Mafia's Devil part 8

My father looks at me with unhinged horror. He grips the gun so hard that there’s a slight tremble.

And Luciano? He grins.

There’s a stretch of silence. I said all I needed to say, while my father looks like he doesn’t know where to start.

Luciano walks around me, giving me a final, maddening smirk.

“Get out of my house, now!” my father booms.

Luciano takes his time to study my neck. My hair covers it, but he know’s what he placed there.

He stands there for a few stretching seconds before strolling out of my father’s office as if he owns the damn place.

Well, that went better than I expected. No bullets were shot.

Luciano humiliated me, but I’ll be the one having the last laugh. The only way out of the hole he’s in is by marriage.

“What was that?” my father practically growls. "For fuck’s sake, Karine. You cannot be alone with men like that! And marriage? You think I’m handing you to those Italian fuckers?”

“I love you, dad,” I sigh. “But let’s not pretend that I didn’t become a pending business transaction the second I was born. You were going to send me off to some rich criminal when I came of age, weren’t you?”

“Luciano Genova is worse than a criminal!”

He doesn’t deny me.

I walk up to him and kiss his cheek, because I really love him beside our fucked up situation. On my way to my room, I touch the mark on my neck. I thought fast and covered it with my hair, because my father would have made that gun sing if he saw the indents on my skin.

Luciano probably wouldn’t die, though. He’d keep standing, three bullet holes in his chest, and an infuriating smirk on his face.

Maybe I should ask dad to aim for his head next time.

I return to my room and open my laptop. The photographs are there, and my butt stings with phantom pain.

My pride may be in tatters, but everything is coming together. No emotional attachment is needed to get Luciano to agree to the marriage. Men like him marry for business, not love.

Maksim is an anomaly.

Luciano will marry me, but to get him to agree to a prenup, I need his adoration. I need to get closer to him; to take his heart. I don’t know if there’s anything to take, though. He’s too callous.

Things are quiet over the next few days. I have nothing to do now that my restaurant is gone, so I stay in my room and plot. How do you get close to a man who lets nothing slip past his Armani suit?

I don’t know his interests. The only thing I know he enjoys is ruining people. I don’t know how to approach him, either. He stays in his tall skyscraper laundering money, and occasionally bounces from one shady spot to another, spanking unsuspecting women in the process— namely me.

My memory locks on the night that started rolling the ball. The night I was ready to kick Santa Claus back to the North Pole, and Luciano swept in like a self-proclaimed Knight in Shining Armor. I was livid that he jumped into my business, but now I see opportunity.

Something about seeing me vulnerable must have bothered him. Maybe it was because he thought I was a teenager, or maybe because of my height.

I can capitalize on my size. This may be the only way into his pockets and heart.

I have to make him feel big and strong; like losing his soul in this lifestyle was worth it because he gained the power to protect me.

With a sigh, I lean back on my bed, and I plan our next encounter.

LUCIANO

“So I take it that her father wasn’t interested in the deal?”

“Of course he wasn’t. You bit the girl’s fucking neck!”

I lick my lips at the memory of Karine’s flesh.

She demanded I married her. She wanted my name, my empire, my dick.

I’m not sure why I turned the little cupcake into a meal by biting her damn neck. There was something about her giving me orders. I don’t take orders. I’m the boss here. Having that little woman running her mouth made me want to lick her pussy until all she could muster was moans.

But I couldn’t eat her out, so instead I went for her neck.

I used to hate her for looking at me with disgust; for denying our attraction. I wasn’t expecting her to admit something buzzed between us. Now, I don’t know what to feel.

Cathrine, my ex-girlfriend, was right in suspecting that Karine was arousing my interest and my pants. She was livid when she saw Karine walking out of my bedroom and thought she’d warn Karine away by setting her restaurant on fire.

I got rid of Cathrine instantly. She’s too messy, too possessive. I don’t belong to anyone.

“Luciano. You’re thirty.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And you’re fifty-something. What is your point?”

“The difference between us is that I secured an heir to take over— you. Where is your son? You’re not getting any younger.”

I connect the dots. “You want me to marry that shrieking, squirming, troublesome Russian and spill my kids into her?”

“Why not? It will be good for business, and she’s not bad looking. Sure, she’s flat everywhere, but her face—”

I stand a little too quickly. My father has no business talking about Karine's body. A body that may not have much swell, but I’m sure turns pinker than her temper if I was between the legs.

“You like her a little too much. You’re ready to shoot you old man over her?”

I relax my fist and curse when I realized I crushed the pen I had been holding. I take a random sheet of paper and wipe my hand clean.

“I wouldn’t shoot you over pussy, father.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Go to Tiffany’s and get the girl a fat ring. Get her father’s blessing, propose, and put this shit behind you.”

It’s a tempting idea. I need a wife, and Karine comes with good connections. I’d rather spare myself the headaches, though. There are plenty of women with connections for me to choose from.

To get my father off my back, I say “I’ll think about it,” and return to my work.

That night, I have to meet with one of my captains. I schedule the meetup at one of my newest clubs to check it out and kill two birds with one stone.

I’m too mature to enjoy loud clubs anymore. Or maybe I’ve grown to hate them because I’ve gotten shot one too many times and crowded places produce a dozen blind-spots. Either way, business is business and I have shit to do.

—

KARINE

He’s at a club.

I rummage through my room in search of a dress. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

My phone goes off, and I abandon my closet and pick it up.

It’s my mom. I’m surprised to hear from her, because she only pops up once or twice in the year.

Mother is a devoted believer. Except that she doesn’t worship Jesus Christ, but rather a truck driver named “Soul” who believes the way to paradise is getting baptised with his holy semen. He recruited twelve women, including my mother, to his polyamorous cult.

Menopause hit my mother long ago so she can’t have any more kids. I’m convinced she was also hit by Soul’s truck so hard that she went bonkers.

“Hey mom.”

“Hi, baby. I’ve been praying for you. I dreamt for you the other night.”

She prayed to Soul about me? Yikes. “Thanks for worrying for my soul, mom.”

“I don’t want you to burn in hell.”

I’m pretty sure I met Satan already, and the only thing he burnt is my temper.

“Karine, please. There is still so much we can teach you-”

Seeing where this is going, I interject. “No, thanks. I’m not interested in joining the cult, but tell Soul I say thanks for the invite. Please also remind him that if I see his truck anywhere near me, he’ll have a closed-casket funeral.”

“Karine, please! A little respect for my husband!” she shrieked.

I sigh. I want to connect with her, but it’s hard to tell when I’m speaking with non-medicated or medicated her, because both versions are insane.

“I’m sorry, mom. I’m busy. Can I call you back?”

“Okay baby.”

I disconnect the call and lock my eyes on a dress so red my mother would call blasphemous.

I slide it on, because I want to look like a devil and act like an angel tonight.