erase that. Gino, Roman? They were born into this privilege. I’d be surprised if Roman ever touched anything that didn’t come from a designer store. I was fine with jeans and a t-shirt that I could burn if I got blood on me. Of course, there were nights like tonight when I couldn’t show up in old jeans and insult Freddy, but I wasn’t willing to stuff myself into a suit, so dress pants, patent leather shoes and the silk shirt had to do it. She was right about the tag though. In the past twenty years, the Nuccis had rubbed off on me enough to make me buy Italian or not buy at all.

I drove us to Freddy’s estate and parked the car on the street because his driveway was already full. He had an impressive house here in The Hamptons, the size of a damn bed and breakfast with a large back yard with tennis courts and elaborate gardens. It was easy for him to fit a tent for a hundred or so people.

“We’ll have to walk. Are you ok in those heels, Cat, or do I have to carry you?”

“I can walk, Hugo.”

She rolled her eyes at me, but there was nothing I could do about it. Whatever this was, it had to stay behind closed doors and shut blinds.

I only got to take a few steps when Cat’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Hugo?” I turned to see her still next to the car with her hands on the hood. “There’s ice on the pavement.”

Ah, so she couldn’t walk after all. I went and picked her up without a word, and she put her hands around my neck.

“You should have worn winter things.”

“Pretty hurts, Mustafa, but thank you for being so sweet. I could kiss you right now,” she said and leaned in to do so, but I pulled away right on time.

“Don’t. Stop talking.”

A few feet away, Roman was just getting out of his sleek ’61 Lincoln Continental, putting on his hat. The man was a textbook gangster. The suit, the fedora, the long scarf over his coat, the leather driving gloves, he was the classic Italian-American mafiosi. I had never seen a wrinkle in his clothes in all my life.

After fixing his fedora and picking out some invisible lint on his sleeve, he looked up and saw me.

“Ah, Mustafa!” He stopped under one of the street lamps. “I see you have some precious cargo.”

“Yeah, she can’t walk because she can’t see the ice in the dark.”

I liberated one hand to shake his.

“Hugo doesn’t get the sacrifice one has to make to look good, Roman. Don’t mind him.”

“If I’m not used to this grump right here, no one is. Come stai stasera, Carina?” How are you tonight, beautiful?

“Sorprendente. Non vedo l'ora di vedere tutti, bere un bicchiere di vino.” Amazing. I can't wait to see everyone, have a glass of wine.

Yeah, I understood their fucking language. I started taking lessons as soon as Umberto took me under his wing. It was part of my formation, he had said. Right then, I hated the fucking lingo. Something ugly turned and knotted in my gut seeing Roman and Catherinelle sharing it; another thing that made her so like them and made me so fucking different. This was her famiglia, her people. I was just the muscle who had to carry her around.

I was fine with my place in life. I accepted it when I was fucking seven years old, and I made it further than many of my enemies. Someday – maybe soon, maybe later – I’d die in peace because I went from the streets to live a life of luxury. I gained two brothers along the way, Roman and Gino, and bought myself a few good years with a gun in my hand. It started to become clear than on my dying bed, she would be my only regret.

If a whisper got out that I had dared to touch Catherinelle Nucci, Gino would cut my hand off. She was meant to marry someone great, with a name and loads of cash, an Italian pure bred. I bet they’d all go fucking nuts with joy if she’d walk in one day announcing she fell for Roman. The taste of jealousy felt strange and bitter in my mouth.

“You two wanna stay here and chat all night? I’m freezing my ass off,” I grunted and started walking to the house without waiting for an answer.

Roman caught up with us in a few strides.

“You don’t look so happy tonight, fratello.” It was true; he was my fratello giurato – my sworn brother – and unfortunately for me, he could see when I was in a mood.

“I don’t like these parties.” Which was partly true.

“Ah, come on! We’ll have a whiskey and smoke some Cubans. If you’re nice, I might introduce you to Maria, the concierge from the hotel I’m staying at. Long black hair, legs that run for miles.” He slapped me on the arm. “Just how you like them, my friend.”

A few days ago that proposal would have peaked my interest but not anymore. Cat gave a nasty look and frowned.

“You guys are disgusting. Hugo, take me inside.” I was glad to see the feeling was mutual.

All three of us walked to the front door where a young butler dressed like a penguin welcomed us. He took Roman’s coat and hat while I placed Cat on her own feet.

“Miss, can I take your coat?”

“Please,” she said, smiling and turned so he could take it off her shoulders.

The moment the fur came off her shoulders, my heart fucking stopped. There was no blood flowing in me, no air going into my lungs. All I saw were stunning legs and thigh-high boots, a neckline that uncovered the valley of round breasts, and Catherinelle looking like she was on a fucking red carpet. I thought she had picked a simple black dress; the thought that it might be split twice, revealing so much of her, didn’t cross my mind. I loved it and hated it at the same time.

Roman let out a long whistle and took her hand.

“Spin for us, carina.” He turned her around a couple of times. “Gino’s right to worry about you, you know? You turned into such a beautiful woman. We’ll have to chase men away from you with shotguns.”

She laughed and gave him a hug. A fucking hug. Her tits touched his chest. It took all my willpower to stay put and not push her back, drag her to the car and lock her in the trunk.

“Thank you, Roman. You’re too kind.”

“Nah, Cat-cat, you’re beautiful. Love you, kiddo.”

When the fuck did this turn into the Catherinelle-and-Roman-fucking-sentimental-show?

“Love you too.”

They had to be fucking kidding me. Before they got a chance to say wedding vows, the butler intervened.

“Go through the back glass doors to the tent.”

Roman and Catherinelle started in that direction, but I stopped her grabbing her elbow.

“Roman, go ahead, I have to make sure Catherinelle knows who’ll drive her back. I’ll be drinking.”

He looked at me with his eyebrows raised.

“O…k.” He put two fingers to his eyebrow. “See you in there, brother.”

As soon as he was out through the doors, I pushed Cat into a separate hallway.

“You don’t have to worry about driving. Caroline told me they have drivers on standby to take everyone home.”

“I don’t fucking care about driving back. I’ll walk if I have to.”

I’d walk all the way to New York City if it would have calmed me down.

“What is it then?” She was asking me this like nothing fucking happened while I was breathing fire.

“Stop. Fucking. Hitting. On. Roman.”

Her eyes, usually the color of a June sky, started to get cloudy.

“What?”

“Do you wanna drive me crazy?”

“Yes! With my dress, not with Roman. Where did you get that idea? I wasn’t hitting on him.”

I was so angry, I walked a few steps in a small circle to regain focus.

“You…What the fuck was that then, Cat? You just told the guy you loved him?”

She crossed her arms and puffed a laugh, like she couldn’t believe my words.

“Because I do. Are you serious right now? I love him like a sister loves a brother. He basically is my brother and my brother’s best friend.”

“You say that like it would stop you from jumping his bones.”

Why the fuck did you open your stupid trap, Mustafa? I regretted every word before I was done. Catherinelle gasped and stepped back, looking horrified at what she heard.

“Bastardo,” she hissed, and I deserved it. She always turned all Italian when she was angry.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. I didn’t mean that.”

“Listen to me, Hugo Mustafa.” She launched herself forward and stabbed my chest with a finger. “If you think I want to fuck my way through Gino’s circle of friends, you couldn’t be more wrong. Even if I did, I don’t see why it would bother you since all the women who turned your head since the ‘80s were cheap whores!” Her voice kept going higher and higher, but I cared more about making peace with Cat in this moment rather than if someone might overhear us.

“Baby, I’m sorry.” I took her porcelain face in my hands. “I’m angry. I’m a possessive pig. You said it, I’m a bastard. You drive me crazy. Forgive me, princess.”

“Is that what you think?” Her voice was low this time. “That I’m easy because I keep trying to bring you to my bed?”

“No, Cat, Jesus. No. I’m sorry.” I was a broken record. “Jealousy got the best of me. Roman likes beautiful women, and you are the most beautiful thing that ever walked this earth.”

“Roman watched me growing up. He’s family, that’s all.”

“I watched you grow up, and all I can’t think about is banging your brains out.”

“But you won’t. Trust me, I love Roman. I love Ignazio; I love Bianca; I love Gino and Muse; I love Vito, Vincenzo and Lola. I even love Uncle Pepe, even if he has all that hair on his chest and sheds like a collie. It’s nothing compared to what I feel for you.” Physically – the voice in my head screamed – she meant physically! “Now kiss me because we’re gonna go in there, and I won’t be able to touch you for hours.

We collided in a kiss, but I was careful to control myself and not ruin her red lipstick. Restraining myself in public would be a bitch. Why the fuck did she have to be so beautiful?