Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

The flight touched down in a white world. It had been snowing all night and in the morning, the world outside my aircraft window appeared to be entirely draped in white. Tugging on my faux fur-lined gloves, I huddled into my heavy coat and stepped out after thanking the crew. Phillippe was beside me, his stance that of a fighter, wary and alert. As we descended the stairs carefully, I saw the man who had come to collect me.

Siek Toth.

Beston had given me the brief details before we embarked on our epic journey.

Toth was a warlord and an arms dealer in the East European region. And Beston had also warned me gently to be careful when I spoke to the man. He was loyal to Lucien and they had been doing business for years. But being a traditional, conservative type of man, he had not been happy to learn that Lucien’s wife was dashing halfway across the globe to search for her missing husband.

Siek Toth subscribed to the view that I, as a mourning widow, should have taken to bed, weeping and taking care of my brood of kids. But I tilted my chin determinedly.

I was not going to comply with his set of rules. I wanted to find Lucien because I was certain he was still out there, somewhere. Alive.

*

Just before we had left the aircraft, I turned to Phillippe who sat, stiff and unbending.

“Why did you come with me, my son?” I asked gently.

He had seemed uneasy during the flight and I knew he was on the verge of being sick.

He turned to meet my eyes, his large brown eyes eloquent.

“Because I believe you. I know that the Boss is alive and I want to help you find him.’

The simplicity, the innocence, and the firm conviction in his voice caused my eyes to fill once more. I squeezed his hand and we sat in silence till the aircraft touched down.

*.

Now I looked at the man standing before me, clothed in heavy winter wear. The sun was coming out, creating a breathtaking panoramic view for us. The entire landscape was bathed in a radiant whiteness that would become blindingly bright in a few minutes; now it was just dawn and the light was muted.

Siek Toth was as handsome as Slovak men were reputed to be. Tall and well-built, he was also years younger than my husband, around Schwartz’s age. He had honey blonde hair and when he took off his dark glasses, I saw he had piercing grey eyes. But the unsmiling expression was a mirror image of Lucien’s, I thought with a jolt.

He was openly disapproving, and it showed in his body language, the stiff shoulders, the grave visage.

Here was a man who was not happy to see me.

His eyes flickered to Phillippe who stiffened as he noticed he was being critically observed.

But the man stepped forward, towering over me, and stretched out his hand.

‘Mrs. Delano.’ he said politely enough in heavily accented English, taking my gloved hand in his large one. I felt the strength of his hand and knew instinctively that here was a man who could be trusted.

He stepped away and led the way to a waiting car, along with another two black sedans parked behind his large vehicle.

We got into the car and swept off, heading into a wooded area that soon led to a large road. On either side of us rose the tallest trees I had ever seen and beyond it all, rose the mountains, spectacular and majestic.

*

Siek Toth was a man of few words. All he asked me was one question as we drove away,

“This boy?”

He jerked his chin to my young companion, grey eyes flicking from my face to Philippe’s searching for some trace of similarity.

I jutted out my chin.

“He is the son of my friend,” I said coolly, and was aware of Phillippe shooting a look at me, puzzled and bemused.

Toth nodded.

“I am taking you to the apartment where Delano was staying,” he stated and I murmured in assent. I was feeling weary but I pressed on.

‘Thank you for arranging everything for us…” I began, but the man cut me short.

“I am doing this for Lucien Delano, Madame.” He shot back and I stopped, biting my lip.

I remained with my eyes closed for the rest of the journey, Phillippe reached out furtively and patted my hand.

I smiled at the boy.

Knowing he was in my corner made the bleakness of the situation less grim.

*

Aiyana

Schwartz was conscious the next day and he smiled his lopsided rakish grin when Aiyana turned up in his room the next morning.

She sighed.

There were three nurses in his room, ranging from a young girl who must have just stepped out of her teens, another woman around her age, and the last, the matronly-looking one who had asked about Proserpina. All of them had uniformly goofy grins on their faces, smiling like besotted, lovestruck girls as they stared at him adoringly.

They were tittering at some remark he had made and she stopped in the doorway, looking at them. Handsome James, with a week’s growth of beard on his striking face, looked like a dashing pirate, his shirt open, revealing his muscled, lean physique. He was winking at the oldest woman who was blushing and pink, while the other two giggled.

Suddenly, the entire group became aware of her presence. Their smiles froze. Only Schwartz continued to look amused as his eyes shifted to her.

The nurses mumbled excuses and rushed out of the room, making Aiyana aware of the effect she inadvertently had upon people.

With a scowl, she marched up to Schwartz.

“Hey, Aiy!’ he said softly, smiling at her.

“Thanks for staying here, for …’

She cut him off shortly, almost with a sneer as she said.

“Your beloved Proserpina Delano is here, to search for her … husband.’

Her unsaid words,’ Who is dead.’ hung in the air.

The change in Schwartz’s face was a New York minute, she thought bitterly.

He looked shocked, ecstatic, and then, horrified, one after the other.

He sat up clumsily and exclaimed,

“WHAT???”

*

Proserpina

The apartment we were taken to was small but comfortable. I could sense Lucien’s presence in the clothes that were scattered around, and I picked up a shirt that had been hastily discarded on the bed.

I knew this shirt; I had bought it for him for one of the anniversaries of our first meeting and I stood, holding it tightly, inhaling the mild fragrance of his citrus cologne and the familiar smell of his body.

My eyes filled and the tears spilled over. Suddenly, I was so tired of it all, weary of fighting a battle single-handedly and I sank to the bed, weeping.

All I longed for was to be back home with my lover, my husband. I wanted to be with my children, the normal ruckus in the house was something I longed for, and the violent way Lucien claimed my body was something I yearned for…

I remembered unbuttoning his shirt, the very same one I was holding, in a hurry as he made fierce love to me…

*

A gentle knock on the door alerted me to the presence of someone outside my room.

Hastily, I stood up, sniffing and wiping my face. Putting on a brave face, I called out just as the door opened a crack and a familiar face peered in.

Phillippe stood there, his face ashen as he took in my expression. He ran to me and threw his arms around my waist, burying his face in my shoulder,

I knew he was trying to be brave, but his shoulders shook. We stood like that for a while, two people who had come in search of the Mafia Boss who owned our hearts…NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

***

Lucien

He woke up slowly, feeling drained and unable to move. His chest hurt and he realized he had a rough bandage around it.

What happened to me? He wondered blearily, unable to focus, his head spinning crazily.

His head was splintering, and he groaned as he tried to move, his throat was parched.

“Water…’ he grunted.

A woman’s voice replied softly,

‘I will get it for you, husband.’

His disoriented brain sent out signals of alarm.

Husband?

Who was this?

What was she saying?

Whose husband…???

But then, a beaker of cold water was placed to his lips and he drank thirstily, his head supported by a large, rough hand. A woman’s voice, the same voice, came like a whisper, close to his ear.

“Ah! My beloved husband. At last, you return to the world of the living. You have come back to me…”

He was too exhausted to protest. With a groan, he sank back into sleep and the heavy curtains of sleep fell over him, mercifully, putting an end to the multitude of questions that his tired brain was attempting to formulate.