Bella Mafia

by Sienna Mynx

  Rocco spat on him. He lifted the cane from his throat.

  “Bring them in!” Rocco shouted.

  Umberto walked out. Rocco stepped back to reign in his temper. His pressure shouldn’t be so high. He reached into his pocket and removed his pills. He took out two and tossed them back with a swallow. “Stand him up!”

  Nico lifted Dominic off of the ground. Even if Rocco held nothing but contempt for him he would need him to push Mirabella in the right direction. She trusted the weakling. Dominic was tossed to the sofa. He slumped over. The door opened. Raffaele and Paolo were marched in. Both men were given the same beating as Dominic. Paolo broke down in tears. But Raffaele, who had trained under Carlo, remained standing until forced to kneel with a gun to his face.

  “When did it start?” Rocco asked the men.

  Paolo who must have feared for his life, wept uncontrollably. He was useless. Raffaele looked up at Rocco with his one good eye. He spoke with blood in his mouth.

  “Sicily. We were arrested. I believe it was then that Don Mancini got close to her.”

  “Did any of you tell Giovanni?” Rocco asked.

  Raffaele looked over to Dominic. “We told our boss. Dominic.”

  Rocco glanced to Dominic who sat with his head down. “And then what happened?”

  “Mondello,” Raffaele, said. “She went missing in Mondello. Dominic arrived and searched for her. Rosetta said she went to the beach. He found her and brought her back inside.” Raffaele coughed up blood and spat it. “Later, before we left, a local woman told me she had seen Don Mancini and his men near villa Mare Blu. She was certain. I told the boss. He said it was a time of war, and that Mancini and his thugs were everywhere.”

  “Did you, tell Giovanni your suspicions?” Rocco demanded.

  “No,” Raffaele said sadly.

  “Now tell me about Paris.”

  Raffaele sighed. “There were a lot of people. The women were always in meetings, always in different places. Paolo and I tried to keep up. We decided it best to watch the access points. To make sure no one suspicious arrived.”

  “Mancini?”

  “We never saw him. Not once. I swear it.”

  “And?” Rocco asked.

  “The night Dominic arrived, Paolo was given time off. Catalina said he could visit the city. I was to stay.”

  “Time off? On Giovanni’s dime? You take time off?” Rocco asked.

  “We didn’t think,” Raffaele replied. “Catalina said she and Rosetta were going to bed. We believed it was safe.”

  Rocco glanced to Dominic who at this point lifted his head. Rocco then returned his attention to Raffaele. “Go on.”

  “Rosetta, came out of her room. She was barely dressed. We talked. She invited me inside. And...”

  Rocco used the tip of his cane to press dead center of the fallen enforcer’s brow. He pushed back his forehead so the man could look him in the eye. “You went into the hotel room with our Rosie? For what?”

  Raffaele did not respond. He stared at Rocco and the answer was clear. Rocco glanced to Dominic. “So, this is what happens, when we send the women away? The men get to vacation and fuck whoever they want?”

  “Don’t kill them.” Dominic wheezed.

  Umberto smiled and ran the tip of his tongue over his gold tooth. He looked as if he would pull the trigger for enjoyment. Rocco glanced to Nico, whose nostrils were puffed as wide as a bull’s. He looked like he would explode with rage. Renaldo stood with the other men observing. No expression on his face. Among them, Rocco could tell who was honorable and who was weak. It was like this with any clan. An example would need to be made.

  “It was my fault, Rocco. It was my fault.” Raffaele dropped his head in shame. Paolo wept harder. He too hung his head. Others had crowded in. There were a total of twenty men now gathered, and more arriving. Rocco stepped back on his cane. He knew how his brother would handle such incompetency. He’d cut their throats with his bare hands. And Rocco knew how Giovanni would respond. His little cousin Rosie dead, and his sister missing after Armando had toyed with her. He’d use Danny Boy for this job, and insist on pulling the trigger himself. Rocco glanced to Dominic. The men knew these truths as well. They would have to learn another lesson.

  “Silence the piagnucolone.” Rocco said.

  “Noooo!” Dominic shouted

  It was too late. Umberto fired two shots into the back of Paolo’s head. Blood, and bits of brain matter splattered over Dominic and the floor. The man dropped dead with only half of his skull intact. Dominic stared on, unable to speak.

  “Raffaele is yours, Domi,” Rocco said. “While his dick was in our sweet Rosie, Armando Mancini was putting his dick in your Catalina. What will you do about it?”

  Dominic frowned. Umberto lowered the gun from the back of Raffaele’s head with a look of disappointment. The other men stared as well. Some even smiled. They all wanted justice, even if it meant killing a man of their own tribe.

  “They are a reflection of you, Domi. These men, they learn best from their leader. So fucking lead them!”

  Dominic stared at Raffaele.

  “You are consigliere, Giovanni’s shadow, and if you are so fucking weak that Armando could toy with you like this, what does that make Giovanni?”

  The one thing he loathed most was killing men in his family. He’d done it with Franco. He’d done it with Santo. And their shadow-ghosts haunted him. Three shadows were with him now. They were crouched in the corners with ghoulish grins, waiting, wanting a blood offering. He’d usually only catch glimpses of them when drunk or distressed. Now he saw these shadow men everywhere. They scurried across the ceiling, or slithered away from this bed when dawn crept into his room. And they watched him. They waited for him. He was going fucking insane.

  The dead man Paolo, and the condemned man Raffaele, were only weak because of him. It shouldn’t cost them their lives.

  Nico put a gun before Dominic. He stared at it, and then he glanced to Rocco. There was a look in a killer’s eye, something only another killer could see. The look that would usher every man in the room from purgatory straight to hell. Not one man in the room would show Raffaele and Paolo mercy. And if Giovanni was here, Dominic himself would be knelt with them, with a gun aimed at his head as well. How could they ever move past this brotherhood of blood and evolve into more? Why must they be the men of their fathers?

  “What is it going to be, Dominic?”

  “You have Paolo’s blood. Raffaele is my decision. And unless you are going to put a bullet in me too, I say he lives,” Dominic answered.

  Rocco smirked. “At your peril?”

  “I’ve decided!” Dominic shouted.

  “You’ve decided?” Rocco chuckled. “Raffaele is the only act of mercy you will grant in this war. The only one. Take the cockroaches out of my sight. Keep Raffaele somewhere close. In case Dominic changes his mind.”

  The men stepped forward and picked up the remains of Paolo. The others grabbed Raffaele and dragged him out. Rocco stepped closer to a chair splattered in the young man’s blood as the others left. Everyone was gone now except the top capus. “Where’s Carlo?”

  “He’s not been well,” Renaldo said. “Black outs, bad vision. He’s at home with one of his whores.”

  “I see,” Rocco said, and sat in the chair. Dominic shook his head in defeat. It hurt to stand. It hurt to breathe. Dominic held his side because that seem to lessen the pain. And thankfully the alcohol had numbed him a bit as well.

  “We have to meet with the Carabinieri. They want to talk to Mirabella. And then Tacchini is looking to meet with us before we see the other clan bosses. It’s a meeting that Mirabella must attend.”

  The men all exchanged looks. Rocco was the only one who spoke. “So it begins.”

  Chapter Nine

  Aftershock

  Sorrento, Italy

  Catalina lay flat on her stomach with her head turned away from him. The sheets were damp from their sex. Before her conscious
ness returned he was on her. His tongue probed and poked every crevice. He didn’t enter her this time. She’d already experienced penetration from the back to the front, and then front to back again. He kept asking her if she felt him, and if she liked it. What did it matter? He ravished her body, and that was the deal.

  The sheet was twisted around her waist and left leg. He kissed her shoulder, and smoothly rubbed his hand over her back.

  “Are you sleep?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes and pretended she was.

  “Tu sei l'unico per me—you're the only one for me.” He smacked her ass lightly and she felt the fat part of her butt cheeks jiggle. He seemed to like that because he did it again. It soon became a sexual spanking that he thought was playful.

  It was not.

  And then he groaned with lust. He pulled off the sheet and kissed the spot he spanked. With both hands, he parted her buttocks and dipped his tongue in between. Despite her exhaustion, she sighed under a release of pleasure over the warm tickle. Did all men do this? Dominic had, and she often thought it was only their naughty secret—a forbidden act shared between soul mates. Would there ever be anything special and uncharted in sex for her again? The truth surfaced in her mind and her heart sunk. She had gone to the point of no return.

  Armando eased over her. His rock-hard chest pressed down upon her back. She felt him force her legs apart with his muscular thighs. He then entered her while he gripped the mattress above her head, pulling off the sheets at the corners. The long length of him glided in and out of her with soft, then harder strokes. He dropped his forehead to the back of her head, and groaned against her ear. The inner part of her thighs and pelvis quivered, and then cramped under his weight. His delivery was good. She’d have to admit that. Never had she wanted and hated sex so much. There was something intoxicatingly wicked how the conflict of her gluttonous pussy and battered heart, startled her brain. Armando began to fuck her. She panted and smiled—not for him, but for the appreciation of her sexual healing. The way he moved tickled her g-spot, and her body responded. Before long she was chanting the word ‘yes’ to his sinful questions. He whispered his love for her as he licked the outer shell of her ear. And then she pitched over into bliss.

  They both collapsed and climaxed.

  Armando withdrew, and she squeezed her thighs shut because her pussy quivered. The bed shifted. He was up and walking around the room. Catalina opened her eyes again. She stared at the chair near the lamp. When she was a little girl, after being punished, she’d wake to find her father in her room. He’d sit in a chair next to her bed similar to the one in Armando’s room. He’d smile. He’d lean forward and look at her when he spoke.

  “Your mother told me you’ve been a bad girl?” Patri would ask.

  “Sì, Patri,” she would respond. “They were mean to me.”

  “Who was mean to mia piccoletta?” he would ask.

  “Cousins,” Catalina would say. “Amy and Rosetta.”

  His dark eyes and stern features would soften. And that was not common to him. He’d reach over and touch her face. “They are mean to you because they envy you. And they should. No one is as special as you. Don’t let others control you, piccoletta. Don’t be afraid to be different. If they are mean to you, then you be meaner. If they hurt you, then you hurt them back. And if they disappoint you, then you know they are not worthy of you.” He would sigh as if his wisdom was the simplest thing to understand. But for a girl of only four years old it seemed like an ancient language she’d have to study to truly follow. That was then. She was different now. “Be a good girl for your mother when I am gone. It disappoints me to see her upset. Promise?”

  “Sì, Patri. I promise,” she would answer.

  Tomosino would kiss her brow and leave her room. One word from her father, and the world didn’t seem so bleak. What others thought didn’t matter. She knew in her family, and with her father she was loved.

  Catalina stared at the chair and felt nothing. No love. No security. Nothing special. She liked the sex because the physical was the only good feeling she could capture. The physical was something a girl like her could rely on. She was a murderess. She was wicked. She was damned. It was a new feeling of empowerment. Something she supposed would either destroy her, or make what was left of piccoletta disappear.

  “So, my contacts say Rosetta is dead. Her body has been found. Is that the real reason you came to me?” When she didn’t answer he paused. “It is not your fault. Not entirely. I drove you to do it.”

  Catalina said nothing.

  “I’ll make you feel better. I will fix you breakfast.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “I have the keys to Francesca’s boutique. I’ve seized what is his in my territory. You need some clothes, no?”

  Catalina didn’t respond.

  A silk robe was dropped on her back.

  “Put this on with no underwear and join me downstairs. You eat what I cook, while I eat your pussy.”

  He chuckled, she did not.

  “I also have a surprise for you.”

  Armando stared down at her. She didn’t bother to pretend at being asleep. He knew she wasn’t. He moved her hair from her cheek and kissed her jaw. “Last night, this morning, you pleased me. Sono innamorato—I am in love.”

  “What is the surprise?” she asked and her voice rasped with dry resolve.

  “La famiglia. Something you and I both need.” He kissed her brow again. “Get dressed. Per favore.”

  ***

  Armando tied his robe. He left the room with his princess still lying in bed staring at an empty chair. He had to wipe the smile from his lips. Even still he found himself humming. He hadn’t been this happy in so long, if ever. Catalina didn’t complain or question his motives. She didn’t seem to even be in the room with him unless he was inside of her. Sex was the only way they truly communicated since they entered their bargain. It wasn’t enough. He wanted her. All of her. And he always got what he wanted.

  Downstairs the tasty fragrance of cooking meat greeted him. He walked into the kitchen and his sister was at the stove. She turned something over with a spatula before going to the oven to check on something baking.

  “Where is Bionca?” Armando asked.

  Startled, Marietta whirled around with the spatula in her hand as if it were a weapon. “Armando?”

  “Where is Bionca?” he repeated.

  “I sent her home. Did you know she has a newborn? She’s still breastfeeding, Armando.”

  “Why is that my problem?” he frowned.

  Marietta smiled. She put her hand to her belly. Armando looked at her swollen stomach and began to connect the dots. It was a female bonding thing, he supposed.

  “Who’s going to cook our meals? You up for that?” Armando pointed at her stomach.

  “You’ve never eaten my cooking. Give me a chance to prove my skills.”

  “Why? So you can poison my food?"

  Marietta laughed. When Armando didn't, she stopped her silly giggles. “Of course not, dummy. I need you and you need me. I understand that.”

  “What brought on this mood? Lorenzo feeling better?”

  “The fever is gone. He’s exhausted. He needs to get strong, but he’s better. And... I was thinking of what you said.” She turned back to the stove to deal with the food that was burning. Armando walked in and went to the coffee pot. It was freshly brewed. “I’m grateful, Armando. For everything. Eternally grateful that you saved our lives.”

  “And?” he asked.

  “And I want to make sure you get what you deserve. From me. From us. To make sure we’re safe until Lorenzo and I can move on. So, I have an idea.”

  Armando turned with his coffee cup and sipped. He watched her, and her performance only mildly amused him. He’d grown closer to her than Mirabella. Not because Mirabella showed no interest in him and their blood ties. He could have found a way around her disinterest. He’d grown closer to Marietta because she was more lik
e him. A viper. At any moment she could strike. It was a family trait. An illusion. Mancini women were far stronger and more calculating than the men in his family ever suspected. Maybe that’s why he was the last surviving male heir, from his uncles to his cousin. He never let women get that close.

  “Sooo... what do you think?” she glanced over her shoulder.

  He’d missed the punchline. He frowned. “Think about what?”

  “My plan, silly. To get Mirabella to sign everything over to you. All of it. And of course, I will too. Giovanni can’t stop her. Trust me she doesn’t want to fight with you or me. She doesn’t know how to fight. She’s probably at his bedside crying her eyes out. I can make our sister do whatever I want.”

  “I told you what I wanted,” Armando said.

  “I know, but it’s not realistic. Lorenzo is like you. He took an oath to the Battaglia clan like you did to our family. He’s not going to turn on Giovanni. He won’t do it.”

  “I suggest you convince him,” Armando said.

  “But...” Marietta paused. Armando’s gaze cut over to the right. Catalina appeared. She wore his long black silk robe. Her hair was tucked behind her ears and damp from what must have been a quick shower. Armando smiled at how vulnerable and beautiful she looked in his robe.

  “What are you doing here?” Marietta gasped. She turned off the stove. Catalina looked over to Armando with equally wide, shocked eyes. Marietta went straight for her. And the moment she pulled Catalina into her arms the women both wept. Marietta pulled away first and cupped Catalina’s face. “What are you doing here?”

  “Giovanni’s been shot,” Catalina said. “They blame me. I have no home.”

  “No, they don’t! Did you do this? Did you tell her that?” Marietta shouted at Armando.

  He shrugged and set the coffee cup down. “Why am I always to blame?”