The Power of a Woman: A Mafia Erotic Romance

by Gina Whitney

  The entire floor of the room was covered in thick rubber mats, reminding me of the gymnastics classes my mom made me take when I was younger. Except this room was void of the primary colors and welcoming smiles. There weren’t TVs mounted on the walls, or music being piped into a sound system. Just mirrors, grey rubber mats, and the sounds of grunting people as they hit the ground. Hard. Oh God, what the hell. I couldn’t do that!

  “Krav Maga is the official fighting system of the Israeli military,” Rick explained as we walked further into the room.

  I pulled Stefan’s arm, nearly yanking it out of the socket until I finally got his attention. Then I mouthed, “What the fuck?” To which he raised his eyebrow at me and mouthed back, “Trust me.” I knew it. This was a test. I glared at him and shook my head so he knew I didn’t like this idea as I discreetly searched for an exit.

  Rick went on to explain the benefits and merits of Krav Maga, telling me it was a system unlike any other. “Uh huh,” I managed to get out between glaring at Stefan and trying to understand the words Rick spoke, which was hard considering the man’s thick accent.

  “In an increasingly violent world, you are your last line of defense. Whether the threat comes from a mugger, rapist, or terrorist, your life could be at stake. Yes?” he asked, staring at me as he waited for my answer.

  Shit, he wanted a response. So I politely nodded, hoping he believed the eagerness I tried to portray. When in all reality, the only thing I’d understood was that this was a self-defense class—Stefan wanted me to be able to defend myself.

  “You must be prepared to do whatever it takes to survive. There are no rules on the street. Yes?”

  I nodded again, almost ready to snap. How many fucking times was he going to ask me “yes”? I took in a deep breath, trying to gain courage at what I might face. These men that were training were throwing each other down hard. The grunts and groans making me grimace. I couldn’t do this. And I didn’t want to do this.

  “This is contact-combat and is the most effective, practical, and holistic fighting system in the world. Krav Maga will condition your body, mind, and soul. By the end of this twelve-week program, you will be able to instinctively defend against strikes from every angle. Be able to release from grabs, hair pulls, and chokes. Again…every angle. Be consciously aware of your surroundings, safety, and impending danger, recognizing danger sooner so that you will be able to anticipate and ideally prevent the attack from happening.”

  The only thing I heard Rick say was twelve-week program and that had me shaking me in my boots. I couldn’t imagine one session let alone twelve weeks.

  “Today we will start, yes?” Rick asked, turning to Stefan before turning to me.

  Stefan nodded and looked at me. “Jordana, you need this. We need this. I need to know that you have some way to protect yourself without having eyes on you twenty-four/seven. This is more than learning self-defense. It’s about your safety and awareness. You said you’re struggling, and I think it’s because you don’t feel safe. Am I right?”

  Yes, he was right. So what argument did I have at the end of the day? I had nothing. I nodded in agreement, giving in. I could at least try this one session. Once I left I didn’t have to come back.

  “You’re either the predator or the prey. Yes? Which do you choose?” Rick asked.

  That was an easy question that didn’t take much thought. “Predator.”

  “Let’s begin.” Rick moved to the center of the mat. He decided I would sit this one out so he and Stefan could demonstrate. Stefan was to play the part of assailant and advance on Rick. Stefan was physically fit and stood over six-feet tall. However, Rick had a good two inches on him in height and his muscle mass was impressive. Rick asked Stefan to come at him, and use any means necessary to get him on the ground. The next thing I knew, Stefan was on the mat with Rick firmly pressing against his chest, pinning him to the mat. I ran over to them and looked down, catching a dazed Stefan grinning up at me.

  He eventually got to his feet and returned to the practice line. “Wait!” I yelled out, my voice echoing and sounding foreign even to me. “Show me how you did that.”

  Stefan moved to the wall, silently admiring me. The technique was simple. One move and…bam! Stefan had ended up on the mat. Here I thought this would be some sort of intense martial arts boot camp that takes weeks to learn anything of value. Wash on. Wash off. Mr. Miyagi type crap. But I could do this. It was genius, and in that moment, I wanted to learn everything Rick had to offer.

  It took me three times before I got the maneuver right. Then it was time to move on to the next part of the training. He lent me gloves to wear until I got my own.

  Punching the heavy bag that hung from the ceiling was my least favorite, and it made everything ache. I hit the fucking bag with my thighs, my arms, my legs, my hands, and even my head. With every kick or hit, I noticed something. I got stronger and hit with more self-assuredness. When Rick deemed that part of the lesson was over, my body felt like jelly but my entire viewpoint of Krav Maga had changed. When I’d punched that bag over and over again, I’d thought of Zeke and had run through every fucking thing he’d done to punish my body. At the end, I felt liberated.

  In that one day, Krav Maga had already provided me with a confidence that I’d thought I’d lost after my week spent with Zeke. Even more than that, this new sport offered me peace of mind and would give me the ability to turn my body into a weapon. The training certainly wasn’t as easy as I thought, but it had already proven to be invaluable. It wasn’t only about strength, it also encompassed body language, facial expression, voice, and eye contact.

  I’d grown up in a world where we kept our mouths closed. And now I’d been provided an outlet to purge all the demons that haunted me.

  Rick had us wearing pads while punching and kicking so we didn’t injure each other. And he taught us that you find the most strength when you feel like you have nothing left to draw from. Sometimes, strength is produced directly from the mind.

  I’d spent so much time on my appearance before meeting Stefan, and in the end, it was all a waste. Believe me when I say I wasn’t pretty when I left the gym. I was a sweaty mess. But, I was a confident, sweaty mess and to Stefan…a beautiful, sweaty mess.

  I was on my way to becoming a female warrior…

  I had so much I needed to know, that only Stefan could tell me, but after he’d accused me of not trusting him, I couldn’t very well start prying and second-guessing his motives and actions. I had to play it smart. And playing it smart meant I had to shut my mouth and find another way of getting answers.

  I had picked at the same piece of provolone for the last ten minutes while waiting for Matteo to grace me with his presence. He was reluctant to meet at first, but he finally gave in, knowing I wouldn’t put up with his bullshit. He knew me, and he knew I’d have something to say about his behavior. Matty never appreciated my lectures, but without a mother, I was the only one to give them to him. Like the rest of the men in my family, they assumed me ignorant and blind. At least Stefan saw me for me—most of the time.

  Not one to throw himself on his own sword even for the sake of family…Matteo needed a nudge only an older sister could give. Well, more like a threat. Those I was good at, and with all he’s put this family through, he could use a proper reaming out by his sister.

  Someone brushed up against me, causing a near homicidal knee-jerk reaction. I spun on my heels and came face to face with the short waiter who had two dirty martinis on a tray in his hand.

  “Ma’am.” His voice shook as I eyeballed him.

  I didn’t respond, but removed a glass from his tray while maintaining a steady glare until he left. Fuck, I needed some alcohol. The first sip burned like hell at first until the heat was distributed evenly from head to toe, the saltiness of the olive juice drying up the nerves that riddled my body. I hated how jumpy I’d become. No matter how hard I tried to stay calm and have normal reactions, I couldn’t seem to keep my heart
from lodging itself into my throat when taken by surprise.

  “Ahem,” My brother’s telltale gruff voice alerted me of his arrival. “Still get off on scaring the innocent, Jordana?” he asked before lifting his own glass. Matteo was the only seventeen-year-old I knew that could walk into a swanky place and order an alcoholic beverage and not be questioned about his age.

  “Go fuck yourself, asshole. Besides, it’s Carmine’s place, and that little horny nymph grates on my last nerve. There’s something about him that makes me want to hurt him,” I said, as I tried like hell to play it off. I couldn’t very well tell my brother that I’d been the one scared in that situation.

  Carmine’s was a family-style restaurant, and I don’t mean “family” as in large food portions. It was family as in…we belonged to the same family—mob. It wasn’t a blood thing, it was an organization thing.

  The macho men in the corner were in the middle of a card game—more than likely poker. They looked up from their cards and acknowledged our presence with a deep nod. We needed some privacy, away from eyes and ears where I wouldn’t have to watch what I say. If Matty knew others were paying attention, he’d dismiss anything I had to say to avoid the ridicule of having his sister lecture him. “Let’s sit in that booth,” I said and gestured to the open booth in the far corner. I slipped into the leather-tufted bench without spilling my drink.

  Matty followed suit and sat opposite me. His six-foot two-inch, wide-shouldered body proved almost too big for the booth. His skin tone was the same as mine—olive. However, his shaggy brown hair and butterscotch eyes with the slightest hint of red flecks were the envy of many…including myself. His body was lean, powerful, and almost hard to believe he was a seventeen-year-old high school senior. He sported a tattoo that my father had nearly killed him over. However, his explanation had me biting the inside of my cheek in laughter. The archangel Michael sat high on his shoulder. I had to admit it was a beautiful piece done in monochromatic black and greys. Michael held a sword in one hand…while his foot sat on the head of Lucifer, pushing him back into the flames of hell. Archangel Michael reigns as the leader of all God’s holy angels and often engages in battle with the fallen angel, Lucifer. It was a symbol of the good versus evil complex my brother dealt with daily. So his excuse for getting that particular tattoo made perfect sense to my father. After my brother’s explanation, my father’s eyes held tears of pride. I shook my head. For such a wise man, my father was blind when it came to Matty. However, my eyes were wide open. For a young man, he was headed down a dangerous path of gambling, womanizing, and alcohol. If he didn’t straighten out soon, he’d be the fallen angel.

  “So…” he said, folding his hands on the table. He quirked his infamous crooked smile at me that was uniquely Matty.

  I nearly chewed the inside of my cheek off to curb my temper. “Do you have any idea the shit you’ve caused? Like any fucking clue at all?” I blew out heatedly, but didn’t stop there. My fists curled and itched to smack his continued smile off his face. “You lack any kind of moral code, family code, or any other fucking code there is.” His fingers drummed lazily across the tabletop and I lost it. “You have no idea what position you put this family in, and the chain of events your deviant, pussy-warped, gambling man-boy attitude set off, do you?” I pounded the table just as the waitress skirted over.

  “I’m Sia, your waitress. Can I take your order?” she greeted in a familiar tone, completely ignoring the mood she’d interrupted. She probably had no clue of the situation she’d just walked into, because she never took her eyes off Matty.

  “I’m ravenous,” Matty answered in a deep tone. “Is there any specials tonight?”

  Her matte red lips curved into a devilish smile and her teeth all but glowed in the dimmed lighting. “We have your favorite grilled polenta,” she answered with a wink. “Why don’t we start with some apps and drinks?” Her flirty smile and whorish attitude lit the fire to my irritation.

  “Cool.” My brother played right into it, which only caused me to turn to him with the same pissed-off, crooked eyebrow as I’d given her.

  Then she directed her white teeth and tart lips my way as if just noticing me for the first time. “Anything for you?”

  What fucking nerve. “Yeah, I’ll start with a menu and another one of these.” I drained the rest of my martini and slammed it on the table, never taking my hatred stare away from her. Then I added my signature “go fuck yourself” smile. The harlot’s face paled, and now Bo-Peeps eyes glistened. However, there was something stirring behind them…dare I say, humiliation? “That’s all,” I added and met Matty’s eyes squarely.

  His gaze narrowed before readdressing Mia….or was it Sia? “Thank you, Sia.”

  I rolled my eyes, as she turned on her heel, heading to the bar. Good.

  My shrill laugh garnered a nasty look from another waitress who headed Sia’s way. My brother was a class A shit. It’s obvious that his brain was not his primary organ and he was clearly not as cerebral as he’d like us all to think. School was more of a means to gain pussy, and his dick was leading the charge. Just thinking about his reckless actions had me steaming. I shook my head furiously, my outrage over his callousness growing by the minute. “You’re going to get us all killed with that dick of yours.”

  He calmly folded his hands before addressing me. “What the fuck are you going on about? Stefan handled it. It’s done. In the past. So let’s just move on from it already. Are you looking for an apology?” He raised a questioning eye. “I’m sorry, Jordana. There…I’ve said it. Now you can step off your soapbox and shut the hell up.”

  “You’ve got some fucking nerve.” I leaned closer to him. I felt my blood pressure raising and knew without a doubt I was two seconds away from losing my shit. “You’ve been a selfish prick since birth. It’s always been about you! When are you going to think about the family? When are you going to think before you do something reckless and stupid?” My voice remained deadly calm, but I shook with rage. He hadn’t a clue what I went through, and I couldn’t lay that shit on him. I wanted to, believe me. I wanted to rail and kick his naïve fucking ass. Tell him all the sorted details of Scarface and what followed. However, I couldn’t. I promised Stefan, and besides…it was my cross to bear. Our cross to bear. My emotional well-being was as disfigured as Zeke’s face, and I still found myself suffering from the weakness it all caused. I was emotionally bruised, and it fucking bothered me how long it was taking to get over it. Fuck.

  Matteo sat motionless for a moment, giving away nothing as to what went through his thoughts. Silence. Then he grabbed my hand, holding it on top of the table. “I get that the reality of the situation was unpleasant. I can’t imagine what happened and was told not to ask.” He squeezed my hand and something past between us. Sympathy? Empathy? Maybe even regret?

  My head fell almost in shame to avoid his pressing eyes. He wanted to know, but wasn’t asking, rather waiting for me to share on my own, which wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. Even if Stefan hadn’t been involved, what I went through wasn’t something I could ever open up to my little brother about. However, had he known about the gory details, I’m sure he’d take his actions a little more seriously next time.

  “I was scared, sis. I lied. And that was wrong. I thought I could handle it myself. I wound up throwing a match on a powder keg. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but I’m going to show you. Actions…right?” He brought my hand to his lips. “As your brother, I should be protecting you, not the other way around. Believe me, I’ve beaten myself up about it. Your boyfriend did an ample job of making me feel lower than whale shit on the bottom of the ocean. He’s one intense fucker.”

  Intense—that was one way to put it. My heart picked up speed in my chest, thumping heavily against my ribcage. My boyfriend? Surely he didn’t mean Stefan. No one could know. No one. “What do you mean?”

  He smiled tightly and I took a deep breath. “He threatened me. Said if I did anything stupid enough to pu
t you in danger ever again…he’d kill me himself. And something about being expendable.”

  My tongue was slow to respond to this latest development. I reached for my now empty glass while getting my thoughts together. I needed my drink. Where the fuck was Mia—fuck—Sia. My response needed to be clear and concise. Was I surprised Stefan threatened Matty? Fuck no! But I was shocked he hadn’t beaten the shit out of him already. However, what truly shocked me was Matty’s knowledge of our relationship. My brother wasn’t necessarily dumb in everything. He could’ve put two and two together, but considering how careful Stefan and I were, Matty wouldn’t have had anything to go on in order to make that conclusion.

  My head spun. And to top it off, I felt like a hypocrite. Here I was, giving him shit, and rightfully so. But I couldn’t help feeling like a bad person. I’ve done bad things. Really bad things. In some eyes…unforgivable. Murdered in the name of family—and not just anyone, but an underboss…a made man. There are more people in my encompassing world that wouldn’t forgive me for my actions than those who would. I was a woman, and more than that, it was not my place to take action against anyone in the family. That was unforgivable, no matter what had transpired before.

  Stefan and I were soldiers to our cause. The same way Hitler viewed himself as being right or just in his. Did it make it okay, though? To them, maybe. But to everyone else, hell no. I was a monster in that right. I took pleasure in Scarface’s painful death the same way Charles Manson or the Son of Sam did. We were a family of victims, a group of monsters, to our just causes. Right or wrong, there was no going back. No matter how it was viewed by others, there was no changing time. Not that I would. I’d never, no matter what punishment could come my way, erase what I’d done to that filthy fucking monster. His title and role in this family didn’t mean shit to me. All he was in my eyes was a pathetic excuse of a man—a dead, pathetic excuse.