The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  “I hope the next two weeks pass quickly.” When his suggestive tone invades my mind, I stiffen. “I can’t wait to find out if this steely streak of yours goes all the way through. There’s nothing I enjoy more than bending the stubborn to my will.”

  “It does,” I retort. He sniggers. Inhaling sharply, I attempt to draw a line in the sand. “It’ll also take more than you to break me. If I was you, I’d be scared that about one of the peasants invading my steel-encased heart while he takes my virginity.”

  My retort hangs in the air. There’s a prophetic feel to my threat that sets the hair on my arms on end. Desmond’s pupils dilate and I realise that he feels it too… and it worries him.

  Maybe, just maybe, the universe has a plan for me that doesn’t involve substituting one ogre for another?

  Chapter Seven

  Angelo

  I fall into step with the Don as he leads me through the maze that makes up the bottom floor of his mansion. It’s early. The sun hasn’t yet risen properly. Being awake at this time isn’t out of the norm for me. What I’m being sent to do after this chat with my grandfather most certainly is.

  Lost in my thoughts of what today might bring, I miss when he turns left, and I have to double back to catch up with him. During the past two days and a half days that I’ve spent here, I still haven’t wrapped my head around the size of his home or the opulence he lives in.

  It appears crime does pay.

  “The Imbruglia’s have no idea we’re aware of the planned infringement on our turf,” he drones on. “It will be easy to snatch the interloper.”

  Taking a seat at his massive oak desk, he steeples his hands in front of him and leans his elbows on the desktop. A manic, murderous gleam settles in his eyes and, not for the first time, I understand that he loves his life. My grandfather gets off on the calculation it takes to run his organisation. He loves the terror he infects in others. Power hungry and powerful, I believe he is the worst kind of man.

  I also realise that his bad blood flows through my veins.

  I could quite easily end up like him if his plan for me to succeed him comes to fruition.

  “They believe that they have the upper hand,” he snickers. “They’ve forgotten how ruthless I am when pushed.”

  “I understand what you want,” I interject. “What I remain uncertain about is the part you wish me to play. It seems unlikely that an Imbruglia would waltz onto Carlucci turf without an army at their back.”

  This is the closest I’ve come to challenging his assertion that his plan is foolproof. I’ve been avoiding it in the hope that one of his advisors would bring it up to him. That hasn’t happened. They sit idly by, eagerly agreeing with every word that drips from his venomous mouth, so it falls to me, the newbie, to question his assurance.

  A deadly mask of rage clouds his earlier glee. “How long have you been a part of this family?”

  I know his query isn’t about our blood ties. He means the Carlucci Clan.

  Tipping my head to the side, I keep my voice deferential when I reply, “I don’t believe I’ve been sworn into the family.”

  My grandfather bangs his fist on the wooden surface. “Correct. So, tell me why, when I’ve been Don for forty-five years, you believe it’s your place to doubt me.”

  “No, Don. I do not doubt you.” With my tone, I try to convey my allegiance. It’s hard when I’m only here long enough to find a way to keep Maria out of his world. There’s no way, I’ll swear fealty to a bunch of goons with guns and nice suits—no matter how much I might envy their lifestyle. “I simply worry that pride comes before the fall.”

  Since Friday, I’ve all but swallowed my tongue to keep from cursing when I speak. Where I’m from, no one bats an eyelid at my language. Here, in this foreign land a mere forty kilometres from my home, everyone from the door man to the Don speaks like they were educated at the finest schools in the country where they majored in gargling a handful of marbles in their throats and speaking all at once.

  It’s time for a shake-up.

  A good ole Come to Jesus, Western Sydney style.

  “Look.” I hold up my hand to stop him when he tries to cut me off. “Where I’m from every fucker is out for himself. Hell, your damn best friend will stab you in the back if it gets him a free lunch. I know all these dumbasses think the sun shines outta your arse and you’re some kinda omnipotent God with all-seeing eyes, but I’m a realist. The way you’re sitting there pulling your dick over your brilliant plan worries the fuck out of me. To tell the truth, it ain’t pride that comes before the fall… it’s fucking stupidity.”

  My grandfather’s eyebrows have almost reached his hairline by the time I’m finished. His consigli-whatever is on his feet and the five Capo’s he meets with every morning have their hands on their weapons and an overriding desire to shoot me written on their angular faces.

  I don’t care. It felt too good to get my thoughts of my chest for regrets to weigh me down.

  “How old are you, son?”

  Eyeing my grandfather warily, I reply, “Twenty-one, Sir.”

  He gestures to the other men in the room. “You are twice his age, yet my grandson speaks his mind with more wisdom and care. Go. Get out of my sight. When I want you, I’ll send for you.”

  Like they’ve been hit with lightening, the six men exit the office. The heavy closes behind the last of them with a thud, and I find myself bracing for an explosion when the Don walks around his desk and approaches me. His regal bearing speaks of iron fisted control; however, I see the fraying around the edges.

  When Papa gets like this, I know to expect a fist to the face. If Maria was here, instead of safely hidden at Freddie and Martha’s, I would be yelling for her to lock herself in her bedroom.

  “Come, Angelo,” he beckons me over to the leather sofa that lines the left wall. “Sit with me. It’s time we had a frank discussion about your future.”

  “Fuck,” I curse under my breath.

  He settles himself at one end, so I pick the other side after a quick internal debate over perching my arse on the arm of the couch. Looking down at him would have put me in a position of strength. It might also have backfired if he took it as a sign of disrespect.

  A companionable silence falls. I take the time to look around his fancy office. For a man who wields his power with delight, there is a surprising dearth of personal décor. No photos adorn his desk. No ornaments clutter his shelves. There are books, a framed letter from some guy who looks vaguely like one of our dead prime ministers, and an old-fashioned pen.

  “I don’t bring thoughts of your Nonna and our family to work,” he answers my unspoken question. “In this space, I must be devoid of weakness. I keep it austere, so my mind is clear. When the tough calls are made, I’m Don Carlucci, not Santino Carlucci. I’m no longer a husband, father, grandfather, uncle, nephew, cousin, or friend. I’m the man in charge of Australia’s biggest mafioso family. I’m merciless.”

  “Understandable.” Leaning my head against the back of the sofa, I sigh. “I want to apologise for how I spoke. It was—”

  “Right. You were right to speak up.” My grandfather pats my knee. “I was testing you. And you passed with flying colours.”

  I close my eyes and concentrate on keeping my breathing from betraying my annoyance.

  “You will be the next Don. My brother is greedy. He’s never learnt how to inspire loyalty and he is incapable of making the decisions that matter. Your uncle, Sal, is a pansy. Our rules haven’t evolved to the point where his kind are accepted. He’ll make a good consigliere but will never be Don. And, your father…”

  “My father?” I prod when he trails off.

  “If I can’t trust him, how can I expect my men to pledge their lives to him?” A sad sigh sums up his thoughts about Papa. My father is a snake. He couldn’t raise his own children without diving onto the end of a bottle and using his fists to subdue us, there’s no way he could run the
Carlucci Clan. “It falls to you. You are the remaining hope for my bloodline. If you fail, the Carlucci’s lose their position as head of the clan and the five families from the Old Country will choose our next Don.”

  Patting my knee again, he declares, “I will never let that happen. Once they take control, the Carlucci Clan will never be seen as their equals again. We’ll become a subsidiary; no longer an entity that can stand on its own two feet.”

  The need to fidget overwhelms me. Grandfather’s explanation has filled in as many gaps as it creates new questions. The main thing I need to decide is if I even want to do this? Surely, he can’t force me; the boy from the wrong side of Sydney, the boy who fights with his fists instead of his mouth, the boy who’s always one step behind those who want to harm him.

  I don’t have what it takes to be Don.

  “I feel your indecision,” he announces. “I feel your fear. I feel your pride. You should know that I can only wait so long for your commitment before I must employ persuasive tactics.”

  Pushing to my feet, I lean over him and point in his face. “And what persuasive tactics would you use? Threaten Maria? Hurt my mama? Kill my father? History could repeat itself real quick if you tried that. I can see myself making a deal with the Imbruglia’s if it came to that.”

  “Calm down,” my grandfather commands. He shoves my hand out of his face. “Threaten me like that again and you’ll feel just how persuasive I can be.”

  I step back when he moves to stand. He motions toward the door. “Get out of here. Find the Imbruglia in our midst, tail them, and report back to me each night. We have two weeks before the library reopens. That’s plenty of time for you to come to your senses.”

  As I emerge into the brightly lit hallway, his final admonishment rings in my ears. The weight of his words sits heavily on my shoulder; an anchor mooring me to a life I never wanted. When I prayed for escape the horrors of my life in Western Sydney, I never dreamed salvation for me and Maria would come in the form of the grandfather who abandoned me before I’d started school.

  Now I have two weeks to decide if accepting his terms is the answer to my prayers or the start of a new reign of terror.

  Chapter Eight

  Jennifer

  “My nephew will introduce himself to you at the library,” Phyllis whispers. “This whole thing with Desmond has thrown a spanner in the works. I don’t like it, but we’re too far gone to back out now.”

  “It’ll be fine.” My voice is a hell of a lot steadier than my hands.

  To hide this from her, I take the handle of my suitcase and wheel it to my driver. After he loads it in the back of the Escalade, Phyllis drags me over to the other side of the vehicle. Running her hands up and down my arms, she shakes her head.

  “You’re shaking.”

  There’s no point denying it. Phyllis can feel the proof for herself. Every skerrick of confidence I’d felt last night evaporated with the first rays of dawn. All my misgivings flared back to life, ignited by this newest turn of events.

  Is Desmond really going to supervise me while I lose my virginity or is these two weeks together an elaborate ruse to give me an airtight alibi?

  “I’ll be fine,” my voice wavers as I speak. “It’s cold this morning. I’m worried about getting in the way at the rebuild. Don’t stress, by the time I get there, I’ll have my head back on straight.”

  Phyllis presses a small, folded sheet of paper into my hand. “This is my personal number. Call me if you need anything. If I don’t answer, speak to Hayden. He’s a smart boy. He’ll know what to do.”

  Nodding, I step out of the way so my driver can open my door. “How will I know who he is?”

  “He’ll make himself known,” Phyllis replies with a small laugh. “Now get going. We don’t want you to be late on your first day.”

  She waves us off. I watch her until we round the corner and she drops out of view. Once that happens, I lean back in my seat and attempt to pull my shit together.

  The trip is over quicker than I expected. While I’m waiting for the all clear to exit, I end up with my mouth hanging open when Desmond climbs in with me. I slide across to give him room while he gives my driver an address. The back of the Escalade slams shut, and someone bangs twice on the roof, then we’re off again.

  He presses a kiss against my closest cheek. “How is my lovely fiancée this morning?”

  “Confused,” I quip.

  Desmond opens his briefcase and pulls out a file. Snapping the locks shut, he places it on the floor. The sound of papers being shuffled invades the hushed interior of the vehicle. I slump back in the seat with a huff.

  “Is something wrong?” Desmond licks his index finger and rifles through a couple more pages. “The temperature has suddenly dropped in here.”

  Glaring at him, I snap, “You asked me how I was, then ignored me when I said confused.”

  “And?” Arching an eyebrow, he abandons his paperwork. “I assumed that we would table any serious discussions until we arrive.”

  “Where? Arrive where?” I shout.

  The look he hits me with is frigid and filled with censure. “At the home we’re sharing for the next two weeks.”

  I close my eyes to block out his face. In a mutinous mutter, I declare, “It feels like you’re talking in riddles again.”

  My irritating fiancé slides his arm across my shoulders and pulls me against him. I scrunch the material of my pencil skirt in my hands and brace for his reaction. Colour me even more confused when he lays another kiss on my cheek and hunches down to speak to me.

  “I assumed you would like to confirm our plans once we’re away from the prying eyes and ears on your father’s payroll.”

  Instantly, I feel stupid. Marcus, my driver, blended into the background a long time ago. I think of him more as part of the vehicle than a living, breathing human. My face burns with shame and I turn to look out of the window.

  Maybe I’m not so different to my parents, after all.

  The remainder of the drive is done in silence. I spend it watching the homes we drive pass turn from gigantic mansions with gorgeous gardens to small, weatherboard structures with rusted out cars in the front yard. Just when I think the suburb can’t get any bleaker, we slow down and pull into a long driveway. The security gate rattles out of our way and we drive around a sharp bend. A brand-new, two-storey house is revealed.

  “It’s beautiful,” I gasp.

  He squeezes my thigh, a little too high but I let it go without comment. He leans close. “I’m happy for you to fuck the peasants—once and only once. I never said I wanted you slumming it with them for any longer than that takes.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I snort, slapping his chest.

  Desmond captures my hand and presses it against his heart. “And you’re stuck with me.”

  The amendment to his side of our deal sets off alarm bells in my head. The ringing is deafening; however, it isn’t the time or place to question him. Marcus has exited the driver’s seat. He holds the door open for us while we get out.

  I notice a second Escalade has pulled into the driveway behind us. “Do we have company?”

  “That’s my security,” Desmond drawls. “My father had a non-negotiable request of his own.”

  As if on cue, two big emerge from the vehicle. I hold my tongue while they help Marcus unload our bags and safely ensconce us inside the house. Our rental is as nice inside as I expected. Comfortable and homely. I can see myself living in place like this if my parents were a normal couple. When the last bag is stowed upstairs, Marcus has driven off, and Desmond’s security has walked off to check the house, I lift myself up on the kitchen counter and beckon him forward.

  “What did you mean, one time only?” I get straight to business. I’m due at the library by nine and it’s already past eight. “Our deal was for two weeks.”

  “I had a change of heart after I left last night.”

  �
��But—”

  Strong hands grip my thighs, then my legs are wrenched apart. Desmond pushes his way between them; the sound of my skirt ripping punctuates his manhandling. He fingers a lock of my hair, curling it around two fingers, before he uses it to drag my face to his. My shriek is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses me. One hand drops to the small of my back while the other palms my left breast.

  “We should leave,” he orders after he’s finished his assault. “I wouldn’t want to make you late on your first day.”

  With my escape flashing before my eyes, I blink back tears and square my shoulders. “I’d rather stay and work this out. You can’t change the rules halfway through.”

  “The rules are what I make them.” Stepping away from me, he smirks. “Also, call me Mac. All my friends do.”

  “What changed, Mac?” I venture softly. “We had a deal. I get two weeks to find myself, then we work out where we’re heading from there.”

  Desmond’s smirk morphs into a wolfish sneer. “I changed my mind while I was balls deep in Vivian last night. I couldn’t get off without picturing you… and I took that as a sign. You’re going to be mine sooner rather than later. Since I can’t expect you to adhere to my terms without a compromise, I’m offering you an amendment.”

  “How fair of you.” I let the mention of my friend Vivian pass without comment.

  She’s the least of my problems.

  “I thought so,” he continues. I can see in his eyes that he’s deliberately ignoring the snark in my comment. “You see, I still can’t quite bring myself to break you in so I’m going to go to this library rebuild and pick the guy for you. He’ll get one, short roll around the hay with you and in exchange I’ll give up Vivian once I have you in my bed.”

  “You’re so kind.”

  This time he bites. “I can show you my less gracious side, if you’d like? I can promise you’ll end up with more than a ripped skirt, though.”

  His snarling offer sets my own rage alight.