by Jesse Jordan
“Yes,” I admit, looking around. “I don't know what a good set of pencils for drawing looks like. Can you please put in a set of black pencils and a set of colors that would go well with this paper? I don't really know anything about those.”
“Of course signore,” the shopkeeper says, smiling. “This is a gift?”
“Something like that,” I admit. The shopkeeper smiles and selects an all in one kit almost the same size as the notebook, with four different black pencils, twenty different colors, a sharpener and two erasers. He rings it up, then to my surprise wraps it quickly in tissue paper.
“I can see in your eyes, this is for a pretty girl. Enjoy.”
The rest of the drive to The Farm, I keep glancing at the wrapped package, wondering what the fuck made me stop to buy the set. I could have given Jessica a simple ream of printer paper and plain pencil from my home office, or one of the books in my library. Why'd I stop to purchase her a set of pencils and a sketch book that was nearly sixty euro total? The money's not important, sixty euro is pocket change... but still, why'd I do it?
I park at The Farm and get out, putting the question out of my mind for a while. Thankfully, I don't have as many personal issues about the shipment that's coming through The Farm tonight, The Sultan's beginning to gather weapons from The Network and transporting them again to the Middle East for a big shipment as soon as he can arrange the buyer. It's mostly small arms, but as I walk into the mostly deserted warehouse that is also the slave pens, I'm surprised by three crates that are stacked in the middle. “What's this?”
Leon, who I've come to understand has been promoted to about the same role for The Sultan that I play for Scoglitti, pats the top crate happily. He's one of the two men in here besides me, and I can tell from the way he's looking at the crates he's proud of his work. “British Starstreak-B surface to air missiles. Small, high speed, and can be mounted on the back of a pickup truck very easily. Four launchers with ten missiles each. You're looking at a three million dollars right here.”
“Impressive,” I comment as my blood runs cold. Surface to air missiles? The Sultan's getting into some pretty pricey shit, and the pricier it gets, the more dangerous it gets. “That just came in?”
“Today,” Leon says, smirking. “We will be making quite a profit this trip.”
“Good, after the last one ran into trouble,” I comment, looking over the rest. There's a crate of AK-74's, nothing that impressive, some radio equipment, and then something that stops my heart. “Wait... pills?”
“Counteragents,” Leon says, shrugging. “Apparently someone wants to play dirty where these are going. We get the canisters in right before we actually ship, The Network doesn't want to keep those around here longer than we have to.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, almost unconsciously crossing myself. “Which side is buying?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Leon asks, covering the crate in a tarp. “All that matters is the money, according to The Sultan. Speaking of which....”
Leon looks over at his fellow member, shouting something in Arabic. The man lifts his head up, says something back, and Leon repeats himself, the other man shrugging before leaving. Leon waits until the door closes then turns his head back to me. “I know what you're doing, Camponini. To my boss.”
“And what is that?” I ask, shifting my weight slightly. I guess The Sultan's hearing rumors, or maybe Leon's just trying to show he's not the smallest dog in the yard among the lieutenants for the various capos. Either way, Leon's about to bark, and he needs to learn just how hard I can bite.
“The word's out, Camponini. Trying to make the other bosses lose faith in Al Gazi so you can look good for the American job,” Leon says. I can see that he's got a sap in his right hand, he's doing a shitty job of hiding it, probably because he's not used to dealing with someone who actually has training and isn't scared by his bullshit. “A warning, you don't want to piss off Omar Al Gazi.”
I nod, then strike before he can, my right foot connecting with Leon's stomach. He doubles over and I pound him in the jaw with an elbow strike before throwing him to the ground, flipping him over my leg before mounting him and bouncing his head off the concrete. “You listen to me, and you listen good you little bastard, if you ever come against me again or call my honor into doubt, I'll cut your coglioni off and send them to The Sultan in a box. You can get a good job in your little shithole home country as a puttana castrata. And tell your boss, if he's the one who told you to send this warning, next time he wants to send me a message, he can either send it himself, or he can at least send someone who knows how to handle himself and not just his cock.”
Leon tries to protest and I punch him between the eyes, knocking him out before I get up and leave the warehouse, where I see Leon's co-worker standing outside, surprised when he sees me. “Your friend's inside. He fell down, hit his head.”
I leave and get in my truck, leaving The Farm and heading back towards Caccamo. I'm going to have to send a message on my phone, and I need some time to think about what I want to say.
I wish I could spend this next day with Jessica, after the intensity of our training session yesterday I feel like we're on the cusp of a final breakthrough, but I can't. Instead, I find myself at a trattoria in Caccamo for a late dinner with my capo, 'Il Capitano' Scoglitti. Getting the name from serving a stint as a commander in the Italian Navy, Scoglitti even looks the part still, with a trimmed white beard that gives him a sort of old fashioned sailor's look.
“Rodrigo, it's been too long,” he says as I sit down in the booth. The restaurant is busy, we're not so late that a lot of the dinner crowd isn't still here, but Scoglitti isn't worried about anyone here reporting what he has to say. Instead, I'm more worried about the cheesy decor. Seriously, who the fuck plays instrumental Sinatra for an Italian restaurant any more unless they want to come off as a joke? “Sadly, business has kept me out of Caccamo for what now, six months?”
“Almost, zio,” I say, using Scoglitti's preferred honorific, 'uncle.' “You look to be in good health.”
“As do you,” Scoglitti says, raising a glass of wine. “A toast. To our continued good health. Salud!”
“Salud,” I reply, drinking half of my glass before setting it down. “When you said you wanted to have dinner, I was surprised. You aren't a man who comes just for the lasagna.”
Scoglitti shakes his head, his smile fading. “No, I don't. Rodrigo, I got word of an incident at The Farm yesterday evening. A certain... accident by The Sultan's assistant?”
“It was no accident. He threatened me, I whipped him like a dog, zio. While I would not like violence between you and The Sultan, I would not be a man if I accepted that level of disrespect,” I say, trying to remain casual. Scoglitti respects the old ideas of honor, courage and pride. There's no reason to whine like a bitch around him.
He measures me with his look, then picks up his wine and takes another drink. “I understand, Rodrigo. And based off of what I know of this Leon and of how The Sultan hires his men, I would not be surprised. By the way, Leon tells a different story, but that is neither here nor there. I wouldn't trust that fool more than you can throw him. However, The Sultan, he is a man of position within our organization. Do you think it is wise to be taking him on? Rachmaninoff told me about the concerns you shared with him, and I have to say Rodrigo, your insight is good. Dangerous, but good.”
“Dangerous? How so, zio?”
“The Sultan is not a man who overlooks sleights, either real or perceived. The danger to you personally is very high.”
Our dinner arrive, pork chops Italian style, and I slice mine open, enjoying the herby aroma that hits my nose. “Zio, if I am to be considered for the honor that you and Rachmaninoff have in mind for me, that takes a man of insight and courage, yes?”
“Of course it does,” Scoglitti says. “But it requires intelligence too. So, is what you are doing intelligent?”
I finish cutting my piece of pork chop and bring it to
my mouth, chewing slowly and carefully before I answer. I'm trying to make it look like I'm thinking, but the reality is, I made up my mind on this particular situation long before tonight's dinner. “I think, zio, that the risk is worth the reward, both to myself, and to our organization. If The Sultan wishes to find me... I'm not a hard man to find.”
Over dessert, Scoglitti shifts to the other big change in my life. “So the new girl, she's working out?”
“She's coming along quite well,” I admit. While Scoglitti doesn't know the full depths of my passions, only Larissa has even an inkling about that, he is instead asking if I like my new servant and slave. He couldn't begin to understand how one of a kind Jessica is. “I don't know if it's my skill, The Dryad's skill, or just the girl's natural affinity for her new position. If anything, the only difficulty has been overcoming her background.”
“What do you mean?” Scoglitti asks. “Is she high born?”
I shake my head, smiling. “No, zio. But she's a very smart woman, and coming from where she comes from, she developed a lot of ideas, like how being in service is somehow beneath her or demeaning to her. I've spent most of my time bringing her along slowly to a more... traditional Sicilian point of view.”
Scoglitti laughs. “Don't do that too much, Rodrigo. Or else you're going to come home late one night and find yourself being cursed out and beaten with a rolling pin by the very same woman who is so docile and polite whenever you're in public or when you have guests over!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, not that traditional a view, zio. I'm ambitious... not stupid.”
Jessica
“Today is going to be our last day of training for a while,” Larissa says, and I can't help but feel a little disappointment. The presence of the violet eyed beauty breaks up my day, and I do feel like it makes the rest of what I have to do here easier. “I have a job to do.”
“A job?” I ask for a moment as we stretch. “Oh... you mean The Network.”
“The Network,” Larissa agrees. “What do you know of it?”
“Only what Rodrigo has told me,” I admit. “You're pretty much worldwide, or at least Europe and I think the Middle East, maybe more. The Network obviously does human trafficking, but I don't know what else. I'm guessing a lot.”
Larissa laughs, shaking her head. “The slave trade is only a small part of The Network's enterprises. There's drugs, weapons, almost all sorts of smuggling. In fact, about the only thing The Network won't transport is children. That's a line we won't cross. And then there's my specialty.”
“Which is?” I ask, almost immediately regretting it when Larissa laughs.
“Infiltration, seduction, information... and assassination,” she says after she stops. “What Jessica, did you think I got to where I am by teaching sexercise and how to hold your fork properly?”
“N... no,” I stammer, plunged once again into the darkness and horror of my new existence. If Larissa, a woman that in most other areas I like, can have this evil, manipulative side to herself, what about Rodrigo? “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Larissa says, switching up our stretch. “I like my work, and Heinrich Stolzberg is going to die with a smile on his face.”
“A smile... what do you mean?” I ask, unable to stop my mouth. It's like a horror movie, I have to find out.
“I mean that I'm going to meet Heinrich in Zürich, where after bringing myself into his confidence, we'll go out while his wife thinks that he's going to have a business meeting. After he takes me to dinner, I'm going to let him take me back to a five star hotel room, where he thinks that he's going to take charge. Just after he comes, I'm going to kill him. For my work... well, The Network is getting a nice fee for it,” Larissa says. She sees the expression on my face, then shakes her head. “I hope that one day, you'll understand. In the meantime, you've got training to do.”
After her revelation, I don't want to, but I can see by the look in her eyes that if I refuse, I'll be punished. Still, I can't push myself quite so hard as normal. I know that fear is supposed to be a motivator, but the simple fact is, my training sessions with Larissa were one of the times when I didn't feel quite so much like a slave, and more like a real woman. I can see the displeasure in Larissa's face as I slog my way through the exercises, her face clouding the longer it goes on. Finally, after forty five minutes, she throws up her hands, disgusted. “Fine. Get the fuck up! You want to waste your time, that's fine. You want to waste mine? Fuck that. Get to your fucking room!”
Her words piss me off and I turn, my lip lifting, but Larissa doesn't give me a chance to even say anything. Before I know it she's spun me around, my wrist bent at a painful angle and my hand jammed into my lower back, her other arm around my neck. “Don't you ever, and I mean ever, look at me like that again, slave. I've been kind to you, maybe more than I should have been if you're going to fuck up like this. I should break your arm to teach you a lesson. Do you want that?”
“No!” I whine, whimpering when Larissa twists my arm harder. “Please, miss! I'm sorry!”
“I know over two dozen ways to kill you right now, never forget that,” Larissa says, letting go of my arm and shoving me towards the house. “Get the fuck inside!”
Larissa marches me to my room and inside, where she watches me from the doorway. I sit down, tears rolling down my face, and she grunts. “I will inform Rodrigo about this. I don't know how he'll want to punish you, but I'll ask him not to be too strict. You learned your lesson, Jessica.”
She shuts the door and I hear the lock click, sending me into sobs. I feel abandoned, hurt, and afraid. When I calm down, I still feel a dark sadness inside me, and I sit, staring at the spot between my knees on my mattress, wondering. I'm still thinking when the door opens again, and Rodrigo comes in, squatting in front of me. “Larissa told me what happened.”
“I know. I'm sorry.”
“No, you're not,” Rodrigo says, chuckling. “I can see it in your eyes. You're hurt, you're pissed off, but you're not sorry for being that way. By the way, I told Larissa that she might have been a little hasty for twisting your arm. Still, she was correct to give you the lesson she did. Stand up, put your sandals on, let's go talk.”
I get up and follow Rodrigo reluctantly upstairs to the living room, where he points to the middle of the room. “Stand there. Okay Jessica, for the next five minutes, you can say whatever you want, I won't punish you. You have questions in your eyes and in your heart. Ask them.”
I swallow, then ask the first question on my mind. “Was she lying? Is she really a killer?”
Rodrigo shakes his head. “She wasn't lying. She's killed... well, I'm not exactly sure how many. Since she and I have become acquainted, I know at least a dozen. Before you ask, yes, I've killed too. And I won't hesitate to kill again if I have to.”
I look at him, horrified and pissed off. “So is that what my future's supposed to be? Is that why you had me training with Larissa for the past few weeks? To turn me into a whore or a killer?!?”
“No!” Rodrigo yells, getting in my face.
“No? So what, if I don't be a good little slave, you're just going to sell me off? Turn me over to The Sultan and let him turn me into a whore? Someone's little fuck puppet? Is that what all our training's been about? Is that what making me come my fucking brains out was for?”
“NO!” Rodrigo yells, grabbing my shoulders. “I did that because I wanted to, because you wanted it!”
“So what? Yeah, I want to fuck you, Rodrigo! But what if I say no? Are you going to get bored? Are you going to kill me? Or pimp me out to get your quarter million back?”
Rodrigo pushes me away slightly, his eyes blazing. “I will never whore you out, Jessica. I told you the first time we went into my training room, that's the one area in your life that will be your choice. If you never want, then you'll stay here. As my servant yes, but not as my sex slave. And I will never let The Sultan, The Composer, Larissa or anyone else take you from me! You're mine!”
The way he says that I'm his cuts my anger to ribbons, and I'm aware of his body, of the way he looks at me, and I know what I need to do. Rodrigo tilts his head when I get to my knees, his expression puzzled. “What are you doing?”
“Making my choice,” I reply, my desire filling me. “Please... Master. I need you.”
Rodrigo's eyes sparkle as he reaches down and pulls me to my feet, looking deep into my eyes. “You realize what you're saying?”
“Yes Master,” I reply, putting my arms around his neck. “I'm begging you, Master Rodrigo. I know you won't promise me safety, I know you won't promise me happiness. But... I'm begging you Master. Please fuck me.”
I get up on my tiptoes and kiss him, my Master's lips soft and supple. More than his cock, I've been dreaming of the one kiss we shared, how he felt on my mouth. His arms come up, crushing me and claiming me as his tongue demands entrance, and I give it to him. Master picks me up and carries me to the couch, his hands mauling my ass as he pulls my sweatpants off. My sandals go flying as he strips my clothes off so quickly I can feel the biting burn of my t-shirt being pulled across the skin underneath my breasts, and Master stops, smirking. “You know this changes things.”
“Yes Master,” I whimper, my pussy flooding with heat as he pulls his shirt off and undoes his pants. For the first time he undoes them, and I get to see his cock. It's perfect, thick and long, with a flared head that I want to feel slamming inside me. “Master...”
“Put your arms over your head,” Master commands, and I happily obey. He takes the scrap that is my old t-shirt and ties my hands together. He stands up, pulling the rest of his clothes off, standing before me a living, breathing god, his cock raging and angry, his eyes possessive. “Is this what you want, slave?”
