Reign of Pride

by A. G. Kirkham

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the priest says while I continue to search the crowd. We have yet the reception to get through, where each man and their family will present a financial contribution for the raising of the children and well-being of our widows. They will be provided for anyway by La Famiglia, however this is our tradition, so we will follow suit.

  My father and I follow the widows and their children, having formulated a plan where Marina and Ella are never left alone. I trust my men, the leak must be in another division of our team, and more importantly, there could be another. Although I tread cautiously, allowing only a handful of men know the details of our plan and it make it easier to expunge the traitor.

  My father chose his home to have everyone pay their respects. Each underboss and their families make their rounds. I advise Felicia that we will be supporting Marina and Ella today as we have families throughout looking after the wives and children of our lost men. Felicia can see how tired Ella is as she clings to her mother. She coaxes Ella from her mother’s arms and folds her into an armchair beside me, cooing and lulling her into a restful sleep. I see Marina peer at the two through lowered lashes and she whispers to me, “Felicia is going to make a wonderful mother. I hope you have that miracle happen for you both soon.” I nod and glance at my wife. She is gentle, kind, and compassionate, possibly too soft for our world. Yet, I imagine her pregnant with our child and feel thrilled with the thought. A child is in our future but not before I have more time with my wife alone. I am planning an actual honeymoon once we have this problem resolved. We are still young, and the net is being cast today to resolve this issue, then I can worry about a baby.

  It’s late afternoon and I am relieved to be in the confines of my father’s den with Marina and Ella, after an afternoon of sorrow. I arrange for Felicia to go home with Livio and Dario as my father, Mario and I work through our findings of the day.

  “Here are all the cards given to me by the families,” Marina says presenting an abundance of envelopes. “I want to return them when this is all over,” she says proudly. “So will Corrado, although he’ll be very pleased to know that he’s so well thought of.”

  I take them and note the name of the family and how much they gifted. A guilty man appeases his conscious with money. I see several anomalies in the families and amounts. This is not enough evidence in the slightest but certainly an indication of where to start.

  I direct my attention to Marina. “We are taking you to the safehouse. We will tell everyone that, in your grief, you have decided to get away with Ella to come to terms with Corrado’s death. I’ve spoken to the doctor and from what he tells me, he is improving. They will try to take him off the ventilator soon. However, he will need time to heal.”

  “Can he speak?” Father asks.

  “Once he is off the ventilator and they reduce his medication, he will be more coherent and will be able to name names. Until then, we need to stay vigilant and follow the leads we have.” I am optimistic for his recovery.

  It’s late evening before we leave the den. Marina and Ella were taken out the back and are on their way to her husband. Father and I have locked the money and cards we have gathered into the safe, and I am going to find my mother to make sure I say my goodbyes. “Good sons come kiss their mother’s goodbye,” she’d said earlier, teasing me.

  I step into the dining room where I am sure that Mom is directing the caterer in getting the house back to its normal state and find my Zia Silvia and Zio Amate chatting her up.

  “It’s such a shame how these things happen in our family,” Zia Silvia states. “We are always so careful. Amate would never have allowed this to happen on his watch. How did these horrible people get into our warehouse?” My aunt is asking questions she has no business asking. My uncle, who should have this in hand, is lazing in the armchair, sipping Father’s finest cognac. I can sense my father’s agitation at the sight of my uncle doing nothing as my aunt injects her unwanted sentiments to my mother and insulting Mario’s capabilities as an underboss. I want to get home to my wife and decide to move this along.

  “Zia, I believe that you speak of something you know nothing about. I also see that my dear uncle is incapable of stopping our cardinal rule of not talking about business to our families,” I state.

  At the sound of my recriminations, my uncle rises from the chair and shuffles over to us.

  “Silvia, it is time for us to take our leave. This sad day is not the time to discuss such matters.”

  “There’s never a time for me to hear my sister, your wife, speak of our business,” my father growls. “This is never to be spoken outside of our rooms.” He takes a step closer to Amate, while he furrows his brow. “Never again, Amate. The only reason I’m not going to show you what happens to those who don’t adhere to the rules is because you are my sister’s husband. But that is only for this instant. Do it again, and you’ll feel my wrath.” Father turns to his sister. “You know better than to pull my wife into your gossip. Sister or not, my wife is off limits to your antics. Keep your thoughts on raising your family.”

  My aunt gasps. She’s older than Father and up until he’d had become don, she’d treated him as her baby brother, so having to take orders from him doesn’t sit well with her. In other words, Zia Silvia is a spoiled brat. She has a tendency of being selfish and likes the finer things in life.

  We all like the finer things and we work for them. We reap the rewards of our work and sacrifices and, as the men in our family, we give the best we can to our families. Mom does not suffer or do without, neither has Grazia or me, however we follow the family laws and rules. Grazia is to become a good wife to her husband; I was taught to kill. The rest of the world would consider this abuse; my father recognizes this as survival. At times he was harsh, and I’d hated him. Now, I understand the importance of why I’d been subjected to all level of our businesses, including the seedy underbelly of dealing with our enemies.

  My aunt walks off in a huff as my uncle murmurs a half-assed apology to my father, then he follows her. I never understood why Father had made him an underboss. He is weak of mind and this is a potential problem.

  I kiss my mother on the cheek, as her eyes are on still on the door. “I want to get home to Felicia. It’s been a long couple of days,” I tell her then I nod to my father. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He returns my nod then puts his arm around Mom’s waist. It’s a move I’ve seen often whenever Mom is upset.

  The phone rings on my way home, confirming the safe arrival of Corrado’s family. The men will be taking shifts watching his back and I will be intermittently using them in our plan to flush out the traitor. I come to the front gates, checking in with the guards to make sure that nothing is amiss. I see Dario waiting for me at the front door.

  “Mr. Moretti, good to see you home.” He bows his head slightly, as a sign of respect.

  “All good here?” I inquire as I make my way into the house. I make my way down the hall, then veer to the right, towards my den.

  “Sir, do you need to go in there tonight?” I hear Livio ask behind me. I turn about and stare him down.

  “You have a problem with me going into my own room?”

  “No sir. But… well.,”

  “Look, we don’t want to ruin Felicia’s surprise. She worked really hard on it,” Dario says while looking down at his shoes.

  “Surprise for what?”

  “Your one-week anniversary,” Livio states.

  I blink. Who celebrates an anniversary after a week? Felicia, I guess.

  I struggle not to smile at the thought of Felicia creating a surprise. I worry about her youth and inexperience in our world, then see the beauty of having that youthfulness emerge into something as kind of a surprise for me and for our family as we build it.

  “You are both relieved of house duty for the night. Stay on the grounds in the guest house tonight because I need to leave early tomorrow.” They nod as I give my order then I watch th
em walk out. I lock the door and do a walk-through of the house, ensuring that we are locked up tight. I notice the door to the den is closed. I have hated surprises all my life because most of the ones I’ve experienced have been surprise attacks. Although I’m tempted to walk into the room and go about my business, I decide to leave it be until morning, and not spoil her fun. I am tired anyway and need to get some sleep before moving on to the next steps of our plan.

  The moonlight seeps through the balcony off the bedroom. Felicia had the furniture arrive a few days ago and it suits us both. I’d been a little surprised with her choices at first when I’d come home to find a king-sized bed with a massive headboard with white quilted leather formed with an almost black, solid wood frame and matching footboard. I can see that she put a lot of effort into choosing our room. It means something to me that she did this. She’d been excited to share the room and had been putting on the final touches of throws and pillows, and knick-knacks on the tables when I’d walked in.

  “What do you think?” she said with her eyes sparking with excitement. “I thought it was perfect when I saw it. The dark is very masculine, but the white adds some brightness and I chose deep hues of blue as accents.”

  I couldn’t have cared less what the room had looked like at that moment. I’d been surprised and pleased at her pride in designing a room that she felt reflected the two of us. I’d told her she was right; it was perfect. Then I’d shown her other ways she could please me.

  I look at the bed. Felicia has the covers drawn to her waist, one hand under the pillow, her hair strewn all over the pillow. She looks peaceful.

  I undress, tossing my clothes onto the black leather chair, while its companion in white has Felicia’s emerald silky robe. I slip into bed and instinctively pull her against me, the heat of her body through the slip of silk warming my palm. The light floral scent of her hair and the softness of her body curved into mine make my blood boil and the exhaustion I’d felt only minutes earlier disappears. I shimmy the nightgown up around her thighs, tracing the lines of her legs, stirring her in her sleep. She wriggles closer against my already engorged cock. My hand slips into her panties, and I stroke her folds. She moves restlessly but opens her legs to allow me access to her pussy. Even in her sleep, her body craves mine.

  A low mewl escapes those pouty pink bubble-gum lips as I slide my finger over her clit, tracing ’round and ’round, then slip it inside her wet pussy in a lazy rhythm, while continuing to flick her clit. Her hips sway with each stroke and she clasps my wrist to keep me there.

  I lift her one leg over mine, opening her fully to my touch, then pump two fingers inside her.

  She moans, fully awake now, her head tipped back, eyes meeting mine, her teeth biting her lower lip.

  “Nero, please.” She squirms in my arms.

  “What do you need, dolce?” I tease and I pinch her clit.

  “Please give it to me,” she says, panting.

  “What, baby?” I fill her pussy with my fingers and strum her clit—but then I stop.

  A fierce growl comes from her throat as she tightens her grip on my hand.

  “Give me your cock, Nero. I need you,” she pleads desperately.

  I lift her leg higher and penetrate her pussy in a deep stroke with my cock.

  “Yes!” she exclaims. Her hand slides between her legs to where our bodies are joined. Then—

  Jesus.

  Then she does something which shocks the hell out of me but also turns me on more than I’ve ever been turned on before. She… she strokes her clit. “Harder,” she begs so prettily. “More, please. Give me more.”

  I unleash the demon inside me, gripping her ankle and shifting my position to enter her more fully as a slightly different angle, giving me leverage to plow into her fast and mercilessly. I want to be inside her; I want to feel all of her and for her to feel all of me.

  Felicia yells my name as she comes hard, soaking my cock with her juices. In the throes of her orgasm, I position her on her knees and enter her pussy again. She lifts her ass higher, allowing me deeper inside her. She takes everything I give. I wrap my hand in her hair, tugging gently, watching her back arch as I watch my cock slide in and out of her pussy, dripping with wetness, and then I explode, melding my body to hers.

  I wait for my breath to return before I pull her on top of me. “I want you here tonight.” I hold her to me. The day had been filled with sadness, treachery, and deceit. This—she—is pure, good, and real. I love her warmth, softness, and the way she makes me feel calm.

  “Okay, honey,” she whispers, brushing her cheek over my chest.

  “Can you sleep like this?”

  “I can sleep anywhere with you,” she replies, her eyes half-closed, as she burrows into me.

  The day started with a funeral—death, anger, and violence. It ends with Felicia in my arms. I will take all the horrors of the day as long as I get to come home to this.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Happy One-Week Anniversary

  Felicia

  * * *

  “You’re up at six every morning, but today you want to stay in bed?” I tug the sheet away, attempting, once again, to get out of bed. He hauls me back down and pulls me under him, his forearms on either side of my head, his lips just inches from mine.

  “It’s only quarter to six, dolce. What’s the rush in kicking me out of bed this morning?” Nero taunts me.

  “You always work out in the morning and I thought I’d make you breakfast this morning, while you do,” I tell him. I reluctantly attempt to ease myself out of his hold, as Nero lowers his lips, taking mine in a long, slow, sensual kiss. He made love to me last night, then again twenty minutes ago, and my body is still throbbing with a blissful ache so that the mere touch of his lips to mine makes me crave him again. I find that being with Nero here in our bed excites me. I know my love for him is growing. I cling to him as he devours my mouth, and I run my hands down his abs, then around the sides over his back, scoring his skin with my nails.

  He lifts his lips. “I see that my wife can be a tigress.”

  Embarrassment washes over me as I understand my nails have left a mark on his back. “I’m so sorry, Nero. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

  His reaction is pure, sweet laughter. “Baby, thinking your nails on my back are painful, proves how innocent you truly are.”

  My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I refuse to meet his gaze.

  “Felicia, look at me.”

  I force my eyes to his.

  “That was hot. Really, really hot. That fact that you do that with me, that I can get you there, makes me extremely happy. Don’t hold back; give me everything you are because what I have seen so far, I like. A lot.”

  I smile. Our time together has been short, but I feel closer to Nero with each and every day that passes. I can even say I like him—well, most of the time. Of course, there are those moments, when I want to kick his shin.

  “But you are right, dolce mio; it’s time to get up. We’ll have to take this up again tonight when I’m home.” Nero kisses my neck then leaps out of bed.

  I climb out after him, pulling on my robe and make my way to the door.

  “Felicia, you can’t go down like that,” he states, waving his hand at me.

  “Stop, Nero. I’ve asked the guys not to come in until we’ve had breakfast. No one’s going to be here until eight at the earliest. Have your workout, take your shower, then come down for breakfast.”

  I have planned breakfast in the den because I want to surprise him that this room is finished so he can work more from home instead of running to his father’s all the time. As the next Don, he needs an office of his own.

  I set two place settings on the dark oak table, along with juice glasses and coffee, then hop back into the kitchen to dish out the baked French toast I’ve made. Thank goodness for Google; I was able to find an easy recipe, since I’m new to cooking from scratch, I though this is wh
ere I can start.

  The French toast is layered with crème fraiche, maple syrup and fresh berries, and it looks almost too good to eat. I hear Nero coming down the stairs and meet him in the hallway.

  “Are we eating in the dining room today?” Nero asks, as I approach.

  “Nope. The den.” I head there. “Could you get the door, honey?”

  He turns the knob, then steps back to allow me to enter first.

  I walk to the table to set the plates down, then look at Nero for his reaction.

  He comes into the room, standing in the middle, taking it all in. His gaze lingers on the wall-to-wall oak bookcase that I’d filled with classic books I’d thought he’d enjoy. On the wall opposite the bookcase, I’d chosen a gray-and-red painting called Black Tree that I’d thought would be perfect for this room. His studies it for a moment then looks at the desk. He must like it because his eyes then find mine and he comes over to me, grasps the back of my head, and kisses me.

  “I take it you like it,” I pant breathless from his kiss.

  “You did an amazing job, baby.” He smiles broadly, then nods toward the bookcase. “We may need to move that, though.”

  “That’s what you think. Look.” I head over to the bookcase, then move some of the books, to release the hidden latch to the safe he’d installed when he’d had the house renovated. “Voila!”