For Blood and Beast: Tomas, For Blood (Garko Book 1)

by Gia P. Leonne

  As we leave one crazy we encounter another— a man this time, armed with a camera who stops us. "Hey, you're one of those professiona' football playas aren't ya? Your'ah built like an offensive tackle. What team do you play for, big fellah?" Tomas grunts, "No," as he waves the tourists camera away. The man cowers away mumbling something to the effect of professional athletes being dumb and making too much money.

  "You're just a peach all of a sudden, huh?" he looks at me head tilted. "You're an extra-large, physically fit, groomed man. It's not a big leap for people to assume you do big guy things for a living, like pro sports."

  "Even they deserve to be handled with more discretion; he didn't even ask for my permission."

  "Yeah, well you benefit from having such presence. Do not act as if you don't like the masses parting to create pathways as the King draws near."

  "That's not just my size sweetheart." He moves closer, well past personal space, and looks into my eyes. I take in a deep breath. My brain signals my body to fight or flight.

  Heart still beating? … Affirmative

  Sweat glands working? … Affirmative

  Panties drenched? … Positively

  Did the wind stop? … Possibly.

  I need air. He moves away, releasing me from the experience called Force. He grins. The Sexy Bastard.

  He permits time to adjust myself and speaks, "You say I benefit, Si, however, not always. The world pretends to covet the extraordinary, we are but a mistress to the common."

  Today I've noticed Tomas, that at times conversates, using the language of a much older man.

  "Mediocracy, the middle path, our infrastructure all dictates this is the true bride. The world accommodates the average, the masses. We cold shoulder brilliant people once they show just how out of the box their ideas can be, labeling them freaks. We claim the highest skyscrapers are pretentious, are they not masterfully built. We identify nasty labels to individuals who refuse mediocracy, like narcissistic."

  I think of the Esquire expose of Tomas lying in my safe at home. Guilty I blush, remembering how I laughed when I read, how they labeled him narcissistic. What other names did people place on him?

  I try to lighten the mood. "You're the most comfortable in his skin person I've ever met."

  "You think? The small simple worries, others take for granted, like wondering if a chair is wide enough before I sit. If it will withstand my weight, remember, I have been this size for well over a decade, almost two. Think how conscious you were of your self-image at thirteen. I admit as a teen, there were some advantages to my size, people assuming I was older. Mistaken identity allowed me to blend into the adult world without notice. However, my instincts and quick wit kept me there.

  The disadvantages… I paid for with blood, sweat, and tears. No one wanted to come against me head-on… going against the promise."

  He motioned the sign of the cross. I did the same. Not exactly knowing why.

  "However, in secret, the whispering grew. Plots thickened, to eliminate the big half-breed teenager who would dishonor family interests with his impure blood. My rise surprised the others, made me the usurper, too soon they said."

  This is the first time Tomas has talked of his family as more than an intercontinental family enterprise with a New York position and an appointed Board position he Chairs'. La Familia, the American Italian mob was his family. My heart stops, not from fear. No, I am stunned from respect … he let me in. He trusted me, a bit.

  Past actions judged as transgressions against La Familia, like his father's decision to court a Brazilian wife passed on to Tomas the son. Now it was his wickedness to bear and used as a constant reminder he would never belong. No one has the power to hurt you like your family.

  I can relate, my family said I was untamed, problematic, easily provoked, I wonder why. And fucking why they never wondered why? They were quick to hash out severe punishments rather than investigating a cause. An unruly smartass kid locked in a world where self-control and more importantly bowing down to adults were non-negotiable attributes presented problems. Made my future uncertain. Commissioning Sensei Otto on my behalf, was the last hope to tame the unredeemable and undomesticated, Evelyne Basso.

  I was eleven.

  "So, you're saying you were taunted over your size and bullied because you were smart. This is hard to believe. If anything, I can imagine you came out of the womb, taking names and giving orders." I laugh and straighten into a military posture "Yes sir, I'll get that milk right away, baby Force. No sir, I wasn't aware you needed a diaper change, I'll get right on that, Sir." I click my heels at attention.

  He laughs, "You're a comedian now, alluring and amusing." Elated that I make him laugh and lift his mood, it's a warning. How unwise to tie my emotions to his so early? If I am to keep myself one step ahead of this brilliant man I better find my footing.

  "Thank you for the compliment. I must head back; I have a busy day tomorrow."

  So, I run. After the limo drops me off at my apartment, I get in the shower. Things become clear once the steam hits. Dried and oiled I pick up my notebook filled with research data and notes, from my dissertation. I doodle my goals concerning Tomas into the memo and task portion at the top of every page.

  In shorthand,

  Help Tomas reach his dreams.

  Emerge as Boss of La Familia

  negotiate a safe New York City

  marry Evee Basso, I laugh.

  Have lots of his babies. More laughter

  This list is becoming more of 'dreams of Evee Basso', than Tomas Garko.

  Get the Institute off my ass, about …

  My phone rings, "Mother, I was just thinking of you."

  "Certainly, yet I called you?"

  "It's late and I'm on my way to bed."

  "Wonderful, I suspect alone."

  "Of course, Mama." Maybe the endearment works releasing me from the phone quicker.

  "Evelyne, I want you always aware even though I am not with you, and you never see us, we are watching … out for you."

  "Um, ok." Creepy much.

  Sleepy, I leave my scheming to close my eyes and dream hopefully of Tomas, or even more sexy and dangerous, Force.

  CHAPTER 18

  Made For More

  Evee

  My ringtone for Tomas wakes me and I roll around searching for the phone hiding inside my warm goose feather filled coverlet.

  "Have you been ignoring me? I thought you were smitten. Isn't this what I saw in your eyes?" I swear my vagina pulses. I love it when he talks as if he is a King and we are all his unruly subjects. I may need punishing, Your Highness. His deep voice thunders yet remind me of creamy butter. My stomach actually growls I need breakfast. He chuckles. Oh no! Did he hear?

  "You are so full of yourself. I had to wrap up my dissertation draft for editing, and finish applications. I need to eat you know. And Cynthia and I have plans requiring funding."

  "Hmm, I thought that is why you involved yourself in extracurricular activities."

  "Well, I am not doing that anymore."

  "Seriously, you quit. Why?"

  "I told you it wasn't about the money. I've been lucky, no arrests, no record. Time for Pinocchia' to become a real girl, get a job, a house, maybe a dog."

  "Pinocchia? Female Pinocchio."

  "Oh Tomas, you get me." I laugh.

  "Don't be a smart ass, Pequeno Ragazza. Little girl. Come work for me."

  "Doing what exactly?"

  "Let me see… how about allowing me to watch you walk around my home all day, clothes optional."

  "Hmm, way to utilize my Master of Arts in International Law degree, huh." Yes, I'm name-dropping. Was I subtle enough?

  "Si, you may utilize anything you wish. Just keep me company. I miss you terribly."

  "You're being awfully sweet."

  "I am lonely without you. Ti prego vieni da me, Evee." Please come to me, Evee.

  I will feed you. Breakfast, or brunch?"

  Yep, he hear
d my stomach's protest. "Okay stop, you're laying it on awfully thick. I'll come just stop."

  "I can't wait to see you, sweetheart, and I've already had them hide the good silverware."

  Ugh, this man!

  Here I am once again engaging, intimately, with Tomas. Not to mention, the complete disinterest I have shown in any other eligible man. I have officially, gone unofficially rogue from my mother's plans. I do, however, have my own plan. I will not allow anything sexual to progress with Tomas until I somehow get back control of our relationship. How will I accomplish this? Well, I am going to help him to make a big move concerning La Familia, New York, moves to embrace Cynthia's brother Jengo. This is why I have agreed to see him, I can address this matter and not because I can hardly think of anything else besides Tomas Massimo de Moraes Garko. He will see how a true partnership with me is wise. While I will have time to assess whether he might murder me in my sleep.

  He sends his limo, fancy, the man is pure class. At least a hundred miles from Manhattan, we've exited the expressway miles ago, passing rolling hills, sparse fields, and a very small, nearly abandoned town. I can see the Shawangunk Mountains in the distance. Finally, we turn into what I expect is a driveway, but too lengthy, instead I am thinking, a narrow country road winding along a stream? Not once does it occur to me the driver is leading me into a swamp filled with bodies of young girls, sniffing at Tomas' heels. Well maybe once, cause I just thought it.

  But we pass by outbuildings, a lodge made of stone and logs, a cottage and stables. Does he ride? Elation swipes away any fear, as I go goo goo eyed over his horses. He does not seem like the type. I am an equestrian at heart and love to ride, when I am not driving, Boss. Tomas' house is no less impressive. An estate, yes, this is an estate, is not overly done, it reminds me of a Mexican hacienda, beefed up to look like a castle. Someone has masterfully mixed Italian architecture with Spaniard aesthetics. Terra cotta roof tiles and cobbled walkway, the deep reds, oranges, and yellows compliment manicured gardens and lush green expansive landscape perfectly. I am in love.

  I repeat my goals in my head as the driver opens the limo door. No sex and get him to expedite his plans to make a prominent move up in La Familia, New York. I got this; everything is going to work out.

  As soon as the house entrance doors open, things go to shit, fast.

  First, some cagna answers the door in a maid costume, fit for an erotica film, tags- servant fetish, big breast, round bottom, and nasty. The skirt is inappropriately short and, tight around her apple ass the absence of panty lines is glaring. She is wearing either a thong or no panties at all.

  Hooker.

  Pissed even as I am unable to stop staring at her small hips and tight ass. They are too perfect.

  The bitch. I cough

  "I'm saw'rie', you say somethin'?"

  I sure didn't try to.

  "Ughem. Uh no, I didn't."

  She leads me to a room where Force rises from his chair,

  "Bella, I've missed you."

  "Certainly, and think you just saw me Friday."

  The bastard smiles.

  "That will be all, Comilitia." Her name would possess the word cum. I bet her last name is slut. Comilitia Slut.

  "Si, signore Tomas, ring… you need anytin'" She says her accent thick. Did' the whore just wink?

  I want to tell her, what she needs ... proper use of prepositions and placing an 'ing' in there sometimes. And now, I am acting as a highbrow, insensitive to immigrants. Maybe because I was not born in the States, the status allows license. This is all Tomas' fault.

  "Are you hungry still, lunch is ready, let's go out, and eat on the terrace. The kitchen provides access to a sprawling backyard, teemed with vegetation, creating an enchanted forest, beyond and along a bluestone pathway which extends between the trees. The patio which paves the whole back of the house.

  An outdoor table is set romantically for two, with candles, linen napkins, and stainless-steel chafers and cutlery.

  "See the sun setting behind the mountains, filling the sky with magnificent orange hues. It is nothing compared to you, bella."

  Wait, did he just use the word hue? What kind of brutal mobster is he?

  "You approve?"

  It is breathtaking. And eases dire mood. Breathe Evee. I have not seen the mountains from this angle, I almost say, and give away I may have come this way before, you know— in passing.

  What happens next causes me to forget my plans like a lesson on Vice Presidents in third grade. I did say that I was advanced, right?

  The cook appears.

  I will name her Cooknasty, and I am being polite. She may be a little older than the maid; however, her enhanced double E, breasts are bursting from her blouse and a half apron. She too, has on a skirt, longer but tighter if that's possible.

  "Your meal is served, signore Tomas." To all, that is true and holy, she licks her lips and giggles. I suspect his staff, except for the driver, just maybe, is fulfilling multiple roles at the hacienda. Has he invited me to an amateur porn shoot?

  Internally, I run a self-check, 'Am I being insecure', 'Will all women become adversaries because of my feelings for Tomas', 'Am I immature to the natural way of women and men'. Cooknasty saves me from those demeaning questions as she drops an oven mitt and bends her Jessica Rabbit body to the floor without bending at the knees to pick it up. The bitch just touches her toes, legs straight, ass high and looks under her outstretched arm to Tomas who I catch smirking. My face is on fire. My brain switches over onto the path of no return, as my system is flooded with norepinephrine and cortisol. Fight or flight? All I see now is red and black wires connecting to explosives, death, entire villages consumed by fire. Where the fuck is my lighter?

  I stand.

  Surprising myself, I speak coherently,

  "Let's get one thing straight, you Don Juan stronzo. I will not be dining with you now or any other day, those two … fake bitches are working here."

  Yes, I said it.

  "Who Comitia and Madelina?" he asks innocently.

  I squint my eyes, "Yes, Tits and Ass," the filthy mob boss's mouth drops open at my nomenclature. This motherfucker is playing with me.

  "Evee, they live here. I would be removing them from a job and a home." Is he smirking, again?

  "Come again?"

  "I said they—"

  Before he can finish, I interrupt with one hand lifted… palm in his face,

  "Call your driver, I am going home. I have seen enough." Click, snap, click, snap. Yes, I found my lighter.

  How could I have been wrong thinking this man had a smidgeon of class? Could be a bonified suitor? Fuck Tomas, he is the beast from now on, the bastard. Allowing me to see there is competition is one thing. I expected as much, but his blatant disrespect shows ignorance and utter disregard for me as a female guest in his home.

  He quickly comes reaching out for me, I snap back,

  "Don't you touch me, you fucker!"

  "Please, Evelyne don't do this. I have waited to get you here, to my home. I want you comfortable. If you need them to leave for you to stay, so be it." He appears sincere. "Have a seat, sweetheart. Let me take care of everything."

  I am exhausted; still, I do not sit. I should demand the driver take me home. Yet, I say,

  "I'll stand while you handle it if you don't mind."

  He disappears into the house. I pace the terrace, what just happened? Did I overreact? He had to know how it would look. As the fog surrounding my brain dissipates, it dawns on me this may have been a ploy. What is his play? Think, Evelyne Ponti-Basso, think what bisnonna say. Internally I rerun events, from the no panty-wearing bitch in the maid outfit opening the door, to Cooknasty bending over as if she was offering herself. Could it all be for my benefit? No, they live here and are extremely comfortable. Nevertheless, he agreed to make them leave, and quickly as if, he expected as much.

  Well damn, of course, he can dispose of them; there is new pussy in town. He is going to try and g
uilt me into replacing his pussy train.

  What a dick move!

  If this is his play, what are my choices? Do I join the team of feminists everywhere who refuse to allow men to define their worth by two lips and a clit, men who use and replace them as they fancy? This could be the last time I can pretend to carry the fem card.

  The Beast is unconscionable, no one would care if I spit in his face, and never speak to him again. I promised myself to do just that three weeks, ago.

  "No thank you, you self-absorbed, manipulative bastard," I practice my insults and imagine myself marching out the door.

  Hmm,

  Alternatively, do I take one for Team Evee, acknowledge he played me, and move on with my plan to flip the surmounting negatives to my side. All because I want the Beast to be who I imagined Tomas to be.

  The one.

  Damn. I am calling him Tomas, again, clearly taking one for Team Evee.

  A hysterical female voice interrupts my thoughts, maybe the maid, "You are going to choose an immature putanna... no more than an inexperienced teenager, over us." Nope, too many well put together phrases. That was Cooknasty.

  "What a beetch!" Another voice, calmer speaks, "you steal … you lie, and if you lie … you cheat."

  Now that was Comitia Slut, the maid spewing words of wisdom against my character. I should be upset Tomas has shared my business. Proving my point, they were, in fact, more than live-in help. Wait, did he have them hide the silverware from me?

  Force and a large man return with a platter.

  "They are packing a few things for the night. I will have the rest of their belongings packed and expressed to their new home. Are we good?"

  "Another one of your homes?"

  "No, just some property I own. One I never visit." He is sweating a little. It's endearing. I decided to give him one.

  "Si, wait, what gender is the gardener?" I smile and hand him the wrapped gift, I've been keeping in my bag.

  "Bella, you're going to spoil me." I beam, truly not realizing I am the fool.

  Team womankind has lost a point, but Team Evelyne cannot lose the game. By default, I have placed sex on the menu. Tomas is not a man you deny unless you want the boot. He is an asshole that way.