Owning the Mafia Don

Lucien

He was on the phone talking to Schwartz when his children entered. His eldest, the twins, along with the tall boy with the shock of unruly black hair and deep brown eyes, lanky Philippe, the gardener’s son, trailing behind them. The teen looked nervous but Ria stepped forward, her hand in her brother’s, chin jutting out.

“Pappa, we need to talk to you.’ he scowled at them.

“I am busy, he snapped and returned to his call, swivelling his seat away from them. he was dimly aware that the children continued to wait but he was too preoccupied.

‘Come back later.’ he snapped and then as Ria hesitated, he roared,’ I SAID, LEAVE, NOW!’

The little girl’s eyes widened in fright but then she pouted and the three youngsters left eh room.

Phillipe stuck his hands in his back pockets. Lucien waited till they had left eh room before returning to the call.

***

Schwartz had left for Central Europe. There had been no point in cancelling the mission completely. Aiyana had opted to accompany him, which seemed like a good idea to Lucien. But he was furious; Furious that his wife had blindly, stupidly put her life on the line for the sake of the woman who had just died.

He blamed himself; he should have finished her off a long while ago. He was also angry that he was not in the aircraft with Schwartz. He had wanted to be part of the chase. Now he could not leave his family, at least for another week.

Proserpina had disappeared upstairs and had not eaten anything, from Beatrice’s report. the old woman had shuffled into his study, preparing to give him a talking to. But when he had rounded on her ferociously, she had marched off.

Now he listened to Schwartz, tiredly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and winced.

Schwartz and Aiyana had landed in Slovakia.

Dmitri was heading home.

***

It was almost midnight when he stopped working and looked up tiredly as the door opened after a timid knock.

His daughter, Ria stood there. Lucien scowled. He had already drunk almost an entire bottle of whiskey.

“Why are you not in bed?’ he shouted. The little girl stepped inside, her golden hair confined in two firm braids. She was wearing her pyjamas. His son, his large eyes glowing owlishly behind the spectacles, came in and stood beside his sitter. The gardener’s son, young Philippe brought up the rear. Lucien groaned inwardly.

“What is it?’ he thundered.

“Pappa, please do not be angry with Mumma,” said Ria in a small voice, her small face wearing a beseeching expression as she stood away from him.

Oh, so that was what this was about, he thought grimly and poured another stiff drink, gulping it down, relishing the burning sensation it left behind.

“Did your mother send you?’ he growled.

Ria’s eyes flashed coldly.

“Mumma would never do that!’ she said in a brittle voice.

Piers said, ‘Pappa, you have to listen to us now.’ His eyebrows shot up

But then, Philippe stepped forward. He took his hands out of his pockets and said in a gruff voice, ‘It was I, Sir. I took Ria and Piers with Paddy to meet Sophia…’

His voice faltered but Ria turned to look at him steadily and he went on with a sigh.

“When Ms Proserpina heard us she came running…’

He lowered his head, his cheeks dark with embarrassment.

The boy had never had the courage to speak to him before. Now he stood stiffly, in his too-short trousers that only reached his ankles and his faded old shirt.

Quizzically, Lucien eyed them.

He had an apology to make.

***

Proserpina

I had chosen to sleep on the couch in the spare bedroom on the same floor as the other bedrooms. This was the one room Schwartz used when he stayed overnight. I did not want to be anywhere near Lucien. I had sobbed myself to sleep. He had been downstairs working and I knew his man had carried a tray of food to him in the study.

Ria and Piers had been hovering near his door, hell-bent on explaining things but he had shooed them away once.

***

I woke up suddenly, my heart hammering in my chest. My heart was pounding and my nightshirt was wet with sweat. I had been having a nightmare. Glancing at the time, I noticed that it was close to three a. m. Lucien was still in his study; I could see the light in his study which was in the opposite wing, facing this particular bedroom.

Sighing, I turned around and willed myself to sleep. My stomach rumbled; I had missed dinner. But I was too weary and heartbroken to do anything.

If only I had died, I thought in a fit of self-pity and then, immediately stopped myself.

There were too many things to keep me going; my children, my work. And yes, the love I had for my husband, who was crude and coarse and violent as he was,.

Lucien Delano was still the man I loved, the father of my six children…

Rolling around, I finally sank into a fitful sleep.

***NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

Lucien

He had received the news when he was preparing to go upstairs to bed. His bodyguard had changed. The man who came in at night had seemed anxious.

“Boss,’ he said diffidently. Lucien looked up at him.

Wordlessly, he handed Lucien his phone. Beston had sent a message.

Catalina was dead.

She had been found floating in the swimming pool of Perez, the man who had bought her.

Perez had not contacted him but Lucien knew.

Catalina had died the way she had lived, in a bizarre, flashy way. Overdosed.

He shrugged his shoulders. Dmitri had got to her after all.

Strangely enough, he could not feel anything for her. The days when they had been young, together, spending nights in a small room, f8cking, again and again. For him it had been a release from the grim life he lived on the streets, never knowing if he would live to see another day. For her, it had been a thirst, a quest to please him and satisfy her kinky nature.

But he felt no great remorse. She had tried to harm Proserpina.

Then he heard a sound that made him raise his head.

His wife was screaming.