La Famiglia (Battaglia Mafia Series) Page 6

  With a smile to her lips Marietta turned and approached him. She stopped right in front of him so he had to sit upright and part his knees a bit so she could stand in between. Her gaze leveled on his. She untied her black silk robe that stopped mid-thigh. She was nude underneath. Except for the gold belly bracelet that circled her slender waist and connected to the diamond piercing in her bellybutton. She got the piercing and expensive waist jewelry when they visited Morocco. She never took it off. It turned him on to see her wearing it.

  There was no need for a strip tease. Her man had barely enough patience for her to disrobe let alone remove a bikini. Besides she often sunbathed, swam, ate, and lounged on his yacht in the nude when they were parked out in the middle of the ocean or docked on the coasts of the French Riviera. And she liked to dance. She liked the way men desired her when she danced.

  The music took over. Marietta danced in front of him. A slow circular whine of her hips and roll of her belly muscles with her hands pressed in front of her in mock prayer began the dance. She often started off his favorite routine like that of a belly dancer before she got raunchy. The working of the muscles in her mid section, rotation of her hips, and bounce of her breasts made him lick his lips with restraint. The long wild curls of her hair fell over into her face. The long diamond hoops in her ears bounced against her jaw and her diamond bangles on her right wrist jingled, as did the charm bracelet he put on her ankle. And she worked it for him. The rhythm and blues switched to the hard thump of bass as hardcore rap lyrics spewed from the speakers and she pushed him back by the shoulders into the chair to gyrate with her body rubbing and gliding over his.

  They barely got into her routine before they heard it. Actually Lorenzo heard it first. He seized her and threw her to the floor. He landed on top of her. Stunned she gasped for a breath. At first she thought it was his excitement. He was known to be rough when really turned on. She tried to kiss him, wrap her legs around his waist and ignore the pain to the back of her head and back that suffered the blunt of his force. He put a finger to her mouth, and in his eyes she read the warning. Be silent, be still, someone’s here. That was the nature of their affair. Danger could present itself at any moment. Even out in the ocean. It’s what Lorenzo warned her of constantly.

  The rap music blared loudly. Lorenzo reached for her robe and put it against her chest. “Dress. Stay low.”

  Alarmed, Marietta agreed. Lorenzo’s hand then reached for a gun he kept near his chair. He had guns all over the damn boat. They made him comfortable and her uneasy. But soon she heard it too, the sound of a boat approaching. How the hell did he hear that over the music?

  In a crouched position he went for the door. In her heart she had always been afraid that someone from the Capriccio family would arrive and exact revenge for what was done to David. Lorenzo laughed off her concerns. But was this the moment? Were they here for them? Marietta wanted to go after him. She searched for the other gun, the one he kept in the cooler near the refrigerator. She found it and checked to make sure it was loaded. Nothing in her life came easy. She constantly worried that Lorenzo would be taken from her as abruptly as he had stormed into her life.

  She eased on her robe.

  She heard Lorenzo roar with laughter. It had to be his voice. Tying a knot to her robe she scrambled to the window with both hands on the weapon. She peeked out. Carlo boarded their boat from another and the men on the other boat tossed his luggage to him. Those men shouted at Lorenzo with friendly banter and he shouted back in Italian. She watched Carlo and Lorenzo embrace. Two months ago Lorenzo was drunk, so drunk she literally had to carry him to their room in Paris.

  And it was then she learned of the dark secret he carried about his best friend.

  Paris, France

  April 12, 1992

  “Asshole! Stop it. You’re embarrassing me!” Marietta said in a hushed whisper. She nodded to the door attendant and forced him inside. Lorenzo slurred in Italian. He hugged her so tightly she was barely able to breathe from the pressure his strong arm applied on her side. They’d spent the day sightseeing and at first it was lovely. He was her funny sexy guide. And he bought her whatever she wanted. The driver behind them carried the haul from Chanel, Fendi, Yves St. Laurent. But as the day wore on he kept pulling her into one restaurant, café, or pub after another, to drink. And before long it became too much.

  “You’re so damned sexy. You know that?” he growled in her ear. Before she could respond he picked her up and put her over his shoulder. The guests of the hotel were shocked. A few ladies gasped. Several frowned and stepped back. Lorenzo carried her inside the elevator despite her pleas for him to put her down. The driver followed as if it was the most natural thing. Humiliated she fought him when the doors closed.

  “Put me down damn it! I’m serious, Lorenzo! Enough of this shit!”

  He slapped her ass and started pressing every button on the elevator panel. The elevator made its climb. The doors open and closed. She screamed at the top of her lungs to be released.

  “You bastard! You asshole! You mean fucker! I’m serious.”

  When he didn’t respond she threatened him in Italian. Sharp words of ripping his balls off, made him roar with laughter and deliver a few more hard smacks to her ass. She even bit his back to no avail. The doors to the elevator kept opening and closing and Marietta grew weak from the way he carried her. The blood rushed to her head. Infuriated she stopped struggling, screaming obscenities, and finally he did let her down, but only to drag her out of the open elevator on shaky legs.

  “I’m so pissed with you!” Marietta seethed through clenched teeth. She glanced back to the driver. He lowered his gaze and followed them to their room with her bags. Marietta questioned her sanity and the rollercoaster ride that was their romance on days like this. The unconventional ways they showed affection had to be unhealthy for them both. And Lorenzo’s demons never let up on them, no matter how beautiful the city, and how wonderful the time they shared. What woman could put up with a man like him?

  A woman who was just as emotionally crippled, she surmised. The door opened to their hotel suite and he staggered inside. She turned on the driver. “You’re fucking useless.” She spat at the man. “Leave the bags there and get the fuck out!” she shouted.

  The man nodded quickly and made a hasty exit.

  “Lorenzo! We need to talk. I’m so sick of this shit with—”

  She walked into the en-suite and paused. Lorenzo sat on a white antique chaise. His face buried in his hands, his shoulders shook as if he were sobbing. Stunned Marietta froze. She’d seen him shit faced drunk before. Even had to force him off her when he got too amorous and hurt her during sex. Dealt with his wrath when she chastised him in public. But seeing him weak was something totally different.

  “Lorenzo?” she said cautiously.

  “Morte,” he said in a hoarse voice etched with pain. “Morte.”

  “Death?” she asked. Lorenzo groaned deep. Through his suffering she heard frustration and regret that made the blood in her veins cool. “Who is dead, Lorenzo? What are you talking about?” It had to be about that sick mother of his and the cruel way she took her life on his birthday.

  Marietta went to him. She got on her knees. “Baby? C’mon it’s me. What is it, Lorenzo? Talk to me?”

  He lifted his face from his hands and looked at her. Though the whites of his eyes were blood shot, and his face flushed, she saw no tears. Even in this tortured state the man refused to allow himself the release of tears. But it didn’t mean he didn’t feel. His suffering glistened in his irises and pooled around the brim of his lashes.

  “Oh, baby, what is it? Tell me?” Unsure of what to do she did what she could. She took his face and kissed him. Hard at first, desperate to soothe him, and the kiss soon melted his resistance. Instead of the rough handling in the elevator, his response became gentle, almost clumsy and shy. He drew her up to him and Marietta straddled his lap. The chaise allowed for the position. Marietta tamed hi
s passion with her darting tongue pursuing his. All the while she fought to release his belt and zipper. In a flurry of hand movements she got access to what she wanted—him. Marietta gushed a breath of sexual release when she eased down on his cock and took him deeply. Lorenzo helped her, buried his face in her breasts as she began to move. To her surprise he was able to maintain control though he was clearly drunk. And she was sexually charged by his strength. Marietta bounced on his cock and took him deeper, in and out of her channel. Passion ruptured her heart and it felt as if the chambers exploded. She seized on him, arms tight to his neck, gasping and wheezing. Lorenzo made another deep grunt and stood.

  Marietta gasped. He was such a giant of a man, holding her felt effortless on his part. He pulled her up by the waist and slipped out of her. She groaned in disappointment and locked her legs around his waist.

  His mouth sealed over hers and he kissed her lovingly, carrying her without staggering to the bedroom. He forced her to release him and dropped her on the bed. She blinked up at him. Before she could challenge him for ending their lovemaking he dropped to the side of the bed on his knees. Lorenzo grabbed her by the ankles and she slid across to him. His face lowered between her forced apart thighs. Marietta clenched her teeth against the moans. His tongue licked at her pussy with long strokes, and did so over and over. To aid him, and open herself for more, she grabbed the tops of her knees and kept her legs apart. Lorenzo scooped her up by the ass and feasted on her clitoris. He sucked and applied more pressure with that amazing tongue of his before releasing her. Her head went back and she arched from the mattress. Marietta cried out unable to stop herself. His intent on pleasuring her below crushed her will without mercy. When his tongue pierced her channel then swiped out and up to tickle her clitoris she lost it. The climax was swift and punishing.

  Her cries of pleasure and then weakening moans were the only noise to be heard in the room. Lorenzo peeked up at her from over her pussy with the most intensely focused stare. He pressed a kiss to the quivering lips of her sex to soothe her.

  Marietta’s lids fluttered shut. She knew he was undressing. Heard it. But instead of doing the same she rolled to her side and curled up with a smile. Next came the best part. She’d spend the night in his arms. She’d love him until all his problems with intimacy and self-loathing went away. She could do it. She was woman enough to do it.

  Lorenzo’s hands were on her. He unzipped the back of her dress. She straightened and went limp as he removed the silk garment, and bra. Marietta rarely wore panties with her man, per his request. Sometimes he just wanted to touch her. And he hated any barrier between her thighs. She giggled when he kissed her shoulder.

  “I love you, Lorenzo,” she exhaled. He didn’t respond. It was okay. She knew he loved her too. He said it before. But he didn’t use the word much. It made him uncomfortable, weak. She understood. Why else would he spend so much time with her, focused on her? He could have any woman he wanted and yet he chose her. More importantly she chose him.

  The bedding slid with her. And her oversensitive nipples and stomach were dragged over the sheets as he pulled her to him and put her in position. Marietta got to her hands and knees. Her curly locks were in her face covering her eyes, reaching her nose. Her hair was thick and puffy with curls like that of a poorly groomed poodle. However, she could see herself and him in the mirror across from the bed. Marietta blew air upward from her bottom lip to make her bangs move so she could see more clearly. She intended to watch the show.

  His knees pressed between hers with the intent of spreading her thighs. The front of his hairy thighs brushed the backs of hers. She could feel his spry pubic hair caress her ass. He smacked his cock against her pussy. It bounced up and brushed her clit. The touch, though brief, sent a tickle of pleasure through her. ‘Daddy Long Dick’, is the name she jokingly gave him.

  He liked it.

  And then he entered her without warning. Each time with Lorenzo felt like the first time. No man wielded the power of his dick so fiercely accurate. He thrust in and out of her with measured slow strokes so she could feel the muscled veiny strength of his cock. She lifted her head and watched them. Saw his face. The twist of desire and pleasure made his features hard, but he wore a smile, a beautiful satisfied smile that put one to her lips as well. She studied how her breasts swayed in time with his hard pounding. She watched how his muscular chest bulked with deep intakes of breath and went tight with each release. Lorenzo’s gaze lowered to her ass. He was watching the tunneling of his cock deep between. She dipped her back to give him a better view. He went fast and strong now, urgent with his strikes.

  Bam. Bam. Bam. Went the headboard. He thrust in and out of her pussy and her lashes fluttered before they shut. Marietta put her face into the mattress to keep from screaming out her bliss. She too moved with frenzied backward pushes to take him deeper. Oh how much she enjoyed when he went deep. He smacked her left butt cheek hard. Her head shot up and she glared at him.

  “Bastard!” she said with a laugh.

  “Keep watching, cara. Don’t hide from me,” he groaned in return.

  She fixed her gaze on the mirror once more, breathing out of her mouth with deep pants. This time he stared at her too in the mirror. She held his gaze.

  It amazed her that his big body, large hands, and thick dick carried such strength and yet he could manage to be controlled and loving while inebriated to keep from hurting her. Lorenzo gripped her by the neck. He forced her head to go back, and kept her steady with a hand to her hip. The slow rhythmic thrusts came harder, faster. His powerful control drilled her pussy. And she loved the mix of torture with her pleasure. Rapture tore through her slick spasming channel with each slam of his hips. It became a harsh smack sounding off in the room. And Lorenzo fucked her like a champion, her warrior.

  God she loved him— Marietta could no longer look at him in the mirror. Though her neck stretched back and he now gripped her hair instead of the back of her throat. She closed her eyes and stayed the course; afraid it would end to soon.

  “Oh yes!” she cried out. “Fuck me, baby! Yes, daddy, like that, fuck me,” she wept.

  Friction and heat sparked between them with his cock tunneling deeper. She knew for certain she couldn’t stand much more.

  “Che bella scopta!” he cried out with a hard grunt.

  Marietta smiled and moved her hips in wild circles. Lorenzo’s frenzied thrusts took over. He let go of her hair and held both of her shoulders as he slammed his seed deep inside of her. Exhausted she collapsed and he came on top of her. He soon moved to avoid hurting her and she rolled with him. Neither could speak. She captured air into her lungs. Soon she turned over, snuggled his sweaty chest, and started to drift asleep. Before she could the word ‘morte’ came to mind. He said death earlier. What did he mean?

  Marietta lifted her head and looked at him. “Lorenzo?” she panted.

  “Mmm?”

  “What’s wrong? Why did you say death? Earlier?” she asked.

  “My fault,” he mumbled. “I’m the bringer of death.”

  She knew of his torment about Tomosino’s untimely demise. She felt such a pang of sympathy for how guilty he was. Her eyes began to tear. “Tomosino’s death isn’t your fault. You have to stop punishing yourself.”

  “Madre, Tomosino, Carmine… my fault… morte… because of me. I’m a murderer, cara. It’s all I am.”

  Marietta froze. Her heart went still. She spent days watching Lorenzo help his best friend overcome his grief for young Carmine’s death. Was this the same Carmine, Carlo spoke of? The one he mourned? She touched Lorenzo’s cheek. “What did you do, baby? To Carmine?”

  Lorenzo’s eyes flashed open. He glared at her for a moment.

  “I only meant—”she began.

  He rolled her over. “Don’t talk, Marietta. I need you to be silent. I need you to forgive me.”

  “I do,” she said, not sure of which offense he spoke of.

  “Come here.” He turned her
to her side and pulled her up against his chest so he could spoon her from behind. “Sleep. That’s what I need. No more talk of death.”

  Marietta snuggled him and relaxed. “Whatever you say, baby,” she replied.

  Marietta watched Carlo and Lorenzo embrace from the window. They started toward the door and she stepped back. Going to the radio she turned off the music and brushed her curly hair back from her face. Lorenzo entered first and Carlo hung back.

  “You decent, cara?”

  “Yes,” she said. Though she remained nude under her robe. He looked her over as if he had to be sure she met the standard to be around his friend and then called to Carlo to enter. When he stalked in as tall and as handsome as Lorenzo, Marietta tried to show no reaction. But she saw his. That razor sharp gaze of his focused intensely on her. It lowered to her legs and made the climb up. And that sly smile that was all him tilted the corner of his mouth.

  “Ciao, Carlo,” Marietta said.

  “Ciao, bella,” he answered.

  Lorenzo walked over to Marietta and pulled her into his arms. He hugged her. “Carlo’s going to stay for awhile. We’ll sail into San Tropez and do some dancing tonight. You’ll like that.”

  Lifted in his arms she embraced Lorenzo’s neck and stared at Carlo from over his shoulder. “Yes. I think I will.”

  * B *

  Catalina walked into Mira’s office, which was hers for now. Behind the desk sat Dominic in a large wingback chair. The side of his face rested between his thumb and index finger.

  “Domi? I didn’t know you were here.”