Indiscretions of a God

by Sunniva Dee

  “What?” I clear my throat and swallow. It’s raspy with the whiskey I had before bed.

  “It’s starting.”

  I get up and throw on the threads I wore last night. “The Santa Colombini?”

  “Yes, we need you.”

  “Where? Anyone down?”

  “A small bloodbath at the harbor.”

  “Family?” I pour water in a glass and down half of it.

  “Not yet. They got Jesse, and a few of my new men didn’t get out in time.”

  “Cleanup?”

  He puffs out air, a telltale sign even Il Lince is disturbed. “Very little. We got to haul away the bodies, but there’s DNA all over the place down there. We’re chasing down the Colombini safe house right now. If they’re smart, they’ll go in lockdown.”

  “They’re fucking barbarians. Doubt they’re smart enough to go in lockdown,” I growl. “What about the police?”

  “They were snoozing and showed up late. They got Guido, though.”

  I frown. “Do I know him?”

  “Guido Dapper? Family’s from Santorini.”

  “Oh yeah.” I exhale heavily. “Dad. Let’s get everyone off somewhere. This is just the beginning. You know that, right? I fucking don’t want la famiglia to be wiped out at the hands of the Santa Colombini. You realize what they’d do if they caught Gabriela or Silvina. Even Gioele wouldn’t be safe, not to mention Ma.”

  “Stop talking, Isaias. Have I taught you nothing? The Nascimbeni can take care of ourselves. I haven’t objected to you stationing Felix’s men everywhere, but that was for you, not because we need it.”

  “For me? That’s for me, now?” I hit the table with my phone. “No, that was not for me. That was to make sure the Nascimbeni name survives, even after my father has—” I breathe heavily, cutting myself off in time. I hear his anger on the other side too, but neither of us continues.

  “Tonight,” he finally says, pitch quiet, “I need you at the St. Tatiana. Don’t go to work before that. Stay inside. Lock your doors. I’m sending a few men over. Felix said you hadn’t stationed anyone at your house.”

  My father’s chaos won’t keep me from work.

  “It was a one-off the last time I went there for you. I’m not on your payroll anymore. All I’m interested in is keeping my family safe.”

  “And that’s all I’m asking of you. It’s a means to an end, and that end is to get rid of the Santa Colombini. Venice wasn’t big enough for the two families, and neither is Los Angeles. One will have to be eradicated, and that won’t be ours.”

  I laugh without humor. “At any cost, right? Anyway. I have no business at the St. Tatiana and won’t be conducting your dirty work.”

  “Son, listen to me. We’re not the only ones under Pater Altermatt’s wings. The Santa Colombini have business at the church too, and it’s tied to human trafficking.”

  Shit. It’s the ultimate disrespect to another human being. In my different capacities within the porn industry, I’ve employed several survivors of modern slavery. Their scars don’t heal.

  I scrunch my eyes shut as I realize there’s more at stake too. Tatiana will be there. The Santa Colombini will be at her church, and it will be nothing like when the Nascimbeni walked peacefully through the main room and down to the basement for a quick exchange. No. Randolfo Santa Colombini’s men will see her. And once they have, all bets are off.

  I let out a controlled exhale. I feel it, the only thing that can incapacitate a man: fear for those he loves.

  “I’m in.”

  I don’t often have a reason to use throwaways anymore, but this morning, I call Felix from one. I call every Nascimbeni household in California from it too. Then, I call Bill at Lucid, McRoy, and even Belen. I leave my new number on both Troy’s and Bo’s voicemails.

  Tatiana, I text, and she answers me from the St. Tatiana.

  How’s work, bella bellissima?

  Is this Isaias?

  It is.

  K, don’t call me that. How’s Love Child?

  She makes me smile.

  Full belly. Went potty this a.m. too.

  Hard? Soft? Did it look healthy?

  Mixed. First part hard. Then softer.

  Oh good.

  Wow, are we discussing cat poo? I text.

  Haha yes.

  McRoy calls. “Your phone isn’t working.”

  “Right, I’ve got issues with that number. Use this one for now.”

  “Is it a permanent change?” he asks. “What’s wrong with the other one? Are you being crank-called or something? Threatened?”

  “Has filming started this morning?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Gianni’s on it, full action, sir. Everyone except Belen came early. She just got here. When are you coming in?”

  I’ve thought about it, and I can get a lot done from home. I like to be with my crew, which is why I’m usually at the compound, but today might be the day I don’t go in.

  “Check with Gianni if he needs you. If he doesn’t, come to the house and we’ll get shit done. I want the Clown Irruption details nailed down and a contract sent over to them.”

  He gasps, sounding a lot like Silvina when she’s excited. “They’re signing?”

  “I have a feeling they will be soon.”

  Fuck yes. Troy’s the one buzzing me back, and I’m not even done with breakfast yet. I swallow the last sip of orange juice and pick up.

  “Hey, man.”

  “Hey! So new number?” he asks, sounding chipper. That’s a good sign from someone who commonly keeps his feelings under wraps.

  “Keeping it interesting, you know. How’re the recordings going?”

  “Great. We’re damn happy with what we have so far. Got about eight down. We’re recording another five, and if all goes smoothly, we’ll be out of here by next Tuesday. That’s the goal anyway.”

  “And ‘Deep in You?’”

  He snickers in that low, breathy way I’m sure makes his fans combust with desire. “Done. We’ll redo the guitar, but that’s about it. Bo wanted to shoot off the link to you so you can pass it on to your girl.”

  “Cool, cool.” It’s hard to temper my excitement over this news, so hard that McRoy’s eyes widen at my expression. I give him a thumbs-up.

  “Just keep it to yourself, all right?”

  “Really, Troy. We play fair at Lucid and would never leak anyone’s intellectual property.”

  “I know.” He groans a little. “Our agent wanted to make sure. Anyway, I’ll email you the link, and the password is tour2018, all in one word, no caps.”

  “Easy enough. Let me mock up a contract and a few tentative deadlines and recording times. I’ll send it over, and we’ll take it from there, okay? Are you in town for long? We should probably finalize the details in person.”

  “Right, that’s what we were thinking.”

  There’s a lot going on under Troy’s still façade. He may even be the philosopher of the group. If Gianni could make him give it all on-tape, he’d be a knockout.

  That Gypsy girl he can’t forget. Aishe was her name. I’ll put McRoy on tracking her down. What if I can lure her in too?

  The excitement mounts in me as I consider my options, the sky being my limit. All I’ve ever needed is to invent and implement.

  What I’m about to do has not been done before: rock stars sleeping with their loves in a music video. It’s fucking poetic. It’ll hit the male audience in the dick, and all women in the heart. Goddamn, the world is going to explode.

  It’s a different kind of explosion I see from the Flying Spur on my way down to the church. According to Nascimbeni intel, the Colombini meet isn’t happening until seven, but I’m not taking any chances with Tatiana there alone. A fiery blast goes off down there, big enough to encompass a building. The air pressure can�
��t have changed in the car at this distance, but it sure feels like it.

  The church isn’t the location for the explosion. It’s on Ventura Boulevard, five blocks from my target, and LAPD sirens, probably feds too, are racing toward it, away from the St. Tatiana.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that one of the famiglie are to blame, so I call my father to find out. When he doesn’t pick up, I call Ma.

  “Isa baby, are you okay?” My mother sounds feverish. It’s how she always sounds when she learns of dicey incidents last minute.

  “I’m fine. I saw the explosion though. Was it Il Lince?”

  “Yes, that was your father getting the police out of the way, a gas station on Ventura.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter. “Anybody there?”

  She takes a moment to compose herself. I know my mother, and it’s all about support, about being the loyal wife of a mafia boss, but she can’t hide the tremble in her voice when she replies.

  “No one got hurt, I think. It wasn’t in famiglia territory, and Giorgio got away without incident after lighting it up. You have to trust your father, now. He knows what he’s doing, okay? He was just drawing attention away from the church.”

  “I gotta go, Ma. Love you.” I hang up and suppress the urge to slam my phone into the dashboard. Fuck, I hate this. I rub my face, remembering a much younger me and how I almost unleashed pandemonium in Italy.

  Ariadna. What was I thinking? Another faulty step, and two oversized mobster machineries would have collided, leaving disaster and blown-up limbs in their wake.

  My father’s reaction time has always been short. All he needed was to pick me up by the bridge to Testaprati Island, and he left my uncle in charge of famiglia affairs in Venice. Next thing I knew, he hauled ass back to America with me. That was when Il Lince was in the business of saving lives. It was the smartest thing he’s ever done, and not once did he ask me for details.

  Ten years later, I still haven’t set foot in the old country. Not because I couldn’t, but because it’s safer for everyone that I stay away. Sometimes, it’s your absence and not your presence that creates peace.

  I park a block away and jog toward the St. Tatiana. Two dark Chryslers are parked on the other side of the street. They’re identical, equipped with privacy windows. I pass them hastily and take the church stairs in a few leaps. Cautiously, I push the door open, but the old wood groans anyway.

  Bruno waits right inside the door.

  “Anyone here yet?” I ask.

  “Hey, boss. All’s calm for now.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s on the gallery.”

  I shift my attention above our heads, wondering what her deal is with the gallery. Does she like the view? Bruno answers my unspoken question.

  “There was a funeral, and last I checked, she was tidying up. Guess who was buried?”

  “I don’t know, Bruno. You tell me.”

  “A little kid. It was sad as fuck, boss.”

  “Do you know about the Colombini meet tonight?” I ask in lieu of taking that in. There’s nothing more horrific than dead children.

  “I do. Your father’s second-in-command”—he blinks, thinking—“Moroder. He came by. Shit’s going down, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “We staying for it?”

  “Yes, we are.” I touch my Glock. I’m a devil with the aim, but it’s been years since I’ve had to prove myself. I’d like it to remain that way.

  Rustling from the gallery stairs makes me look up and see the smooth features of the woman who’s moved into the soft part of my brain. I watch her lift her robe enough for small feet to poke out and take the last step down on the rug.

  I shouldn’t be caught up in her right now, but hell, there’s a sway to her, like her hips start on some unconscious dance while she avoids the corner of a pew. Tatiana’s stare lifts beneath her headpiece and fixes on me.

  “Hey, bella.”

  “You’re early,” she murmurs. “I don’t believe I’ve texted you yet.”

  “You believe correctly. I missed you.” I wink, loading my eyes with sex and amusement. She presses her lips together, trying to hide how it pleases her.

  “You have any candelabras I can help you polish? Or hey, maybe we’ll go straight to tea lights?”

  “Jesus,” she mutters, and I start to laugh.

  “Did the nun say…?” Even Bruno notices.

  “Apparently so.”

  “Rhesus. Was thinking of dinner tonight. I haven’t had Rhesus in a while.”

  “Rhesus? The only rhesus thing I know of is the rhesus macaque, boss,” Bruno tells me, voice not low enough for Tatiana to ignore. “And I believe it’s a monkey.”

  I snort out loud. “Are you eating a monkey tonight, Sister Tatiana, or are you going to fess up to taking the Lord’s name in vain just now?”

  Her eyes widen while she fumbles for excuses. I am so taken by this woman.

  “No! It’s a type of bun my mother makes for Halloween.”

  “You’ll have Halloween buns for dinner in January?”

  She shakes her head rapidly, gaze darkening with annoyance. “Okay, whatever. I don’t need any help with broken boxes, candelabras, or anything else. You can go now. I’ll text you when I’m ready to leave. Oh, and you might be looking at midnight, because I’m assisting Pater Altermatt tonight.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s he up to?” I ask, crossing my arms playfully.

  “Nothing. Just paperwork.”

  “That he needs done at night.”

  “Why are you so damn nosy?” She hiss-barks it at me, and I hold onto the doorframe, laughing silently.

  “Sorry, bella. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Seems all you need is to ask her a question and she curses,” Bruno observes.

  “She’s flammable,” I reply. In my peripheral she lifts her arms, sleeves fluttering as she performs the universal body gesture for I-give-up.

  A glance at my watch, and I sober up. In forty-five minutes, the Colombini meet will take place, and so far, I’ve just been flirting, wasting time. Intuition tells me I’ll have a hard time luring Tatiana to safety.

  A text update ticks in. It’s from Moroder. As suspected, the Santa Colombini is meeting with an organization that trades women for cash. The organization is— Goddamn. It’s Mobespierre Sanguine.

  Tatiana’s ignoring me. She’s swaying her way down the aisle toward the altar, thinking she’ll be taking care of her duties on her own. Mobespierre Sanguine is the biggest direct-to-customer trader of live females in the western hemisphere, and if that’s how prominent the Santa Colombini’s getting in that business, I want Tatiana the hell out of here.

  A chill runs down my spine; I can only imagine what they’d get paid for the most beautiful woman in the universe. They could fucking snatch her right out of a pew and ship her off to—

  No. It’s not happening.

  “No, this isn’t me trying to dominate you. It’s me keeping you safe.”

  She shakes her head vehemently, that brass coil of hair slipping out of the headpiece again, disturbing the shit out of me.

  She’s so stubborn. Can’t she see that I’m serious?

  “Isaias, please understand: you barged into my life, with Aurora in tow, and maybe I can’t do anything about that. But what I can do something about is this: I am who I am, and you can’t change that. Neither can you change my plans for what I’m doing tonight and when I’ll do them: I. Will let you know when I’m ready to be picked up.” She lasers into me with her eyes.

  I touch my chest. It’s not to be dramatic. I do feel it there.

  “Can we sit?” I whisper, and I sound like I’m pleading with her. Guess, there’s a first for everything. Bruno looks away, embarrassed.

  “Bruno,” I bark. “Make a
round outside. There were two Chryslers a block down when I arrived.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Who’s he?” Tatiana lowers herself on the pew I’m pointing to, fine brows sinking in a frown while her eyes arch. No one stares Isaias di Nascimbeni down this way. My heart.

  “He’s my friend. He’s got my back.”

  “I was right, wasn’t I, when I said you were shady?”

  Interesting how she doesn’t look apprehensive.

  “Depends on the definition. I’m not a criminal if that’s what you mean.”

  She crosses her nun arms, making a swooshing sound. I feel they should make those outfits from quieter materials. Then again, not all nuns are in danger of being kidnapped and sold as sex slaves.

  “Who are you, Isaias di Nascimbeni?”

  “Which means she hasn’t looked me up yet.”

  “I haven’t taken the time to stalk the Internet for you, no.”

  I run through my options. Really, there’s only one. I need to tell her enough to make her hightail it out of here before Il Lince and the Santa Colombini flip this damn church upside down.

  I sink to my haunches in front of her. With a fist on each side of her thighs, I support my weight against the bench. Then, I lean in far enough to fix her gaze. “Have you heard of Lucid Entertainment?”

  “Porn…? You’re a porn star?”

  “No. I own it.”

  She gasps, but I’m not finished. “Have you heard of Il Lince?”

  “As in the mafia boss, Il Lince?”

  “Exactly. Il Lince of the Nascimbeni.”

  “He’s seventy years old,” she says, less shocked than when I mentioned Lucid. “You’re not Il Lince.”

  “You’re correct,” I murmur, sinking closer with each word. “I’m not Evodio di Nascimbeni. My name is Isaias.”

  “…di Nascimbeni.” She breathes my last name the way she will my first name when I finally have her between my sheets. “I didn’t connect the dots. So where does that leave you in the picture?”

  “I’m Il Lince’s eldest son.”

  “Shit.” She slams her palms into the wood next to mine, meeting the length of my arms while she rises to her feet. “You need to leave right now.”