Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

The next day, the woman came in with the food. She was, I realized, a few years older than me but dirty and wearing torn clothes, stained with … some reddish colours that I did not want to think about.

This time, her eyelids fluttered as she sent me a quick glance. I was sitting on the bed, my hand on my stomach.

It was a quick look, and she lowered her pale green eyes, but I had seen a flash of pity in them. She had the same clothes that she had worn the previous day, and on an impulse, I looked at the man who stood in the doorway. He had his rifle cocked and easy, and he was yawning, scratching his scruffy face as he watched us.

“Clothes,’ I said, loudly, my eyes on her, ‘Please, clothes.’

She hesitated, and the man entered the room with a snarl.

He hit her across the head with the back of his meaty hand, and I stepped back in horror. The woman let out a yelp. Dragging her arm, he jerked her out and slammed the door shut.

I sat, trembling, for a long while. The open expression of violence had thoroughly scared me.

It was a long time later that I was able to eat the cold porridge that she had brought for me. I could not forget the look on the woman’s face, and I knew that I had been responsible for the slap she had received.

Huddling in a corner of the bed, I sat, fighting the sense of despair that was rising to the fore.

O Lucien, I thought, where are you…???

***

Danielle

She bounded up the steps, too keyed up to use the lift.

Pushing past the staff members who were outside her office, she slammed the door and rushed to the phone, the one that was private and could not be tapped.

Lucien had not picked up although she had called three times. She had a clue that he had been taking out his anger on some hapless person. Not that she cared. Danielle was in a mood to beat up a few people herself.

But the information that Sophie had passed on was valuable. So valuable that she was prepared to listen to him yell at her. She cared for Proserpina; she had cared for her since the time Boss married her. She could still picture the wretchedness on the young woman’s face after he had taken her brutally in the Red Room-the utter desolation. And she had transformed Boss and made him a man.

He had just been like a rutting animal, moving from woman to woman before Proserpina carved a place in his life. Now he was a responsible individual. A father of five, almost, she thought grimly as she tried to call him repeatedly. And he owed it to Proserpina.

Finally, she contacted Schwartz. Handsome James sounded defeated as he answered the phone.

” I need to speak to the Boss.’ She snapped-no time for niceties.

***

Miles away in the desert, Schwartz smiled weakly. Just like her, he thought tiredly.

“He’s …uh…busy.’ He said this, running his hand over his face. He winced as he heard Worthington scream again.

Damn, he thought, his stomach revolting, If Delano kept it up, they would be carting a body out in a few hours.

He rose to his feet, shaking out his jacket. This thing was too much. He ached for Proserpina; that was all he could think of. But Danielle was insisting on talking to Lucien. He walked to the iron door leading into the cell and pushed it open reluctantly.

***

Lucien

He had pounded the man, who was now limp and bleeding. His chest was speckled with blood, Worthington’s blood, and his sweat. He was furious. Not a man to hit someone who was trussed up; he had been hurting too much to think straight. Beston had stepped forward twice.

‘Boss, the man will die…’ he had said. It was Beston’s way of reminding him that a dead Worthington was nowhere near as good as a live one.

He ached as he thought of how much he had put her through-the physical and emotional pain he had inflicted upon her. And he hated himself.

He wanted to scream and shout, but he did not. He saw Proserpina’s face in his mind, sleeping beside him, her hand tucked under her cheek, the Proserpina he had fallen in love with five years ago when she had turned up in his Club, a naive, pretty young woman with the body of a siren and as innocent as an angel…

Yes, he loved her, and the guilt of knowing that she was suffering because of him was killing him slowly. He knew for certain that if the children had not been there, he would have killed himself.

But the young ones needed him.

Needed him to stay strong. They depended on him.

He rammed his fist into the man’s limp body again and turned. Eyes shot with weariness, lack of sleep and worry. Striding over to the tiny washroom unit, he swore and glared at Schwartz who was standing in the doorway, watching him silently.

“What?’ he snarled, his angry voice trying to hide his pain.

“Come out, mate,’ said Schwartz, wary of fueling a hope that might prove false.

Lucien frowned as he washed his hands. The knuckles were split and raw, bleeding as he washed. But he was barely aware of it.

He pulled on a fresh shirt, buttoning it as he walked to Schwartz.

“What is it?’

Handsome James silently led him outside and turned to him, a strange expression on his face.

‘Danielle wants to talk to you,’ he said quietly.

***

Proserpina

In the evening, or was it a night, the small light came on in the room. I had alternately been lying down and walking about to keep myself active. When the darkness began to grow in the room, I knew it was late evening.

The door opened softly.

The woman came in and crept. to the table furtively. She was alone, but she avoided my eyes as she quickly left the soup on the floor and made to leave. Her small, pale face was swollen, and there was a fresh bruise on her cheek. Her lip was cut.

I jumped up as swiftly as I could and darted after her.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Please,” I begged her, my fingers digging into her wrist, ‘Please, help me.’

She shook her head and tried to free herself, alarm and fear in her face.

The sound of the man’s shoes echoed in the corridor, and I moved away.

He appeared at the doorway and roared at her, asking her why she had not waited for him. Bowing her head meekly, she made to creep past him, but he cuffed her on the side of the head, and she fell to the floor. I felt my heart clench at his inhuman treatment of her. The woman made no sound, and I guessed that she was used to this kind of treatment.

He turned to glare at me, and I stepped back in fear.

The door slammed after them, and that was the last I saw of her being dragged out of the room. She was bleeding from her left ear, but her expression was one of resignation.

Tiredly, my shoulders sagging, I turned away. My appetite was deflated, but I rose after a while, determined to keep my strength up.

As I picked up the bowl, I saw a small note stuck to the underside of the bowl.

To avoid detection.

With trembling fingers, I opened it.

The message was scrawled in a childish hand, in pencil.

‘THEY IS GOIN 2 SALE U.’