by Jesse Jordan
“Enjoyable. Obviously the city's been rebuilt dozens of times since the ancients, but Temple to Apollo is still mostly there, along with the Necropolis. That was kinda cool. That night, I was staying at a online BnB rental, and the girl who owned it said that there was a nightclub that was pretty popular. So I went and.....”
“You got caught in the Pitcher Plant,” Rodrigo says, nodding. When I give him a confused look, he shrugs. “The online rental you made, the building is owned by someone who is either in The Network or owes favors to The Network. The club you went to is one of ours, and I'm guessing the drinks you were given were spiked. When you went down, the bouncers had you out the door and in a van to bring you to The Farm probably before Ariana Grande finished singing she wanted to go side to side.”
I sigh, nodding, that's probably exactly how it went down. I still don't quite remember much of the club. “So that's me. A normal American girl from New Jersey with one parent, a dog that's being taken care of by my former college roomie, a huge pile of student loans, and a hobby of drawing because it's cheap and it helps me think. And to be honest I'll do just about anything to go back to all of it.”
“Anything?” Rodrigo asks, leering, and I growl.
“Not that.”
Rodrigo laughs, shaking his head. “Don't worry, as I said I don't find anything in forcing a woman into intercourse. Now, let me give you a few pointers. I live alone here, and my nearest neighbor is quite a good ways away. So even if you want to yell yourself raw during the times I'm not here, you won't be heard.”
“But I'm....”
“I'm not done!” Rodrigo rumbles, his voice rising a little bit and his eyes flashing. “Interrupt me again Jessica, and you will be punished. The information I'm about to give you is going to be very, very important in your new life. And make no mistake about it, the life you had, going to Rutgers, a pleasant if boring future of mixing chemicals and looking for the next great shampoo or food additive... all of that is over! Your life has become much, much simpler, and I think more fulfilling. You belong to me now, and with that there are duties on both our parts. You will do as I command, and if you choose not to, you will be punished. As I said, I do not do sexual punishments. You will never be raped. You will not be 'lent out' to any of my colleagues who come here, and yes, other members of The Network do come to this house on my invitation from time to time.”
Rodrigo takes a deep breath, his voice lowering. “I'm telling you this because despite what you probably think of me, and I'm nobody to take lightly, I'm also more controlled than some of my superiors in The Network. Questions?”
“What's The Network?” I ask, and Rodrigo nods, pleased.
“In the seventies, the Sicilian Mafia was known as Cosa Nostra, 'Our Thing' in Italian. With the crackdown in certain areas, and the spreading of markets, of opportunities, elements have merged with groups from around the world to form The Network, or some of them call it Il Rete, again Italian. I work underneath the Sicilian capo, Il Capitano. You haven't met him, ironically he's not in Sicily often, which is where I come in as his man on the ground in the home province. You met The Dryad, the woman with me today. Other people that you need to pay attention to are The Composer, a Russian man, and The Sultan, the man I bought you from. Be especially wary if The Sultan sends any of his men to this villa, he and I are not on the best of terms.”
I nod, and I see that Rodrigo is giving me a chance to speak. “Do they have real names?”
“You may learn them in time. If they offer it to you, realize that you are both being trusted, and increasing your danger. All of these people, and I, have killed. The Dryad's list is... particularly impressive. Jessica, if you wish to live, and live well, respect them and respect me. You will learn to behave and speak as a lady at all times as well as serve them as I command. If I tell you to go make a grilled cheese sandwich, and you don't know how to cook, you better learn very quickly,” Rodrigo says. “And yes, you will serve me too, eventually in the bedroom as well as the rest of the house.”
“I won't be a sex slave!” I protest, and Rodrigo laughs, getting up and coming over, squatting down in front of me. He puts his finger under my chin, lifting it until I have to look him in the eye, the power of his gaze making my words seem weak, and part of me says that I do want to serve him, that if he says get on my knees, I'm there.
“I can see it in your eyes, Jessica. Like I said, you won't be forced to accept my cock. But then again, you aren't deserving of it yet. And when you are, I won't force it on you. You're going to have to get rid of that outer pride you've got, get rid of that fake armor of bitchiness that's gotten you through your life so far. You're going to have to beg for it.”
I gulp, I can't help it, my body's wanting this man, this dangerous killer who now says he owns me. “And if I don't beg?”
“Then you won't get it. But you want it, I can see it,” Rodrigo says, letting go of my chin and standing up. “Jessica, if you behave, if you choose to serve me well... you'll get everything you've ever dreamed of. I may not look it, I know you probably don't approve of how I've gotten it, but anything you can dream of.... I can give it to you. If you choose wisely.”
Rodrigo backs up and sits down, watching as I finish my dinner. “Good. Seconds?”
“No thank you,” I answer. “It was delicious... sir.”
“Sir? An improvement,” Rodrigo says, smirking. “Come on, I'll take you upstairs to use the toilet, and since you tried to be polite, you can wash up in the sink. I'll get you some toiletries over the next few days, until then you might be brushing with the finger and toothpaste method.”
Rodrigo leads me upstairs, and with every step I'm aware of the raw animal magnetism of him behind me, pulling at me even through my clothes, and I barely notice the layout of his villa house as he directs me to one of the toilets. It's plain but functional, and Rodrigo leans against the door frame while I do my business, aware enough that I can't get away with anything but still giving me a bit of privacy. After I finish he's true to his word, letting me wash up and refill my water bottle and he leads me back downstairs, grabbing the basics for a 'camp toilet' on the way from a closet in the kitchen. When we get to the metal door I pause, not wanting to go back inside. Even if the company is just Rodrigo, it's better than staring at the walls of the room.
“Inside,” Rodrigo says, his voice hard again. When I start to protest he grabs my arm and shoves me inside, his voice dropping and growling. “I told you, Jessica. You will obey me. Because of that... enjoy the darkness. I was going to give you a few hours of light.”
He shuts the door in my face and locks it, the dim bulb over my head going out seconds later. I shuffle my way across the floor until I kick the mattress and lie down, pulling the blanket over top of me. It's eerily silent, the walls are so thick that nothing filters through, and it's only after I've been crying for a solid minute or more that I realize what the sound is.
Rodrigo
The next day, Jessica is still feisty but more cooperative when I turn on the light and open the door to her room. “I have to go into town today, but I will be back by mid-afternoon,” I inform her, testing her as I let her use the toilet upstairs and wash out her bucket after breakfast. “I expect to come back to find your room cleaned.”
“Yes...,” she says again, and there's a part of me that feels for her. She's never had to call anyone Master before, it was even hard for her to call me sir last night. But she hesitates again before closing her mouth. It's encouraging in its own way. I don't want to 'break her,' I want to train her, and proper training can only be done with someone of great spiritual strength. “I understand.”
“Good. I'll see you this afternoon then,” I promise her before closing and locking her door, this time adding a small brass lock that I found in my kitchen. I leave the villa, and instead of turning right at the main road I turn left, heading towards Termini Imerese. In some ways the nearby port town is better than Caccamo. First off, I don't have to worry abo
ut shopping in Termini, it's a town that has embraced modernization to a degree that Caccamo hasn't. There's an actual shopping mall, there's regular supermarkets, there's all the comforts that mainland Europeans or North American tourists would come to want on vacation. It's the shopping mall I stop at first, purchasing plain if functional underwear for Jessica along with some basic toiletries. Next I swing by the supermarket, spending an hour going up and down the aisles, getting enough food for myself as well as a beautiful young woman who is going to be pushed beyond any limits she's ever imagined over the next few weeks.
The groceries and other things take up all of my storage box as well as some of the back seat of my crew cab. Termini is not as firmly a Network town as Caccamo even if they are close together and leaving stuff loose in the back is not a good idea. I head out of town, following the coast for a little bit to the west before I come to my morning's destination. The seaside villa makes mine look tiny, a sprawling house that would qualify as a mansion in any country, and a full on estate in some. The sand colored main building dominates a bluff that looks over the Mediterranean, the Italian mainland hazy in the distance.
There's no visible guards, The Network doesn't work that way, but I know from experience that each of the workers is a full fledged killer, there's a reason Rachmaninoff's staff aren't the best cleaners and cooks on the island.
“Comrade Camponini, welcome, welcome,” Rachmaninoff greets me when I'm escorted through the house to his rear terrace where he's sipping his morning coffee and enjoying the sun. Calling me Comrade is a little running joke between us. A lifetime ago, back when he was my age, Nikolai Rachmaninoff was a member of the Soviet Communist party. Now, he's got connections within the new Russian regime that are just as powerful. Still, he likes to play around with the old forms of speaking, especially in English.
“It's a pleasure to be here this morning sir,” I respond respectfully, as I always do. Within The Network I might have power, but I'm no capo, while Rachmaninoff most certainly is. He's perhaps the most powerful of The Network's capos too, a man I don't want to piss off. He's powerful enough though that he can be gracious to the extreme as well, although he has a hair trigger. Also, Rachmaninoff likes to show off his education, so I have to speak more formally than I normally would. “Thank you for having me over so quickly.”
“Please, Rodrigo, I've never gotten used to being called sir in English,” Rachmaninoff says, offering me a seat, and I sit. “Nikolai, if you must. And none of that pirate nickname shit that The Sultan and Scoglitti insist upon. We are men, not boys playing games.”
Despite the fact that The Network cooperates on most areas, like any group, there is internal politics. So, in a mutual dislike of The Sultan, Nikolai and I are the same. Still, I don't trust the Russian, he's far too practical to let his personal distaste for The Sultan ruin a profitable business relationship. I must watch what I say, especially as Nikolai said something about my capo.
“I can understand their insistence upon security though, Nikolai. Nobody wants to be arrested, or under observation from Interpol or other law enforcement.”
Nikolai laughs, leaning back as he strokes the trim beard that, in addition to his name, gave him his nickname. “That is because the rest of The Network exists in countries that don't understand the nature of power. But that's a discussion for another time, or more accurately one that I and Scoglitti have had for years now.”
“Yes, of course Nikolai. I believe there is a matter of money I need to talk about with you.”
Nikolai waves it off, and I'm slightly surprised. “In a few minutes, Rodrigo. The timing of your... purchase yesterday was rather surprising, but it was not the only reason I asked you here rather than just meeting you at your villa or just handling our business over the phone. Have you been keeping up with the news in your homeland?”
“Do you mean the States, or all of North America?”
Nikolai shrugs. “They are interconnected to a degree the Canadians and Mexicans don't want to admit. But recent events in your country have made the opportunities in North America much broader than they were before. I have spoken with your capo, and he thinks that perhaps it is time to look at expanding The Network more aggressively in North America. In fact... that land might need their own capo, or at least a lieutenant who would be very independent and be able to act on his own most of the time.”
I lift an eyebrow, being patient. It's Rachmaninoff's style, to tease along information and reveal himself only when his audience is giving them their full attention. “Such a person would have to be extremely trustworthy. The United States is a large place, with a lot of opportunities and a lot of dangers.”
“True. And of course, having someone with a legitimate American citizenship would also be helpful,” Nikolai says. “Speaking of which, is your passport up to date?”
“Which one?” I ask with a chuckle. “Italian, Spanish, or American?”
“You are fortuitous to legally have multiple citizenships,” Nikolai admits. “It's getting more expensive to get good fake papers any more. So which is it, Rodrigo Camponini or do you like Rod Campion? Just why did your father choose such an abortion of a name for you?”
“I've been in Sicily long enough that Rodrigo sounds natural to me,” I say with a small laugh. “It's impossible to get the nonas around Caccamo to not call me Rodrigo either way. As for Campion, papa thought that by having a more Anglo sounding name, it'd be easier for me.”
Nikolai laughs, shaking his head at the folly of Americans. “In any case, you've been with us for a few years now Rodrigo. And you've worked hard, done good work. When I broached the idea of North America with your capo, Scoglitti immediately offered up your name. While I'm quite sure The Sultan wouldn't let go of his best, Scoglitti's different, he has true old-school honor. He said that he's sure you'll make The Network in America a force to be reckoned with. His exact words were, I believe, that you can be both street tough and board room smart. A useful skill, considering our clientele.”
“I'm flattered, Nikolai,” I reply, stunned by the compliment but hiding it well. Nikolai isn't a man to hand out second hand compliments freely, and Luigi 'Il Capitano' Scoglitti is the same. “I am, however, worried about security measures. As you say, America isn't like Europe, and it sure as hell isn't like Russia, despite the recent changes. The American government is nosy, and expanding takes big balls. But even the biggest balls can be cut off if there's security problems.”
Nikolai nods. “You are correct, but what do you mean?”
“I'm not sure,” I lie, sipping my coffee. Nikolai does have good coffee. “There have been some men on the recent transports that... well, let's just say I prefer to work with men of honor, not men who only believe in honoring money.”
Nikolai lifts an eyebrow, nodding. “That I can understand. And are you worried about anyone specifically?”
“Which capo of this part of The Network is the most driven by greed instead of loyalty?” I ask, refusing to name a name. Nikolai knows who I mean though, but his face reveals nothing as he sips at his coffee before answering.
“Omar Al Gazi has connections throughout areas of the world that have proven... hostile to our respective peoples. It seems that once you admit to liking a little bit of bacon in your soup, you are forever kept from certain things. The Sultan has no such concerns, and can deal with us... and with them.”
I nod, it's nothing I haven't heard before. Still, I need to plant this seed, if The Sultan is going to eventually fall. And more than anything, even more than the offer of being the North American capo, I need to see The Sultan go down permanently. I just can't do it directly, not if I want to see my thirtieth birthday. “I can understand. Still... honor is essential in our line of work.”
“I'll keep that in mind. For now though, let us shift our conversation to a matter of finances. Larissa says that you are willing to pay normal price for this girl?”
“Think of it as an investment. I believe I can train he
r to be a superior asset to whoever she ends up with. Like my villa. Buy low, renovate, and sell high when I want.”
“And enjoy it in the meantime,” Nikolai says with a laugh, getting up. “I must admit, when your capo told me that you'd bought a villa for a hundred thousand euro, I thought he must have made a mistake and meant a townhouse. Then when I saw what you bought... I had doubts. No longer, I think my next purchase might be along the same lines, you've done well for yourself. Well then, let us go to your now picturesque villa. If I'm to quote you a fair price, I need to see this girl. And I assume you don't have her in the bed of your truck?”
“That wouldn't be very safe, and she hasn't earned the right to ride in the passenger cab,” I joke, standing. “Shall we?”
Nikolai climbs into my truck, waving off his staff member who comes out to go along with us. As he buckles his seatbelt, he turns around and looks at everything in the back of my truck. “Supplies for the Apocalypse?”
“Not quite,” I answer with a laugh as I turn my truck around and head back towards the main road that'll take me home. “But my pantry was mostly empty already, and I needed to get my new slave some items. Nothing much, she's one who will have to be trained slowly, but I have the free time for a little while.”
Nikolai chuckles, shaking his head. “Ah, training girls such as this are a young man's game. At my age, I prefer them already broken in. While a tight slot is always appreciated, I'll trade that for obedient and respectful every day of the week.”
It takes us about a half hour to get to my villa, which Nikolai takes in with appreciation. “You've gotten more done, I think it's now prettier than my dacha along the Black Sea. And you've done a good job with the work, last time I was here the courtyard walls were still crumbling. Have you finished the main house yet?”
“I haven't finished everything, but in some ways that helps. It gives me a good room to put my new girl in,” I say, parking my truck. I have Nikolai wait in my dining room that overlooks what I hope one day could be a grove of olive trees while I get Jessica, who looks up in anticipation when I open the door. I look, and see that her room is almost spotless, pleasing me. “Very nice.”
