Rhapsody: Interracial French Mafia Romance (The Butcher and the Violinist Book 1)

by Kenya Wright

  We were Brise de Mer. The new buyer of my stolen violin was Unione Corse. Dr. Vieg had not only betrayed me by selling an item I’d told him to hold, he’d sold it to the enemy.

  Now I understood why Dr. Vieg had refused to give me the information. He knew as soon as we barged into his office that he would die. Even if I let him live, the Unione Corse would kill him for letting me know.

  Rafael wagged his finger at Dr. Vieg. “Now you’re going to get it.”

  I set the folder down on the desk. “Giorgio, my knives?”

  He hurried over to me with my leather briefcase, set it on the desk, and snapped it open.

  My collection of knives was intriguing. They were handcrafted by an artist in a tiny French village. I’d had ordered him to shape them exactly like violin bows.

  In music, a bow was essentially a stick with hair attached to it. And when a musician possessed it, he or she moved it across some part of an instrument, causing vibration and emitting beautiful sounds.

  While I couldn’t play anymore on an instrument, there were other ways to make music.

  I twisted my favorite knife in my hand. It was very close to a violin bow, but instead of guts or hair, there was a sharp blade. Even the knife’s handle resembled the end of bow. In the music world, that part of the bow was called the frog. This knife’s frog was done in ivory and tortoiseshell. Other knife handles had been done in mother of pearl or abalone shell.

  They were works of art in their own way.

  And when they spilled blood, when I slid them along some part of the human body, it caused the loveliest of vibrations. Melodies of pain and symphonies of blood.

  I took my knife and walked over to Dr. Vieg.

  “Please, Jean-Pierre,” he mumbled in between crying. “Please! I-I was like a f-father to you.”

  “You were.” I walked around to the back of him. “How should I play you this evening? Like a violin? Like a bass? Like a cello? How do you want to say good bye? What bow technique should I use? Arpeggio? Spiccato?”

  “Oh God.” Dr. Vieg cried. “Help me.”

  Rafael rose from the chair. “I’m not going to watch this. It will ruin a good high.”

  “Then give me ten minutes.” I raised the bow above Dr. Vieg and relished in how the light hit the blade. “No. Make that thirty minutes.”

  Rafael took a puff of his joint and blew smoke out. “And where will we go after that?”

  “America.”

  He quirked his eyebrows. “That’s where Belladonna is?”

  “Yes.”

  Rafael spat on the floor and glared at Dr. Vieg. “How dare you send her to that monster of a country. Make it a full hour, Jean-Pierre.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Then, we go to America and get your Belladonna.” He took another hit of the joint and slung it on the floor. “We’ll kill whoever has it.”

  “Unless, we don’t have to.”

  “We always have to.” Rafael walked away. “Even now, you’re ready to play a song.”

  I gripped the bow hard and placed the blade gently on Dr. Vieg’s neck. “Let’s begin.”

  The song began with screams. Not blood-curdling or bone-chilling. His scream delighted the ears. More anguish than terror. There was a delicate tone to his pain. And it was just at the right pitch and frequency. Not too high or low. Just the most intense sounds of human terror.

  He helped them take everything from me. Set me up. Put me in jail.

  My mother’s face flashed in my head. She’d died while I was in jail. I never got to say goodbye. Pain hit my heart. I pushed my mother’s image away and shifted my mind to black. Complete darkness. Nothing. Silence.

  It was the only way I could function.

  Time was pain.

  Dr. Vieg screams broke through the silence for a minute.

  I pushed it away and continued to play. The bow’s blade delivered vibrations through his flesh. And the whole room watched the performance.

  You helped them take my life. Why? You didn’t like that I wasn’t as clean and proper as you? You didn’t like that my hands had so much blood on them?

  Dr. Vieg’s bone cracked under the blade.

  Giorgio came to me with towels in his hands. “I’ve prepared the shower.”

  Dr. Vieg’s body quaked. He was close to leaving.

  I walked around his bleeding and cut body. “Empty the room.”

  Everyone left.

  Dr. Vieg was no longer conscious.

  I stood in front of him and considered the new existence of my life.

  The few that knew my history, thought that I’d lived two lives. One began as a violinist. The second switched to a life of crime. But they would be wrong.

  Not many knew this about me, but I’d grown up in the Brise de Mer gang. Had it not been for them, I would’ve never found my love for the violin. At eight, a violin case was the first thing I used to traffic cocaine. Of course, I had no idea what I was doing at the time. My father told me to carry the violin on the train from Nice to Paris, and I did with success.

  That trip became a weekly event. Every Saturday I took a violin case of cocaine up to Paris. A quiet boy traveling by himself. The case sat on my right. A packed lunch from my mother sat on my left. Once I hit Paris, my uncle, Rafael’s father would pick me up and grab the case. I would spend the night with them and then head back home on Sunday.

  The train conductors and staff began to get in the habit of greeting and making small talk with me. After a few months of traveling, they would beg me to take my violin out and play.

  It scared me. I was just a kid. It was hard to mumble out excuses of why I didn’t want to play each trip. After another month, I told my parents at dinner.

  My mother turned to Father. “We should get Jean-Pierre violin lessons.”

  Father broke his bread and waved the comment away. “Just tell them that you’re too shy to play.”

  “How long will they believe that?” She frowned. “I don’t like this—”

  “I’ve heard that already.” Father glared at her.

  She went silent, but a frown appeared on her face.

  It was my mother’s biggest super weapon out of them all. Father hated to see her upset. Groaning, he ate some of the bread and then sipped his wine.

  Mother continued to look upset.

  “Fine. We’ll get him some lessons, but he won’t like them.”

  I brightened. “I might.”

  “Jean-Pierre can do anything he wants. He’s a genius.” Mother patted my shoulder. “And then these lessons will make up for what you’re doing to him.”

  Groaning, Father dropped the bread on the plate and rose from the table. “I’m going upstairs to get some rest. I don’t have time for this.”

  Mother went after him. “This could get him in trouble.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Father raised his hands in the air. “He’s made the trips and now he’ll play the damn violin! Are you happy?”

  “He shouldn’t be doing it at all!”

  “We do it for them or we all die. We can’t tell them no. If I had the power, he wouldn’t be doing this.”

  They continued up the stairs, arguing the whole time.

  Crime and music had always been my life.

  I balanced both on a delicate tight rope.

  It was only the moment where I added love that it all went to shit, and I was exposed.

  She discovered who I was because one could only pretend for a short time. How long would she think I was a simple violinist, when I kept hiding bloody clothes? The answer was not long at all.

  And once she found out, I thought that she could still remain by my side.

  Instead she started a love affair with a rich lawyer with high society friends. That was enough for me to kill the man. But then she told him about my connection, and he went to his friends.

  I killed him.

  Rafael killed her.

  I went to jail.

  Rafael went and broke m
e out.

  And during our shenanigans, the Unione Corse took over our territory.

  The Unione Corse operated out of Corsica and Marseille, France. Through the 1930 to 1970s they were the French Connection, holding a monopoly on heroin trade around the world. They had a degree of influence within French government and law enforcement.

  Since breaking out of jail, Rafael and I had stayed low, gained power, and money.

  Two years had passed since the break out.

  We’d powered up.

  And now we’re going to America.

  Chapter 14

  Whore Envy

  Eden

  I didn’t see him anymore that evening.

  Jean-Pierre had served good on his promise. There’d been no other screams that night. But still, I wondered about who the man was, why he was screaming, and most important, what was Jean-Pierre capable of doing to him.

  Many thoughts came to mind.

  My body trembled under the covers.

  This is stupid. You’re just coming up with scary stuff in your head.

  I’d heard Jean-Pierre had probably killed someone. I’d heard he was a bad guy—gangster, jail escapee. I’d heard it all, but how much did I really know?

  Can I do this?

  More noise came from the courtyard.

  The only thing that would save me, was to mind my business, hide, and play it smart.

  I’m going to brush up on my French. I’m not going to tell anybody what’s going on, but I should know what’s happening, just in case I need to run to safety or something.

  I lifted out of the bed, grabbed my phone, and wireless headphones.

  Jean-Pierre’s words filled my head.

  “You’re protected,” he whispered. “And I’ll never hurt you.”

  Instead of turning on music, I switched to basic French lessons on YouTube. I put my headphones on and plugged out from the noise. There was nothing I could do for the man in the penthouse. I didn’t know Jean-Pierre’s business.

  Learn French. That’s your focus for tonight.

  Today had been simple. Erotic. Sensual. I enjoyed the few moments with him. He manipulated my senses with just his presence. If the next days remained like they’d started, it would be an easy and pleasurable way to earn a hundred thousand dollars.

  I could do it. Tomorrow will leave twenty-nine days.

  I fell asleep to French phrases and their English translations.

  That night, I dreamed in French.

  Jean-Pierre whispering everyday phrased in my ear as he fingered my pussy.

  Moaning, I would repeat them back, showing him that I could learn and come at the same time.

  And then he pushed me to orgasm. “Chaque partie de ton corps est à moi.”

  By the time I woke up, the sheets under me were soaked, and I had a great respect for the French language.

  What’s that?

  A big package sat at the end of the bed.

  Did he bring it? Or did someone else?

  My skin warmed from the possibilities. Had he stepped into my room and watched me twist from side to side dreaming about him?

  I sat up and grabbed the box. Red velvet bows covered it. I undid them and pulled the top off. A small strapless bodysuit lay inside. My legs would be exposed. I lifted it up and took in the details. The design was gothic, yet sensual. Bra cups were sewed into the lining and would display an enticing cleavage. Most of the suit was a soft tulle, with silk bindings crisscrossing and creating geometric panels around the waist.

  Will we have sex tonight?

  The mere thought of having sex with Jean-Pierre electrified my senses. I swore I could smell him around me. His smooth voice and gorgeous face filled my head. My skin buzzed form the memories of his touch. My tongue tasted him still, even though it had been many hours since we’d kissed.

  I placed the body suit on the bed and spotted something else in the box. A card lay inside. I picked it up.

  Eden,

  Last night was supposed to be different. Tonight will be different as well. But we will spend more time together this evening.

  I will have guests over for the evening. I want you to play for us. Wear this under your dress tonight, when you play.

  My staff will help you unpack and get you comfortable. Later this evening, they’ll bring you the dress and prepare you for the party.

  Enjoy your day.

  Jean-Pierre

  I sniffed the card. It smelled like him.

  Everything had happened so fast last night, I’d forgot to ask about our sleeping arrangements. He’d never come to bed.

  I’ll find out tonight.

  I placed the card back in the package with the lingerie.

  He just wants me to unpack, chill, and then show up to his party?

  He’d mentioned that I would be playing tonight.

  This will be fine.

  I decided to focus on practicing, instead of thinking about what had happened in the courtyard.

  My phone buzzed. I checked it and saw that Shalimar and Leo had texted me.

  I messaged Leo first.

  Leo: Everything okay?

  Me: Yes. Nothing happened. I’m doing fine right now.

  Leo: Thank God you responded! I haven’t even slept.

  Me: Sorry. No. Everything is fine. I’ll tell you if I need you. How’s V?

  Leo: Lazy and narcissistic as always. Please call if something happens.

  Me: I will.

  Although nothing had happened to me, it felt good not to be alone in this situation. People were looking out for me. Leo and Shalimar had my back.

  I switched to Shalimar’s text.

  Shalimar: Do you need me?

  Me: Not yet. Everything’s fine. I just have to play at a party tonight. Nothing has happened.

  A text wasn’t enough for Shalimar, especially since her commission was involved.

  She called me.

  I answered on the second ring. She went right into questions about every moment of yesterday. I left out the screaming man. If he was smart, he would have someone listening in on me. I kept the conversation to typical things a woman would say to another.

  “How do you feel about that kiss?” she asked.

  “I…enjoyed it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “What else is there to say?”

  “You’re ready to sleep with him?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed. “You said that too fast, like you’re excited about it.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  “Not when money is involved. Try to stretch out the moment he fucks you and don’t be too eager. He’s paying for an experience, not an eager hoe. Trust me. I was the eager hoe with him, and it didn’t work out.”

  Yeah. It’s hard to forget that part.

  I let out a long breath. “Okay. Try not to be an eager hoe.”

  “Cool, but like I said before, do what you do. You copped the 100k, so you may not need my advice. I’m just here to add and help where I can.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “What are you wearing tonight?”

  “He’s sending over a dress.”

  “Interesting. He’s been playing dress up a lot with you.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I think it’s good. But I love shopping of all sorts. Him shopping for me. Her shopping for me. Me shopping for me.”

  I chuckled. “Got it.”

  “So, let’s see. What are you wearing under the dress? Maybe you can have fun with that.”

  “He sent the lingerie too.”

  “He’s being very…control-ly”

  “He wasn’t with you?”

  “Not at all. We didn’t even leave the brothel. I’m getting a bit offended.”

  I quirked my eyebrows.

  “Not down to my soul, but I would’ve liked some new dresses.” She laughed. “Either way, we have to focus. If he continues to enjoy you, then you get your money and I get my commission. G
o ahead and send a picture of the lingerie.”

  I snapped a quick one and sent it.

  Several seconds later she whistled. “Le Jour Fall season collection. Very sexy and expensive. This is a first.”

  “What’s a first, the outfit?”

  “No, my having whore envy is a first. I usually don’t want to live vicariously through another prostitute’s job, but this one sounds like a vacation.”

  I parted my lips about to tell her that I wasn’t a prostitute and stopped.

  You’re one now. No matter how you sugarcoat it.

  Shalimar grabbed my thoughts. “It looks like I don’t need to help for today, unless you can think of anything? Do you need me to buy something? Have you eaten?”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Hold on, Shalimar.” I rose, put on my robe, and took the phone over to the door.

  When I opened it, two women stood on the other side with a large cart topped with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a bowl of fruit. A cup of tea steamed next to a cup of coffee. And a large pitcher of orange juice sat next to a small basket of croissants.

  The shortest woman asked, “Are you hungry, Mrs. Eden?”

  “Yes, thanks so much.”

  They pushed the cart into the room and stopped it at the small table.

  I placed the phone back to my ear. “I’m covered on food, and probably everything else.”

  “Okay. Good. Jean-Pierre is making my job easy. He’s thought of everything. Most clients don’t.”

  The two women placed platters and dishes onto the table.

  Another woman strolled in with two vases full of roses.

  I could wake up like this every day.

  “Eden? Eden?”

  “Oh.” I didn’t realize I’d lowered the phone from my ear. “Sorry.”

  “You’re good?”

  “I’m excellent.”

  “Okay. Then, I’ll focus on keeping your aunt busy.”

  My stomach twisted. “Yes. Please do that.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was betray her trust and disappoint her. Hooking myself to some guy nicknamed Le Boucher would not be a high achievement with her.

  Although in all fairness, Aunt Celina would respect the dollar amount of the deal.

  “Alright then, Eden. I’m going to bother your aunt. Call me if you need me. And trust me, these days are going to rush by.”