Sold to Mr. Giordano

Antonio

Arielle and Arabella walk into the apartment with sated looks plastered on their faces. Carmelo had informed me earlier that they were getting massages and I was pleasantly surprised to hear so—they both needed it. In fact I need one as well, the stress of these past few months, the duty of being a Capo, worrying about my own men, the weekly raids on The Bratva… it all was going to cause my hair to turn gray.

Aside from the girls happy grins, Carmelo is sporting a pissed off look aside from his normal stoic expression he usually wears. I stand from the couch and arch my eyebrow, “What happened?”

“Someone bumped into Arielle, knocked her to the ground and told her to watch where she was going.”

I clench my fists and my blood begins to boil. “And you didn’t kill him?” I say through gritted teeth.

 Carmelo gives me a devilish smile. “No, Capo, because I got his name for you.” My smile begins to match his. “Gordon Kellner.”

I reach for my coat but before I can do so Arielle rushes over and grabs me by the arm. She looks up at me with those innocent beautiful blue eyes. “No, you can’t he didn’t mean too.”

“He disrespected both you and me. I can’t have that,” I shake my head. “A lesson needs to be taught.”

“Can’t we let it go?” She frowns.

“That asshole knew he hit a Giordano, if nothing happens to him then he knows that he can do whatever the hell he wants in my city with no consequence. I don’t want rumors to spread that I have gone weak.‍ He’s a dead man, Arielle, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

 “Wow,” Arabella marvels while plopping grapes in her mouth. “A man bumps you in the shoulder and he’s a deadman I wonder what Antonio would do if he knew a man was the one who gave you a massage.”

I nearly choke on the air I’m breathing. “What?!” I shout furiously.

“Antonio, it was his job!” Arielle whines.

“So you just let a man touch what is mine? Next time that shit happens you request a female to massage you!”

Arielle’s sad expression soon turns ferocious and her fists clench before sticking out her index finger and poking it into my chest. “You’re mad because another man is touching what is yours when you don’t even touch what is yours.”

Yes, I’m all too aware that I haven’t had sex since my honeymoon and it’s been the longest I’ve ever gone. I didn’t need Carmelo to hear that though. My men like to think my wife is obedient and willing in bed every night—I let them think whatever they want.

“Arielle now is not the time,” I say lowly.

“Then when is?” She shouts frustrated.

I would love to give her a good hard smack on her ass to teach her a lesson about talking back and yelling at me in the presence of my men. This woman is infuriating.

I shoot Arabella and Carmelo a glance that tells them to go upstairs and do anything but be here right now. They get the hint and run up the stairs leaving us to our privacy. I turn back to Arielle and rub at my forehead. “I’m a very busy man, Arielle. I don’t have time to be whatever fantasy you conjured up about what your future husband was going to be like. I have an empire to run, I have battles to fight and men to control. I can’t stay here and tend to your every whim. I am not the type of man who will cuddle up on the couch with you and watch your favorite movie. I am not going to buy you flowers or write you heartfelt cards. I will buy you what you need and protect you—that’s all.”

 She almost looks as though she’s fighting back tears. “Fine.”

“Fine? Is that all?” I thought for a minute she was going to chew my ear off.

“What else do you want me to say?” She sniffles. “I can’t change you into the person I want, divorce isn’t an option and neither is leaving the mafia life. I have no choice in this and I think… I think it’s about time I realize that.”

That’s when I notice the little light in her eyes fade away as if she’s giving up. As if she was reaching toward mending a relationship with me and now knows it’ll never be.

Good.

I’m glad she finally gets the picture.

“If you’ll excuse me, Gordon Kellner is on my list right now and I have no desire to leave this problem unattended. I’ll be back later tonight, don’t wait up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she mumbles and miserably heads up the stairs with slumped shoulders as she drags her feet behind her.

I curse under my breath as my heart gets a tinge of pain in it and I rub my chest to ease the soreness. There’s no way I can afford to get soft. Not now.

 I thought about how she signed herself up for online college and I just know how ridiculous it is. A waste of money if you ask me. I don’t care how much money she spends on my credit card and I don’t take to checking out my finances that much, but when I did and saw that lengthy bill for tuition and classes…

 A woman in her position doesn’t need college and she certainly won’t be making a career out of whatever she gets her degree in. No, not unless Carmelo could follow her around everywhere.

But I’ll let her have this sliver of happiness she thinks school will bring her.

I grab Rocco and one of my trusted underbosses, Vito, as we do some uncovering of Gordon Kellner. In an instant, with the technology I have in my office, we find out an address along with other personal information. The man leads a boring life working as an attorney at some small firm. He lives alone in a two bedroom apartment—no wife or kids. Not that having either of those would stop me from ripping him to shreds.

Gordon lived three blocks down from my apartment building. Three blocks down means close vicinity and close vicinity means his chances of running into me or my wife again are very high. And we wouldn’t want that. I’m going to take care of this little problem and serve him a lesson in manners. Manners he should bear when in the presence of this city’s Capo or any Giordano —like my wife.

Rocco and Vito follow behind me as we enter the building. It wasn’t run down, in fact you’d have to make a little over middle class salary to afford a place here. The security in the lobby stopped us, mainly because we broke in. The front door only opened if you had a key or you were buzzed in. I was neither—so we broke in.

“Mr. Giordano,” the guard on duty stutters. “Is there a problem?”

“We will pay to have the door fixed, anyone asks say some stupid kid was throwing rocks. You’ll let us through.” I wasn’t asking him to let us through as I strode past the cop and clicked the button on the elevator.

Vito digs in his pockets until he pulls out a wad of cash and slaps it into the guards hand. He and Rocco are back at my side by the time I press the close doors button on the elevator and ride it all the way up to floor twelve.

The window down the hallway shows that the sun has set and darkness replaced the sky. Night time was always my favorite time of day. It was the time when my father stopped beating me and either passed out from all the alcohol he ingested or he left to do his own Capo duties. Night time was also a time of peace, where I could relax and calm my mind that never stopped thinking. Night time is when you can seek out meaningless pleasures and not have to face the indecency of it—fucking in a dark room not knowing who it is… not caring who it is. Solely focusing on pleasure and pleasure alone. Night time for Made Men is also when we do our killing and right now I’ve been itching to teach someone a lesson.

Behind the door of a hundred and twenty one sits a prick who knocked down my wife on the street and thinks he can still stand without a scratch on him. I am kindly here to show him that he is wrong. You do not touch what is mine—ever.

Rocco knocks down the door by kicking it in. The wood door flies off the hinges and into the main hallway of the shitty apartment that smells like cat litter. When we are inside the apartment Vito picks up the door and poorly places it against the threshold simulating a shut door.

A gangly man comes into view, he has a towel in his hands wiping water that is dripping from hands. Gordon is wearing a white button up with a blue checkered design on it, he’s wearing black dress pants which tells me he may have just gotten home from his work. He has no shoes on and the only thing covering his feet are thick white socks. His hairline is receding and is wearing square glasses magnifying his frightened blue eyes.

“No, no!” He takes a few steps back and nearly trips over his own coffee table.

“Do you know who I am?” I give him a tight lipped smile.

     “M-m-m-m-” he stammers but it also seems as though he may have forgotten my name. “You’re in the Mafia?”

“No,” I shake my head. “You see, I am the Mafia. I am the Boss, the Don, the Capo. Capisce?”

The man nods his head so hard and fast he could almost snap his neck that way.

“Word is you knocked down my wife on the street earlier today.”

“I’m so sorry! I was in a rush and I didn’t see her—”

“Watch where you’re going,” I grab my knife from my belt and walk toward him. I grab the towel out of his hand polish my knife with it. My blade is already clean, but I do this because I know in his eyes it’s unnerving—menacing. “Those were the words you said to my wife. You see, I don’t take too kindly to people touching what is mine. Let alone do I let someone knock my woman down to the point where her ass was touching the filth of the street.”

“I’m so sorry,” he was now whimpering and crying.

“Do you think my wife’s ass deserved to be on the cold street ground?”

“No!” He says quickly.

“Because it’s filthy, right?”

“Right. Right!”

“And she has a pretty nice ass, doesn’t she?” I chuckle.

Gordon nervously laughs back and agrees. “Yeah. Yeah she does.”

My knife clatters to the floor as I pounce at Gordon wrapping my hands around his slender throat. I apply pressure. “Wrong answer.”

“Please,” he begs and tries to claw at my arms pathetically.

“If one of my men wasn’t there with her earlier she probably would’ve apologized to you and let you go no problem. No fuss. Because that is the type of woman she is. She’s a no fuss kind of lady. Doesn’t quite like to get her hands dirty…. nor her ass,” a side of my lips tug up in a half-smile. “Unfortunately, I am not my wife and I am not going to let this go without punishment. You must live under a rock, Kellner,” I apply a bit more pressure for emphasis. “Everybody knows who I am and since you seemed to forget I am going to do something to help you remember.”

I snap my finger and Vito and Rocco grab the man and throw him over a chair so he is bending over it. They hold him down while I remove his pants. I grab my knife and begin to crave into the skin of his ass. “My wife might have a nasty bruise after you knocked her down. It’s only fair, don’t you think?” It was rhetoric and I have already finished the ‘G’ in Giordano when I stop talking.

Gordon screams and struggles but Rocco and Vito hold him down good and no doubt as going to leave bruises from their handling. I carve seven more letters in their capital form and make sure they’re big and will scar permanently. That way he knows not to knock down a lady—especially my lady and he’ll never forget the Giordano name and he owns this city. This was killing two birds with one stone.

“Done,” I pull back and this time really clean my dirty blade with his white towel.

Rocco and Vito let go of him and the frail man crumples to the ground. His breathing is ragged and by the confused expression in his face he might’ve passed out or faintly briefly. I kick him in the gut and then punch him in the face. I grab his collar and pull his face up to mine. “If I hear one thing about you, Kellner. One thing of any significance or insignificance I will kill you. You touch my wife again and I will cut you into little pieces while you are still breathing and conscious and even when you are begging for death I will not grant you it until I feel like it. Are we clear?” I drop him back to the ground.

“Yes. Yes!” He sobs. I throw the bloody towel at his face and place my knife back in its holder at my side.

I turn sharply on my heel and throw the flimsy door out of my way and head toward the elevator to exit this place. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins in the most delicious way, there is no feeling better than dominance and power over those who deserve punishment. My heart is thumping with excitement and hands itch for more bloodshed.

Lately I’ve been working tirelessly on missions destroying as much of the Bratva as I can. They had stolen one of our drug shipments and killed the man who was supposed to deliver—one of my men. I had gone on a rampage insane with anger. No one in any territory has lost this much men in so little time. It is infuriating me. Arielle ‘s father continues to send men and it makes me wary how easily he is in helping me after so many of his men have died in my territory because of the damn Bratva.

“How about we hit up the club?” Rocco nudges me.

After Rocco and I came back from missions we always went to the club and grabbed ourselves a couple of whores to find pleasure in. Now, all I feel like doing is having a strong drink and going to bed. Ever since Arielle, I tried to seek out my pleasure in the whores at the strip club, they always worked before my marriage, but now when I go, I watch them. They give me lap dances and then nothing. It’s so fucking embarrassing sending them away just because I can’t get in the mood.

I can’t get her big blue eyes out of my head or that sassy mouth of hers. I picture her body and how much pleasure it gave me the night of our honeymoon. Her moans ring in my ears and suddenly I find myself desiring the woman I have at home instead of the one in front of me willing.

“Sure.” Maybe this time will be different.

 Vito, despite being married to his wife for eleven years and has two sons, finds a stripper to bring back right away. Rocco and I raid the bar having our usuals. Rocco likes to analyze all the women before choosing—as do I. This, is strictly drinking though. Maybe if I drink enough I can convince myself into not feeling guilty about having a warm body that isn’t my wife’s.

“Trouble in paradise?” Rocco raises an eyebrow.

“Has been since the wedding night,” I say aggravated. He knows this.

“Precisely why I am not getting married. You are pussy whipped by a girl who will not give you her pussy.”

I grind my teeth and growl. “Watch it.”

“Come on,” he slaps my shoulder. “You have been miserable, that’s what depriving yourself of sex will do to you. You are Capo, you need to relax and unwind. We can’t have a tense boss.”

“I can do my job perfectly fine,” I down the entirety of my drink. Scotch on the rocks.All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Sure you can, but you could do it better if you found someone to suck your dick.” Rocco orders us another round and then turns to look at the raven haired beauty on the pole in the middle of the room.

“Want her?”

Rocco smirks. “She’d look pretty with her lips wrapped around me.”

“Once you leave you won’t find me when you come back. I’m going home,” I grab my second drink, finish it, then stand.

Rocco pulls me back down to me seat and I give him a pissed off look. Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean I won’t punish him for touching me like that. As Capo you can’t show any weakness or that anyone has any type of power over you. Like making me stay somewhere I don’t want to be.

“Xander, come on brother.”

“I’ve had enough for one day, Rocco.” I rub at my forehead wishing I could get Arielle out of my head. It seems as though the more I drink the more my brain likes to remember every little insufferable detail about her.

The car takes me home while my brother and Vito enjoy whatever they make their whores do. Just thinking about the girls at the strip club make my cock hard but not enough to seek them out. They bore me now; their submission bores me. Me. How the hell does their submission bore me when I am the most dominant person in the city. Every yields to me and if they don’t, they suffer the price.

My phone in my back pocket rings and I groan as I shift to grab and answer it. “Yeah,” is all I say.

“Brother-in-law,” I recognize that cruel voice anywhere—Luca. “Have you been treating my sister well?”

“As if you care,” I respond nonchalantly. It was no secret Luca is a cruel, emotionless sociopath. He definitely doesn’t give two shits about how his sister is treated considering him and their father treated her like dirt since the moment she was born.

Woman born in the Famiglia were not as lucky as the men. Sure they didn’t have to become cold blooded killers with black hearts, but they were forced into bending their knees for males they were forced to marry. Their jobs were simple in this lifestyle, marry for family benefit and create sons for their husbands.

“True,” he shrugs it off. “I will be coming up in two days’ time to officially announce my engagement with Arabella and do some wedding planning.”

“I’ll tell Arabella in the morning,” I hang up first.

The last thing I wanted right now is that bastard in my city. Just before the Outfit and New York have a truce doesn’t mean I trust or like the Ricci’s. I especially don’t like them now when they know we are weak. If war breaks out between our two cities my people would be slaughtered. Not because we aren’t good, Hell my men are the best, but no one can be the best when they are outnumbered.

And we are severely outnumbered.

My underbosses and captains have suggested that our women produce more men so we have a strong line in the next fifteen to twenty years. It seemed like a good idea until I realized how much I particularly don’t want children at the moment. Maybe never. As Capo I’m expected to have a son so he could be next in line after I die, but I realized my son would have to live how I lived—being hardened by his father. Killing and fucking people when he has barely reached his teenage years. Worrying about the Bratva kidnapping my child to get to me. Enduring a life of threat and danger.

I love this life and I was born in blood, born in the Famiglia and will be until the day I die. It is my life and the life I would have chosen even if I was given a choice but for some reason thinking of son walking in my footsteps makes my stomach churn. A son with her big innocent eyes…

I shake the thought from my head and mentally beat myself up shocked at who I was becoming. Why the fuck should I care? I should want to give my son my life. He’ll be powerful and feared. That is how Giordano men are and that is how a son of mine will be.

I tread carefully in my own bedroom not wanting to wake Arielle. If I were to wake her up it would only spark a conversation. She would ask me where I’ve been and if I killed Gordon. She would be relieved that I didn’t kill him but then she would ask where I was for so long and if I’m unlucky enough she would smell the cigarettes, booze, and sex stained on my clothes.

I definitely have to take a shower. I glance at Arielle sleeping peacefully in bed.

Her golden hair cascades down her shoulders, her skin looks pale tonight but also milky and soft. She is sprawled out on her side but is cuddling my pillow to her chest with her face smothered in the material of the pillowcase. It’s as if she was trying to inhale my scent and maybe she was. There is no crease between her eyebrows, the one that she usually has when she is worried, unsure or has one of her strong opinions to discuss.

That is a look she always seems to have with me, unlike when she is home relaxing or with Arabella. When I watch the surveillance videos I have stored in the house I’ll watch her. I’ll watch how she laughs with Arabella and gets excited when they both talk about a subject they’re both interested in. Or I’ll watch her on the couch reading a book and how she’ll sometimes smile to herself at a good part or wipe her tears with her sleeve when a page is too sad. Sometimes her gaze will be locked on the TV for hours when she has those M*A*S*H marathons where she binge watches. Certain parts her face will light up and she’ll fawn over one of the characters that I have yet to figure out which.

I watch her more than I want to admit, and I will never admit such to anyone especially not her. As stubborn as she is, I am more stubborn. Last time I asked for her sex she turned me down so, to save myself from further rejection, my ego has prevented me from asking again. My ego also tells me to steer clear while the logical side of me reminds me why I can’t get too close. They will find out and they will rape, torture and even kill her to get to me and that’s something I won’t let happen.

Not again, not on my watch.