My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 4 Poisoned

by Marita A. Hansen

  I placed the tray on his lap. Frano picked up the spoon, looking at his hand, which had stopped shaking. “Take a seat,” he said, placing the spoon in the soup. He stirred it, his gaze moving to me. I swallowed, the man intense to say the least, his anger rippling off him.

  “Have you seen Sasha?” he asked.

  “Not for the past three days. He’s been visiting someone, a lover Alberto said.”

  “Merda,” he swore. “No wonder he hasn’t called that Black Fucking Freak.”

  I smiled at his reference, watching as Frano took a sip of the soup. He let out a satisfied sigh, then took a large spoonful, the food softening his harsh expression. “Tastes like how my nonna used to make it. Who’s the cook for today?”

  “Maria.”

  “Well, tell her the minestrone is perfetto.”

  “I will.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “And why have you been ordered to serve me? It’s not one of your tasks.”

  “Alberto allowed the Gambino family to take a break due to a celebration. But unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of the Donatelli coming, so he has all the other servants busy preparing for the dinner.”

  He pointed his spoon at me. “Make sure you wake me up an hour before they arrive. I must prepare myself.”

  “Alberto said you should stay in bed, which is another reason he sent me. He wants to make sure you’re taking adequate rest.”

  “Not if it means I would miss a meeting with those savages.” He took another spoonful of the soup. I watched as he swallowed it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing. My mind went to Jagger and how he loved me nibbling on his Adam’s apple.

  Frano scooped up more soup, my brother-in-law looking ravenous.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  He looked up as he shoveled the minestrone into his mouth, a dribble running down his chin. He wiped at it. “My head is killing me, and it doesn’t help with psychotic Russians phoning me.”

  “What did the Black Russian want?”

  “Someone he cannot have.”

  “Is he still persisting on getting Jagger?”

  He frowned. “How do you know about that?”

  “Alberto told me. And I find it repulsive the man thinks he can buy Jagger.”

  “And I think it’s wrong what you are doing with my cousin.”

  I pulled a face, not appreciating his berating tone. “I was going to talk to you about him.”

  “Why bother? You already had a conversation with Alberto’s boot, and if you’re thinking of divorcing him, think again. Divorce is not permitted in our famiglia.”

  “Why not if a marriage isn’t working?”

  “Because of the church. Alberto doesn’t wish to leave it; therefore you must abide by your vows.”

  “But I love Jagger.”

  “Open your eyes, woman, Jagger has no interest in you.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “Why ignore the truth?”

  “Because it isn’t the truth, he told me he loved me today.”

  Frano frowned. “I thought he was in New York.”

  I went still, realizing I’d let slip, then I exhaled loudly, making out that my next words were obvious. “He phoned me.”

  “Oh…” Frano picked up a piece of bread and wiped the bowl with it, then took a bite, looking as though he was thinking. “You still can’t keep cheating on Alberto with Jagger; they had a fight over you.” He paused, his frown growing. “No, it was only partly over you. I think Jagger went crazy over Honey being sent away, but she’s still here...” He put down the bread and rubbed his forehead, no doubt getting confused over what was real and what wasn’t.

  “They never fought over me or that slave,” I said, not liking Honey, not one bit. Jagger had spent way too much time with her when he should’ve spent it with me. “Do you wish me to get Honey for you?”

  Frano dropped his hands. “Why would I want that?”

  I smiled softly, the man clueless. “Isn’t that obvious?”

  “Not to me.”

  “As a bed-warmer,” because the bitch was never going to warm Jagger’s bed again.

  “I don’t wish for a slave in my bed…” His eyes lit up, “...unless you can get me Rita.”

  “Who’s Rita?” I feigned.

  “The brunette slave.”

  “We don’t have any brunettes.”

  “We do, I know we do, I can remember her; she looks like Sophia Salvi, just with brown hair and older.”

  “I’m sorry, but there is no such woman. You probably dreamed her.”

  “No, no, she is real,” he said, looking frustrated.

  “You did take a hard knock.”

  He started massaging his temples, mumbling that there was a brunette, then his eyelids slowly closed, the drugs in the soup finally taking effect. His eyes shot open as his body listed to his right. He placed a hand on the bed to steady himself. “What is wrong with me?” he said.

  “It will be the concussion.”

  His gaze moved to me, his glare making my heart beat faster. “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are, so is Alberto, because that woman is real.” His hand slipped out from under him. He fell onto his side, the empty soup bowl tumbling onto the bed.

  I got up and removed the tray and bowl, placing them on the bedside cabinet.

  Frano blinked up at me, his expression both sleepy and upset, the anger simmering underneath making me nervous. I made a mental note to avoid him after he woke up.

  “You drugged me,” he said.

  “Alberto wanted you to sleep.”

  He closed his eyes, then reopened them, trying to fight the drugs. “Yoou wiiiill be punished fo-for this,” he slurred, his eyes closing again.

  His body went lax, all fight gone out of him, his mind drifting into unconsciousness. I shook his shoulder to double-check. He was out cold. I grabbed him around the waist and pulled him down the bed, then covered his body with a sheet. I stopped to stare at him for a moment, thinking he looked a bit like Jagger asleep. I forced down the lump in my throat at what Jagger was enduring, then picked up the tray and left the room.

  I headed down the staircase and through the flapping doors that led into the kitchen. Maria, the old cook, was rolling fresh gnocchi between her hands, the results lined up on the bench, while her daughter-in-law was chopping onions. And on the other side of the room, Thierry was washing dishes, trying his best to ignore the assistant’s five-year-old daughter, who was pulling on his shirt, pestering him to sing. The cook turned to look at me, Maria’s craggy old face showing her displeasure that I had served Frano, the woman having given me some trouble over it.

  The battle-ax barked at Thierry in Italian to take the tray. Jagger’s brother stopped cleaning dishes and glanced over his shoulder, his confused look telling me he didn’t understand a word that Maria had said, his Italian rather poor.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, putting the tray down on the bench, “Alberto ordered me to take Frano his food.”

  “Still, you are a D’Angelo, you shouldn’t have to serve,” Maria said. She was a heavy-set woman with more hair on her face than Thierry had on his whole body.

  “I don’t mind,” I replied, looking at Thierry. “And he’s a D’Angelo too.”

  The woman huffed, not looking happy with my reply, no doubt because Thierry was a love child, or in Maria’s terms: a bastard child. She turned back to what she was doing, mumbling something under her breath.

  Ignoring her, I walked around the central food station, heading for the little girl and Thierry. He looked scared, as though the cook and her helper would find out about what we had discussed earlier. I smiled at the boy reassuringly, thinking he was far too sweet to be caught up in this mess. To a certain extent, minus Alberto’s violence toward me, I knew what I was getting myself into since the D’Angelo family was known for their ruthlessness, but this boy hadn’t had a clue when he’d walked through the front door with
only a suitcase and Jagger’s name on his lips.

  I shooed the little girl away from Thierry, the five-year-old running to her mother. I watched her with her mother for a second, then returned my attention to Thierry. “Be here around five,” I whispered to him. I patted his hand then turned and left, my nerves making my heart skip a beat, but in a good way, because...

  ALBERTO WAS GOING TO DIE TONIGHT!

  ***

  The three Donatelli men and their guard entered through the front door as if they owned the place. I clamped my teeth together, wishing I could shoot them all for kidnapping and hurting my Jagger.

  The gray-haired and very loud don walked alongside Alberto, my husband stealing Frano’s role. But unlike Frano, he looked like the hired help, his taste in clothes substandard, most notably the hideous charcoal jacket he had on, something I was sure I’d thrown out. Which proved he wasn’t up for the job of being a don. Although Alberto was a big and strong-looking man, he didn’t give the impression of a leader, his lack of dress sense and his definite lack of charisma a major problem.

  The two Donatelli brothers and a guard followed the frail-looking don and Alberto, along with… My eyes widened as Matteo entered through the front door, the man giving me a wide grin. He walked up to me and took a hold of one of my hands, giving it a kiss.

  “I thought you were dead,” I said as his lips brushed my flesh.

  Still holding my hand, he straightened, those stunning blue eyes of his twinkling mischievously. “As you can see I’m very much alive and by the way, did Alberto tell you who I am?”

  “You’re FBI.”

  “No, I’m a Donatelli.” He let go of my hand and did an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “My full name is Matteo Lorenzo Donatelli, I’m Marco’s son.”

  “You’re Lucky’s boy?” I said in shock.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re Americano.”

  “Only half. My mother was once a slave. And because I’m blond, a rarity in the family, my father decided to reward her by setting her free.”

  “Huh,” I said, still stunned, “Then why was I told you were FBI?”

  “I was an infiltrator.”

  “Still, how come I haven’t heard of you prior to this year? I’ve met all of your father’s children.”

  “I lived in America for most of my life, and you were probably only introduced to his wife’s children, because my father has spawned thirty-four kids altogether, that is, the ones he knows about. He really hates condoms,” Matteo laughed.

  I blinked, totally shocked. I knew Lucky was a ladies’ man, but that number was staggering.

  Matteo smiled at me. “By the way, how is Frano?”

  “Good considering what happened to him, but unfortunately he won’t be attending tonight due to his concussion. He had to be given a sedative.”

  “That’s understandable; my father did go overboard with hitting him over the head. Is he still having trouble remembering?”

  “He’s confused, and doesn’t know what is real and what isn’t.”

  “Then make sure he only knows what Alberto wants him to.”

  “Sì.”

  Matteo kissed my hand again, making me blush. The man was lovely-looking and very suave—unlike Alberto, and his dark suit was gorgeous, the cut accentuating Matteo’s athletic physique.

  He let go of my hand and walked over to Alberto. My eyes widened as Matteo pinched my husband’s rear. Alberto jolted, resulting in Matteo laughing, his shoulders shaking with mirth. I looked down at my hand then back at Matteo. He … he didn’t look gay, but that pinch ... a heterosexual man wouldn’t have done that.

  I watched as Alberto moved away from Matteo, taking a seat by the old don. Matteo went to sit next to Alberto, Lucky barking at his son to move. Matteo gave his father a glare, but instead of arguing he headed to the other side of the table where his Uncle Nino was sitting. He took the seat directly opposite Alberto, looking as though he was mentally undressing my husband, the way he was biting his lip definitely sexual. I shook my head, stunned that someone was actually interested in the brute, and someone as delicious as Matteo. I wondered whether Matteo had been hit over the head harder than Frano, because he was obviously brain damaged to want Alberto. Nor did I understand why Alberto was acting so coldly toward him, because there was definitely more to that pinch than met the... My eyes widened, knowing in that instant that Alberto had slept with Lucky’s son, the cold shoulder Alberto was giving him something I’d experienced.

  The don started talking. I walked over to Alberto and placed my hands on his shoulders, the touch repulsing me, but something he had told me to do. Matteo’s gaze moved to me for a second, then he looked back at Alberto, the leer that followed making him look wicked. Alberto touched my hand, probably to annoy Matteo, because there was a definite lovers’ tiff happening.

  I refrained from yanking my hand away. “The servants are busy preparing a feast for you all,” I said to the men, “but while you wait for supper would you like drinks to be served?”

  Alberto waved his free hand in the air. “Of course, bring out our best vino.”

  I headed for the cellar, retrieving a bottle of wine from the racks, then went to the kitchen. The cook and her helper glanced at me as I entered, then resumed working, only Thierry and the little girl still paying me attention. Jagger’s brother was huddled in the far corner, filling dessert dishes, making me wonder whether he’d tried to hide from me. The little girl was sitting on the floor next to him, hugging his legs and giggling.

  “I need you to take the wine out to the men,” I said, walking over to him. I placed the bottle on the bench, then bent down to detach the little girl from Thierry’s legs. “Let go, sweetheart.” She did, taking off to her mother, who shooed her outside.

  Thierry glanced over at the women busy cooking. “Please don’t make me do this,” he whispered.

  “I don’t have a choice,” I whispered back. “So, fill the glasses now.”

  He stared at me, then jumped as the cook barked at him, the woman so brusque. “Do as you are told, Thierry!” she snapped, making me nervous that she could’ve heard us.

  “Sorry,” he said softly. He opened the fridge next to him and pulled out a tray of ice-cold glasses, the temperature set to Frano’s standards. He placed the tray on the bench, then opened a draw and retrieved a bottle opener. After uncorking the bottle, he poured the red wine into the glasses, his hands shaking badly. I placed a hand on his as he went to pour a sixth one. “We only need five,” I said. “And calm down, this is my doing, not yours.”

  He nodded and re-corked the bottle, then placed it on the bench. “What do I do now?” he asked, looking down at the glasses.

  I glanced over at the cooks, both of them facing away. Turning my back to them, I pulled out a tiny packet and tipped it into the glass on the far right-hand side. I then disposed of the packet in the rubbish bin and pulled out a spoon from the drawer, giving it a mix. Once done, I tapped the glass, whispering, “Make sure Alberto is served first.” I leaned closer to his ear. “It will look like a heart attack. No one will know. We will get Jagger back, and you won’t have the monster called my husband touching you ever again.”

  Nodding, Thierry picked up the tray of glasses, his expression still terrified.

  I ran a hand down his back, whispering, “Breathe in, breathe out, you are not doing anything wrong—I am. Remember, this is by my hand not yours, you have nothing to feel bad for.”

  He nodded again, although he looked as if he wanted to cry. Without a word, he sidestepped me and headed for the door. I opened it for him. We walked together to the table, stopping behind Alberto, who was in a deep conversation with the don, discussing business matters, something about a shipment of slaves.

  “Alberto,” Matteo said, interrupting the conversation. “Will you be visiting our House of Whores again?”

  Alberto’s back stiffened.

  “Son!” Lucky snapped, next to Alberto. “You are here to ob
serve, not to cause trouble.”

  “There’s no need to get mad with me, I just wanted to know if Alberto enjoyed his time there,” Matteo said, turning his angry glare back to Alberto. “Well ... did you?”

  Alberto dropped his gaze.

  “How ironic. Silent now, but when you were fucking me you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

  “Son!!”

  Matteo ignored his father, his eyes blazing. “Just one warning: If you ever call Jagger’s name out again I WILL KILL HIM!”

  A roar went through the room, coming from the frail don. “Matteo! LEAVE. NOW!”

  Matteo got to his feet, flinging his chair back. He pointed at Alberto. “He is my lover, grandfather, and I will not abide by him coming to my place of work and fawning over another man!”

  The frail don pushed up. “He is NOT your lover! He is Bianca’s husband, and you don’t disrespect a man in front of his wife because of your vile jealousies. Go back to the house now, or you will be packing your bags and leaving for America tonight! And if you harm Jagger in any way you will have to face your uncle’s wrath.”

  Matteo swore, then stormed toward the door, the guard following him out.

  The frail don turned to me. “I apologize profusely for my wayward grandson. What he said was horrendous, and for him to say it in front of you is unforgiveable, so please be assured that he won’t go unpunished for this.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” I said, “nothing at all. If my husband wishes to take comfort while I am otherwise occupied, I am not one to judge him.”

  The don’s eyes widened. He appeared temporally stunned, then he barked out a laugh, his gaze moving to Alberto. “How were you so lucky to get such a wonderful woman as a wife? My Gaby would have made me a eunuch for such an infraction.”