Mafia's Devil part 6

LUCIANO

What is success? Success is owning the right kinds of periodic elements –– gold, silver, chrome, carbon.

What is success when you have all that? It becomes a laughing, taunting thing. The palace you’ve built turns into a circus.

I’m rotten with money, but I’m miserable. It’s the dilemma that makes people in lower status roll their eyes at; it’s a problem they wish they had.

I came from money. My father has deep pockets, and I only stacked more atop of it in adulthood. The first million I made on my own gave me such a high that nothing ever topped it. No pussy and no alcohol was better than earning that title.

I made seven million tonight at the auction, and now I’m sitting in my office and staring at the numbers on paper. They remain dead. They don’t smile, don’t laugh, don’t so much as reach out to me. I can buy people that could do it for me. People that can’t wait to do their job, get out of my presence, and spend their paychecks, but what good would that be? I’d be fooling myself, because moments of joy with actors don’t count. They won’t mourn my death.

I’ve caught myself in this mindset one too many times, but I don’t know when it took root. Was it after I bought my third jet, fourth house? I’m thirty-one now, and all I want to do is start from scratch so I can feel that high again.

My phone rings, and my hand robotically picks it up. I turn to face the windows, although the drapes are shut.

It’s Flavio. He’s a good soldier. My father considers him a son. He drives my cars, rides my jets, shares drinks with me, but I’ll be damned before I let him know what fucked up thoughts are lodged in the creases of my brain.

Friendships are for boys. I learned that a long time ago.

“What?”

“I found out what happened with Karine Kuznetsov. She accidentally got an invitation because she shares her last name with Maksim.”

“Find who made the mistake. Get rid of them.”

“Yes, sir,” Flavio replies.

I hang up, and thoughts of life are replaced by Karine. I scowl. She’s a small thing, but she takes up so much space. Our two latest encounters have left my blood pressure booming and my fucking cock pulsing. The damned thing has been begging for her guts ever since I found out she’s not the teenage girl I thought she was.

My investigation revealed all sorts of things about Karine. Throughout high school, she raised her own money to fund her restaurant, going as far as graduating early.

How noble of her.

How stupid.

What, did she think her daddy’s money was too dirty to use because it came from illegal gun trades? Does she think she’s angelic for sweating for that money, and completely forgetting that she was born with a 800 credit score, was paid to go to the best high school in the region, and got the best tutors?

That yapping, hopping woman is a hypocritical coward. Her money is dirty, too, because she got it through her father’s connections. Those well-paying jobs didn’t hire her out of charity.

If she wanted out of this life, then she should’ve left it completely and not half-assed it by keeping daddy’s connections.

That night at her restaurant, she shrugged me off as if disgusted by my very presence.

My dick wants to make a liar out of her.

It’s not used to being denied pussy, and that’s why I’m sitting here with blue balls while thinking about that erratic woman.

With a scowl, I shove her to the back of my mind. I have more important shit to deal with.

KARINE

It’s Monday now, and I’ve looked over my shoulder enough times that Jose probably thinks I’m checking him out.

Manny, as usual, also notices something’s up with me. I keep her at bay with my sarcasm, but I’m secretly waiting for Luciano to pop out of the backdoor and terrorize me.

Actually, that devil would most likely manifest out of a deep fryer.

I force myself to focus on cooking. I’m trying out a new recipe today, and that always excites me. My pots are canvases, and my spices are my paint. Cooking is an art form that can be consumed, because it doesn’t make people happy by looking at it, but tasting it, too.

When I’m in this kitchen, I forget about how ugly I am, how many secrets I hold, how many lies I tell my friends. I forget that no amount of spices can color my darkness. When I’m in the kitchen, none of that matters because I’m only a chef cracking eggs and jokes.

Tonight is another slow night, but there was a beautiful proposal that nearly brought me to tears. This was the first proposal at my restaurant. A milestone.

I brought the couple dessert on the house, and I congratulated them.

When we were closing shop, I helped with clean up, and then the staff and I went our separate ways.

Luciano Gevona is the last thing on my mind when I fall asleep on my couch. It’s late at night when my phone buzzes loudly on my nightstand. It’s been buzzing for some time now, but I ignored most calls. I finally cave into the damn thing. My hazy eyes can barely read Manny’s contact name on the screen.

“Girl, why are you calling me at—”

“Karine.”

The dread in her voice sobers me. Manny is never serious. Something isn’t—

“The restaurant burned down.”

No.

I jump off the bed, and the sheets tangle around my legs. I think Manny is still talking on the phone as I pound down the stairs and run to the nearest car. I pull out of the garage and drive to what was supposed to be my second home.

I need to see it for myself.

I drive with a deer-in-the headlights look, although I’m the one behind the wheel.

I don’t need to make it all the way to the restaurant to know it’s true. I can see the flames on the horizon, the black smoke rising and taking away everything I worked so hard for— my merchandise, and my memories.

Vaguely, I hear Manny ranting on the call. I lift my phone to my ear and rasp, “Is—”

Is anyone hurt? 

I can’t get the words out. I’m choking, as if the smoke I’m watching from miles away is in my lungs.

“Are you driving? Pull over. You can’t drive in this condition, Karine. Everyone is okay. I got a little burn but I’m good. I’m sorry this happened to us. The insurance company…” she went on, but my hearing is fading in and out.

Luciano. Luciano. Luciano.

Something dark twists inside me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. It festers and rots, and although it’s ugly, I’m attracted to it. It’s the need for destruction. That roar in me that tells me to stop fucking caring about the rules and expectations, and protect my name.

I’ve caved into that ugliness before. No amount of giggling, sarcasm, and jokes will hide my humanity. I’ve never been able to escape my vulnerability, and right now, I feel so disrespected that the ugliness looks more beautiful than ever.

a/n: damnnn someone did Karine dirty

By the way, I'm plotting ANOTHER alien story on a new planet 😭 here is a messy version of the description:

Sex makes them stronger.

We're at war, and the Ulani warriors need to get their dicks sucked to enhance their fighting performance. They're known for their skills in the battlefield and in the sheets, so it's easy for them to get volunteering women who gladly get their cheeks clapped in the name of saving the nation.

Then there's me. I'm not there to have sex with alien warriors. I'm there to clean their dirty sheets after they're wrinkled by sex, to do their dishes and laundry. Of course nothing goes right. Instead of mopping floors, I catch the eye of the General. There's a dozen willing women here, but he wants me-- the only human in the camp.