by S. W. Frank
“Speak truthfully to me Diane Carroll, I will not judge you –it is my promise.”
She was afraid to share. She bowed her head, and she confessed with liquid tears dropping into her cup of coffee. “The stuff I stole from Mrs. Bergman was plundered from others as far as I’m concerned. I was desperate –I’m not a thief! I took cash, a few pieces of jewelry that I pawned and I kept the diary because after I started reading it, I figured there must be something I can use on the Mayor. However, when I read how sick Mrs. Bergman was, I wanted to vomit. Mrs. Bergman wasn’t even her real name. She was from Germany but she wasn’t Jewish. Her mother was euthanized in the T-4 Program because she suffered from mental illness. Her father married off his only daughter at fifteen to a thirty year-old high-ranking Nazi officer. I looked up Erich Kramer’s name and it said he was the nephew of a German Commander known as the Beast of Belsen, a concentration camp where scores of prisoners were murdered in which he participated or watched.” She humphed. “His nephew Erich Kramer, headed the Einsatzgruppen, a task force especially designed to search and herd Jews, force them to dig their graves before executing them. Toward the end of the war, Erich sent his wife to Norway disguised as a displaced Jewish refugee with some of the stolen property of a wealthy Jewish merchant’s family he murdered. The merchant’s daughter resembled the Officer’s wife and they were approximately the same age. Kramer ordered his wife to assume the identity of the girl to evade capture, and she complied of course –she was pregnant. She became Estelle Bergman, right before the fall of the Third Reich. Her husband allegedly died at ‘The Battle of the Bulge,’ however she states in her diary he no longer sought to be a puppet of the Fuhrer, and in secrecy plotted desertion. He somehow managed to slip out of Germany with an assumed identity and settled in Kaliningrad, Russia, remarried and lived with his family under the name Kasili Viyachov. He later had a son Gorgei and a daughter. His daughter Katia died a few months after birth. His surviving son, Gorgei married and had two daughters. The eldest he named Katia after his deceased sister and the youngest was Kenya.”
Lorenzo did not interrupt the fascinating tale. Kasili, Kalingrad, Katia and Kenya. Lots of K’s, he mused. He poured more coffee, patted his pajama pockets for a smoke and then remembered he had quit.
He sipped the coffee. There is a Mafiya of the Red Bratva. His name was Gorgei Viyachov.
Chocolate’s information might be useful in the future.
“They evaded the War Crime Tribunal and lived extravagantly. She wrote that he did not join her in America to protect her, which she believed was a sign of his supreme sacrifice and love –stupid woman!”
The story had not concluded. He waited patiently.
“Mrs. Bergman’s grandson is the Mayor of New York with political ambitions.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “He’s also my father, if what Mrs. Bergman wrote is true and he wants me dead Lo. He’s not going to stop hunting me…he can’t risk anybody learning the truth about his family or his horrible deeds.”
His head snapped up. “Your Papa is the Mayor? That is information that should have been shared sooner.”
“I was scared you wouldn’t help me. What he did to my mom, drugging and raping her shows what type of man he is.”
“And you destroyed this book?” He asked incredulously.
“No. A few days after I arrived in Sicily, someone broke into my apartment and stole my valuables. The book was in a carry bag with my iPad which the burglar took also.”
It sounded fishy to Lorenzo. “Hmm.” He rose when his cell rang again. “Nonetheless, it is gone and your confession suggests you have begun to trust me.”
She inhaled and then expelled a shaky breath. “I hope my trust isn’t misplaced.”
He looked in to the living room where his cell had stopped ringing. “You are the daughter of a drug addicted prostitute, a father that is a rapist whom is the son of a Nazi and you cohabitate with a Greek with a colorful history and criminal relatives. Humph, I say we are perfect for each other.” She appeared injured that he spoke aloud her shame. But, he did so for her to hear the truth, that she was not those others. She was Diane, and frankly, he was intrigued with her, which was troubling because Thalia had been the only person that stirred such a feeling of kinship –love.
“Did you need to remind me?”
He smirked. “I summarized to proceed. You have spoken for a very long time. I prefer to speak about teaching you the art of self-protection, in the event I am not available to scare away a Grecian suitor.”
She smiled. Yes, he liked her lips, her teeth, her nose, her skin and the woman that emerged from hiding. He wished to know her better; cognizant he might be dealing with a liar.
Who would rob her and take a book?
How convenient the theft, he deliberated.
Then he considered her former employer, Yosef Glavovitz, the husband of Sophie Dichenzo.
“I don’t know Lo. What kind of self-defense are we talking about?”
“The kind that ends the life of a man that seeks to assault you.”
“What…a gun?”
“The gun requires a trained user and bullets.”
“She shook in distaste. “Guns –Ew!”
He chuckled. “With practice you will gain confidence. You may even find a weapon can be a trusted friend.”
The ringing restarted. He strode from the kitchen to answer, chain swinging across his hard pecs. She cleared away the dishes as he spoke loudly in Greek to the caller. His voice escalated and she turned on the taps to avoid the eavesdropping. Anyway, she couldn’t understand a word, until he said, “A week. That is a very long time Uncle Nicolo when there are children involved, but I look forward to your visit and then your hasty departure.”
Shortly after, he stuck his head in the kitchen. “We will have guests tomorrow. Are you okay with this intrusion?”
She nodded; surprised that he asked her permission. “I heard. It’s your family Lo. It’s only right you put them up for a week.”
He gestured her over with his finger, considering whether to forego the lesson for languid fucking. However, he tread very carefully with Diane Carroll aka Chocolate.
A woman accustomed to disrespectful men required a patient man to win her affections. She also needed a protector. First, he must remove her deepest fear.
His eyes sparkled. “Time for your tutorial.”
Chapter Nine
Ivan guarded the locked door where Kenya was imprisoned. Gorgei refused to allow anyone within the room, not even Katia. He was in Leningrad on business and this was Katia’s opportunity.
She took a deep breath, sauntering seductively into view of the brolic Russian with a false smile. She wore nothing beneath the opaque dress. Her lips and toenails were painted a vibrant red, which happened to be Ivan’s favorite color. She clutched a paper bag with food, praying that he would not turn her away like the others.
“Dobroye utro,” she greeted, placing a palm to her breast innocently.
“Zdravstvuj.”
“I have brought food for Kenya.” Her eyes implored him to take mercy. She had known Ivan for many years and never once asked a favor, until this day.
Ivan spoke little during the years on her father’s payroll. Unlike, Trev, Ivan had never spent time in prison. She feared him, thus the twitch to her optical nerve.
Fortyish with prominent features, he resembled a boxer that spent his entire life in the ring. The result was broken facial bones that healed in asymmetry. There were hints at his former attractiveness in the eyes and lips. Ivan had no children or wife. Her Papa deemed Ivan, too volatile for a normal life.
He snatched the bag, peering inside, touching and smelling the food. Then he dropped it to the floor, seized her waist and thrust her to the wall. Katia’s face kissed it harshly as he rubbed his hand inside her thighs. The rough search for weapons, she deemed unnecessary.
Katia fought back a tear upon his violation. He knew of her abhorrence for the pleasures of his g
ender. She was thirty-six and a virgin, although she had lain with women.
She gasped, holding her breath as he searched her orifices with his hand. Nothing was gentle…Ivan cared nothing about her embarrassment.
He leaned his bulk to her spine and growled in her ear. “What will be the payment for my kindness Katia?”
His hand wrapped around her throat and she smelled her scent. If there were another way to free Kenya, she would have done so. However, the guards on her Papa’s estate were the most thoroughly brutal.
She steeled her mind. Her body was a small price to pay for the health of her half-sister.
“I give you me,” she whispered to his large knuckles, and he did not hesitate to take what she offered.
“I accept lovely Katia.” The sound of his zipper preceded the solid thickness that pushed between her thighs, filling and expanding her without reticence. Ivan grunted as he licked the nape of her neck, banging within her forcefully and brought forth long gasps. He ensured he stripped her of the pride she held in abeyance, making her cum by the pure force of the sensual roughness. She took his thumb into her mouth, sucking to avoid the scream as he satiated himself by plundering her raw. He kneaded her breasts, dipping low and pumping into her with such ferocity she panted from the pain. Ivan did not relent, bruising her with biting kisses, making her bleed from his touch.
“You will know me well,” he groaned as he licked her shoulder. She felt the heated ejaculate, attempted to dispel it, but he plugged her too deeply, and her muscles spasmed from lack of control. Then he withdrew, spinning her around. “Taste me.”
She lowered until her eyes were level with his sizable penis. She gripped him and then suckled gingerly.
He sought to mark her. Unwittingly she had given him claim when she traded flesh for a favor. He pushed rapidly into her mouth, gripping her hair very tight.
Then he squeezed her cheeks, trembling in an eruption of fluid. “Swallow.”
She did, with eyes on his pelvic tattoo of skulls.
“Your father said you might try to enter.”
Katia’s eyes blazed.
“He gave his blessing to fuck you. He wants grandchildren, and a daughter that likes women will not give him that wish.” He yanked her up. “You will be my wife. You will never be with women unless it is for my pleasure as well.”
She tried to jerk free. “You lie.”
“I am not Trev.” He snarled. “You have five minutes with your sister. Please me properly on the next visit and I may allow you more time!”
He tucked his penis into his trousers, zipped his pants and strolled to the door with the confidence of a Toro Bravo Bull after maiming participants in an encierro. He unlocked the door, watched as she painfully bent to retrieve the bag and gestured her into the room.
The offense was not the stench, but the sight of Kenya, arms wrapped about her knees, staring out of a fortified window, unclothed and bruised.
Katia put a hand to her mouth to stifle the cry at the forlorn expression on her young sibling’s previously jubilant face. She had lost weight. Her supple skin had dulled from malnourishment. This –this was the deed of a man her Mama knew –he’d abuse his very daughters.
Kenya hadn’t leapt in her usual excitement or cared that she wore nothing. Katia observed a young woman broken.
“Kenya.”
“He slaughtered Trev. A gun to my heart would have been kinder,” Kenya whispered weakly. “But, he cannot kill me twice.”
Kenya leaned her weary head to the wall. She had appealed to Ivan and the former guards when they brought her food to help her leave, but they simply ignored her pleas. The many years in her presence, they did not see her as a human being because she defied her Papa. The stars that were on her skin and love for Trev was a punishable offense. The chauvinistic brutes feared the Bratva and her Papa’s retribution more than being honorable toward a woman. She hated their ways and spit on them.
Today was the first Kenya had seen Katia since their return from Borneo two weeks ago –at least that was how long she believed it was. Perhaps, it had been longer.
How long does it take to die from starvation?
Katia glanced around at the bare room, which formerly held lavish furnishings. There wasn't a comb for her piteous sister, nothing except the cushioned settee. That is all her Papa allowed his recalcitrant daughter. The skin on Kenya’s arms had crusted where he peeled off the tattoos. Shameful, that he would treat his flesh lower than an animal.
Katia rummaged in the bag, hurriedly removing the items of food, aware time elapsed quickly when wanting more. She crossed to where Kenya sat. The throbbing below served as a painful reminder that Ivan waited.
Katia put the items at Kenya’s feet. “You are to eat and stay alive. I will get you out of here. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Kenya nodded.
“Papa will not win –he will not destroy us as he destroyed Mama.”
She did not tell Kenya her plan. She could not risk Kenya’s life. She fervently prayed her half-brothers would help her save Kenya from the fate of becoming a novelty in the Japanese sex trade.
“Eat, stay strong, I promise to be back.”
Kenya lifted the bread, nibbling and coughing on the crust. Broken flakes dropped from her lovely sister’s mouth and she helped her by unscrewing the bottle cap and thrust it in her face. When she drank, the noise was loud.
Ivan appeared.
Katia kissed her sister and departed.
Chapter Ten
Selange looked around at the mess as Anita recanted what she missed. It was almost seven and nobody was home. Ari and Nico had taken all the children, even the babies to the park. That’s where they told Anita they were going, but that was hours ago, she said.
Alfonzo had left with Allie long before that. Sal hadn’t returned from the mall yet and after helping Anita get the house back in order, she flopped on the sofa with her phone to check on her children.
However, family members soon filed through the door before she placed a call.
Sal and Aaron arrived first with shopping bags, waved at her and ran upstairs.
Nico and Ari entered. Nico carried a sleeping Semira; Ari had Alexandros over her shoulder and Darren had Annalisa tucked under one arm like a football. The twins trailed behind yawning.
“Hi Selange.” Nico greeted with a whimsical grin.
“Hi Nico.”
“Hello, Selange. I hope you had a good day.” Ari smiled.
“Yes I did, thanks Ari,” Selange replied, refusing to be petty by mentioning her earlier threat. She twisted her hair, instead, wondering why Ari was being overly nice.
Ari balanced the baby like a pro. “Well, you look good.”
Nico coughed.
Then Ari scurried to the stairs, leaving Selange dumbfounded and swearing to pinch her husband for squealing, because there’s no way Ari was being that pleasant to her unless the woman thought she was dying.
“Hi Aunt Selange.”
“Hi Darren.”
“Mom I’m tired.”
“Okay Angie.”
“Me, too.” Vincent yawned. His mouth stretched wide enough to fit a baseball.
“Then let’s brush our teeth and go to bed.” Selange commented, kicking her legs to the floor, rising over the munchkins and taking their clammy hands. She wondered what Nico and Ari had her children doing because they looked as if they performed hard labor.
• • • • • •
Allie had given her father a hug and then distanced herself from him and Carlo before the door opened.
Her vivacious friend exclaimed. “Mama Allie is here!”
Alfonzo smiled as his little girl rolled the studded suitcase packed with brand new clothes into the foyer, chatting and laughing in Sicilian. He sighed, when she looked over her shoulder after a moment to wave good-bye. His girl was growing up –yeah time had flown by. She was the spitting image of her mom, damn he missed Selange –he put his hand to his heart and
then turned with Carlo to descend the stairs to the car.
His men remained a discreet distance along the perimeter, out of the cars, watching, always ready to pop off shots if a threat came too close.
Guards were to remain stationed outside of the house overnight to keep watch over his daughter. She wasn’t aware of that, though. He wanted her to have fun –be a kid –not a Mafia Princess –simply Aldonza Darlene Diaz.
Carlo looked up after kicking a loose pebble during the walk. The little tike didn’t appear tired, in fact he seemed as if he’d just awakened. Alfonzo surmised he liked the night, like his Uncle. The night is where he found a semblance of peace.
“Hey, why the long face?”
Carlo shrugged.
Alfonzo had practice making frowns disappear from sad children. When he asked Carlo if he wanted to hang out with Vincent, the boy’s pale cheeks blushed crimson with joy. Carlo and Vincent were cousins, but they were close friends. He peeped their relationship, and they were both bossy, except Vincent was the cool nerd. He’d seen his son in action, whispering conspiratorially to Carlo.
“Let’s make water fireworks,” Vincent suggested.
“We can cause a fire. Papa says do not touch things that can burn.”
Vincent had rolled his sparkly eyes. “You are such a bambino.”
“I am not.”
“Si, come here and let me show you there isn’t going to be a fire.”
That day, they had trotted past him on the sofa to the kitchen. He was familiar with the experiment. The banging of cabinets and scraping of chairs hadn’t startled him. Vincent was gathering materials for the demonstration, some oil, food coloring, a tall glass and whatnot.
Later, as expected he heard Carlo’s laughter and the “Ooh...ah…let me try…let me try!”
