Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

I sat in the room, my breath coming fast as Beston looked around helplessly.

‘You do not understand, Ma’am,’ he began pleading with me but I was like a woman on a mission, self-righteousness in my voice as I said peremptorily,

“No, Beston. Do YOU understand?’ I hissed fiercely, taking a step towards him.

Swallowing with difficulty, I went on, sticking out my chin,

“My husband is alive. I will only believe otherwise when I know his body has been found.’ He gaped at me, a gesture that was totally out of sync with the head of Security at our estate, a man who took decisions based on his judgment, and who worshipped Lucien St. Claire. Who could not believe that I was accusing him of fooling me.

Clenching my fists, and breathing hard, I stood before him,. Beston was a big man, he easily dwarfed me but on this occasion, I was much more formidable.

Meeting his eyes, I gritted my teeth and said, in a low voice,

‘I want to go to this town you speak of. In Slovakia. I want to find my husband.’

His face blanched. His expressions, flitting across his granite-like countenance, ranged from pity to exasperation. But I stood resolute. If he had expected me to continue weeping, being the subdued widow, he was sadly mistaken.

He shook his head, and tried again, gently this time,

“Ma’am, you cannot,’ he began and I snapped,

‘Why ever not, Beston? Surely you will either send a posse of men to escort me or you will accompany me yourself, won’t you?’

His face darkened.

Then he nodded stiffly and said,

‘Right, Ma’am. Whenever you are ready…’

I cut him off.

“This afternoon. ‘ I said swiftly. ‘As soon as you can arrange a flight.’

Once again, he looked taken aback. Then he sighed, his shoulders drooping and said tightly,

‘I will make all the arrangements, Ma’am.’ And then, almost hesitating, he added,

‘I think it would be better if I stayed behind.’ I glared at him, my eyes narrowing, preparing for combat.

*

Hastily, he backtracked,

‘I mean, I shall see that the arrangements are made for you to leave at the earliest.’

I nodded my head firmly.

‘Good,’ I said crisply, ‘Do it at once. I want to leave at the earliest. ‘

I turned away and heard him leave. The moment he was out of the room, my shaking knees gave way. I slid onto the low seat by the window and bit my lip to prevent myself from bursting into tears.

But I had made up my mind and nothing was going to make me change my decision.

I was going to go to Slovakia and find my husband.

*

A few hours later, I was standing before my startled family and staff, in our war room, the kitchen.

Ria stood, her hand clutching mine as she listened to my decision. As usual, we were in the kitchen. All my children were around me. I held baby Tara in my arms. When I saw Rachel open her mouth to protest, I shook my head firmly.

“No, I said stubbornly, ‘No, I am leaving. In a few hours. Do not try to stop me, please.’

Danielle was pacing the clean tiled floor, smoking nonstop although I had been frowning warningly at her. Rachel looked at her in disgust.

“Can you stop?’ she shouted. “there are young children here.’

Danielle rounded on her but I stopped them from going at it, hammer and tongs.

“Please, Dani, Rachel.’ I whispered, “I need both of you to stop this. I am leaving. I need both of you to be here to look after my chidden.’

Both the women stopped, short. Rachel stepped to me. Enfolding me in a bear hug, she spoke into my ear.

“My girl,’ she drawled,’ You take care. We will be here.’

And she glanced over her shoulder at Danielle who nodded shortly.

*

Philippe stepped forward as my twins hugged me.

“I am going to come with you,’ he said, his eyes glinting fiercely.

“I want to be with you, I want to help you find the Boss.’ I smiled and placed a hand on his shoulders, surprised at the feel of the strong muscles that I could sense through the thin shirt.

Reading my expression rightly, he stuck out his chin belligerently.

He shook his head and went on,

“Please, Ma’am.’

The large brown eyes were earnest and pleading and my heart melted.

Ria moved closer and spoke in a stage whisper,

‘Let him come with you, please, Mumma.’ Her bottom lip quivered and she looked angelic and pure and my heart swelled with love.

I knelt down before her, wrapping an arm around Piers and kissing Claude who had wobbled across to me.

‘I shall be back with your Pappa.’ I said,”I promise.’

My heart warned me not to make a promise without knowing if I could keep it. But I was hell-bent on doing what I had to.

Rising to my feet, I hurried to my room to put together a suitcase.

Then I made a call to Aiyana.

A call I was not looking forward to making.

*

Aiyana

She picked up the phone, weary and bone-tired. She had been at the hospital, waiting patiently as the surgery was conducted on Schwartz. The doctors had taken a long time since the wounds were serious. She swallowed another gulp of the bitter, foul-tasting coffee she had taken from the vending machine and grimaced. But it was the only thing available. The two men who had remained with her were at the hospital with her. One of them suddenly approached her, wide-eyed.

He held out the phone in his hand,

“Ma’am,’ he said breathlessly,’ It’s a call for you. From the Boss’ house.’

Frowning, she took the phone, wondering who could be calling. She was sure that Proserpina would be devastated on hearing the news of Lucien. But to her shock, Proserpina’s soft, melodious voice came over the line.

‘Aiyana?’ she said softly.

A jolt of reaction shot through Aiyana. Of envy and anger.

She did not hate Proserpina but she had begun to resent the woman who had unknowingly, inadvertently, snared Schwartz and kept him prisoner in her silken web.

She glared at the receiver and then said tightly, trying to soften her voice but not really succeeding.

She knew she sounded hostile and cold but she could not help it.

*

At the other end of the line, far away in warm Hollowford, Proserpina sighed.

She had guessed that it was going to be difficult to get Aiyana on her side; for some reason, the woman appeared to be unapproachable and unfriendly. Proserpina did not know when the change had occurred but she guessed it was recent. Earlier, Aiyana had been cool and aloof as was her wont. now she was downright antagonistic. But Proserpina had made up her mind and went on speaking,

“Aiyana, I am coming over there to you. I am leaving for Slovakia this afternoon.’Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

Aiyana stared at the phone in her hand, disbelievingly.

And then, before she could stop herself, she snapped,

“Whatever for? Don’t you get it? Your husband is dead.”

Proserpina was silent for a long while and when her voice came over the line, there was a distinct change in her tone; it was tougher, more authoritative.

‘I believe that Lucien is still alive, “she said quietly.

Giving a satirical laugh, Aiyana asked,

“His body must have sunk to the bottom of the river by now. You think You can FIND him?”

The unspoken words were; you are an academician, a cook and a mother. Hardly the stuff enterprising people like Lara Tomb and Indiana Jones are made of.

And she did not try to disguise the mocking note in her voice this time.

“It is just a waste of resources and of our time,” she snapped.

Proserpina swallowed down her pain, hard. She would not give in to this woman’s provocation. For some unknown reason, Aiyana seemed to think she was her enemy.

Swallowing her pain at the woman’s thoughtless cruelty, Proserpina went on in a gentler voice.

She said,

“I do not think so. Because Aiyana, I need to know for myself that the only man I have ever loved is no more.”

The simple, dignified statement made Aiyana pause. There was a wealth of sadness, so profound, it made her ache as she saw how much Proserpina was going through. The cold words of disdain died on her lips.

“Very well.” She said shortly and ended the conversation even as Proserpina replaced the phone quietly.

*

Miles away on a snowy slope in Slovakia, another chapter was unfolding.

The burly man lay on the bed, tossing and turning, his strong, but wounded body burning with a fever. He was naked as he lay on the tiny cot, having tossed off his clothes sometime during the night.

The old man watched him in a puzzled way as the large woman stooped over the unconscious man, wiping his forehead and delicately draping the worn, tattered old quilt over the man’s powerful, muscular torso, with the generous growth of hair, her hand lingering possessively over the sculpted chest in a proprietorial manner.

“Father,’ she said in a soft voice, ‘he is delirious.’

Her gaze had wandered to his manhood, large and flaccid as it lay, but impressive to look at. The man was unaware that he had exposed himself to her greedy eyes.

The old man nodded. His weathered, lined old face was weary and lined.

But he watched the woman warily.

‘Ivica,’ he sighed as the woman bustled around, wiping the stranger’s brow tenderly.

‘Yes, Father,’ she went on, brushing away her thin, wispy hair, trailing her hand almost lovingly over the man’s chest, eyes sparkling hungrily,

‘ He keeps saying, woman…woman… I have tried to ask him what he means…’