Owning the Mafia Don

Bouras

And then, he saw them, a burly older man and a young woman. They were accompanied by a group of bodyguards hanging around discreetly. Not that the average tourist would have made them out but Bouras, with a lifetime’s experience in tracking celebrities, knew immediately that he was looking at bodyguards.

His antennae up and receiving signals now, he watched them keenly, his camera trained on them but discreetly.

It was the woman who caught his attention. Her flowing mane of brown hair, her laugh, a tinkling laugh, completely free of any guile, he thought wistfully, and the look on her face as she gazed at her companion; it was one of sheer adoration.

He felt a pang of envy as he watched her. She looked so happy and fresh. No man deserved a woman like her in such a world as this, he thought fretfully as he squinted into his lens.

She was curvaceous, with full breasts and a rounded a*se that made him long to feel her. In her mid-twenties, he thought as he fixed his lens on her, licking his lips unconsciously as he remained hiding behind a group of tourists who were sitting ahead of him. The couple was close enough now for him to snap their photographs, and he began at once.

He focussed on the woman, zooming in. As she laughed, he saw the column of her neck, the small pendant nestling between her plump breasts. He took pictures, his palms sweaty with excitement.

Dressed in a grey cropped top with spaghetti sleeves, topped with a pair of short blue shorts that skimmed the tops of her thighs, the young woman only had eyes for her escort.

She looked delicious, he thought and noticed that many of the men in the square had turned to look at her and then quickly looked away. Just as he was wondering why they were looking away, he saw her companion.

Proserpina

Lucien grunted. He seemed ready to indulge me.

We walked, hand in hand after a while and I forgot the looks coming our way as I savoured the salty sea breeze on my face, the warm sun and the nip in the air. Karras had left after promising to be back in the evening. Lucien’s men were with us as we moved, as we sat at a cafe to sip hot coffee and I laughed in the sheer joy of it all. Lucien’s narrow gaze was on my mouth when I met his eyes.

“What is it?’ he growled but his eyes twinkled benevolently.

“I have never done this with you, my husband, in all the years we have been together,’ I whispered and he gripped my hand fiercely. There was a momentary flash of pain in his grey eyes that disappeared behind his customary mask of arrogance. But I knew that my Mafia Don felt the same.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

*

Bouras

When he focussed his attention on the man, he stiffened.

The man must be older than the girl, at least a good twenty years old with grey-white hair and a thick, boxer’s body he thought in astonishment. The woman had not seemed like some of the pieces of fluff he usually saw, the kind who latched onto men for the money. This woman was looking at the man with love sparkling in her soft brown eyes. For a moment, his hand faltered; he recognised that look, from a long time ago when his wife had gazed at him in the early years of their marriage.

But that had been before everything in his life had begun to slide down into the depths of despair.

Irritated, he shook the thoughts away and trained his lens on the man.

As he zoomed in on the man, he felt a slight twinge of alarm. That hard profile, the cold blue-grey eyes, the nose with a broken bent and the air of confidence, the immediate respect he seemed to command.

He had seen the man before, perhaps in some news item but he could not place him. Warily, he snapped photographs of the man, the cold, pale eyes as they looked around the square. He felt a sudden chill. This man was a killer; it was there in his stance as he moved, the bulging muscles of his shoulders, the large hands that could easily break a man’s neck in two.

Bouras felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down his forehead as he felt the man’s eyes on the group in front of him but he ducked behind a plump Scandinavian tourist and stayed hidden.

*

He had had experiences of having been knocked around by irate bodyguards before so he kept capturing images in succession rapidly, determined to back up his pictures on the Cloud.

He only breathed a sigh of relief when the couple had sauntered away, the man’s arm encircling the young woman’s waist possessively.

The overweight photographer smiled to himself as he pocketed the memory cards and drifted away. There was a tingling feeling in his head, the feeling that he had stumbled on something that was about to fetch him The Big Bucks.

Now to get to his office and find out the identity of the man, he thought, rubbing his hands gleefully as he trotted away.

And of course, to wave the pictures under his editor’s nose.

*

Proserpina

That night, we had a traditional Greek dinner. Greek salad, the real thing, said our host Karras with a hearty chuckle, followed by Paidakia, lamb flavoured with lemon, oregano, salt and pepper, tangy and delicious.

Then there was Moussaka, the classic Greek dish, with ground meat, potatoes and creamy bechamel sauce. I was unable to eat any more but the dishes kept coming, delicious-looking stuffed peppers that followed, not to forget, the mouth-watering rice pudding.

*

Lucien looked at me, eyes mere slits as I laughingly refused another helping.

‘Eat up, woman.’ he growled and in a softer voice, audible only to me, he went on,

‘ It is going to be a long night for you, little one…’ his eyes ran over my clothes meaningfully.

I felt my cheeks flame and my breath came faster as I lowered my head. Luckily, our host had risen to attend a phone call and we were the only ones at the table, the only ones in the enormous dining room, at that!

I glanced down at my dress and felt the blood rush to my face.

*