Ricardo

by Marita A. Hansen

  “What’s wrong, baby?” a man called out.

  Bianca looked to her left, jolting at the sight of two men several meters down the road. They must’ve come from an alleyway, because they hadn’t been there before.

  “Nothing, I’m fine,” she said, heading for the road. Except for a few parked cars, it was empty.

  “Don’t be scared,” one of the men said. “We just want to help you.”

  The other man started sniggering. “Out of your panties.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. They were following her, the night casting a shadow over their faces. One of them was over six foot, a hulk of a man, while the other was short and skinny. He walked under a lamppost, the light illuminating his gaunt face. Bianca’s eyes widened. It was Tito Donatelli—a pimp who worked for the Rossos. She quickly turned her head, hoping he didn’t recognize her, because if he did, she was dead. The Donatelli man she’d accidentally poisoned was his uncle, a bloody thirsty bastardo who deserved to die, just not by her hand.

  “Where are you running to, blondie?” Tito asked.

  She walked faster, focusing on the neon glow of another shop further down the road, willing this one to be open.

  “Can you at least tell us your name?”

  She remained silent, hoping if she didn’t engage in conversation they would get bored and leave her alone.

  “Come on, baby, don’t ignore us,” Tito said. “Aren’t we good enough for you?”

  She continued walking, willing them to go away. A rock skittered across the ground next to her.

  “Stop ignoring us.”

  Another stone bounced past her, then one hit her head hard, making her yelp. Without thinking, she spun around and yelled, “Leave me alone!” A second later, she realized her mistake. Tito stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. Knowing she’d been recognized, she took off. Getting to the shop was no longer an option, because he was Mafioso, someone who wouldn’t think twice about shooting her in front of other people.

  The pounding of boots started up behind her, drawing closer as she passed the lit shop. She cast a glance through the window, not seeing anyone, although the neon sign said it was open.

  She cut across another street, clearing it fast, adrenalin taking away the pain in her worn-out legs. But no matter how fast she ran the men’s footfalls drew closer, along with Tito’s shouts, telling the bigger man to get her.

  A large hand grabbed her arm from behind. Screaming, she swung out, forcing the man to let go. She pulled away from him and headed for the road as a car appeared; yelling at it to stop, but it flew past, disappearing down the road.

  The man grabbed at her again, this time getting a firmer grip. He yanked her into his arms, and lifted her off the ground. She screamed and kicked back at his legs, getting angry growls in response. He carried her into an alleyway, snapping at her to shut up.

  Tito followed them. “You’re dead for what you did to my uncle.”

  “Let’s have some fun with her first,” his friend said.

  She jerked in his arms, trying to get free, but again he was too strong, the man a monster in comparison to her. He shoved her face first into the wall, pressing his body against hers. She wriggled an arm free and elbowed him in the stomach. He swore, but instead of letting her go, he spun her around, the anger in his eyes terrifying.

  “Weak troia,” he spat, calling her a bitch. He pushed her arms behind her back, holding them together with one big hand. His other hand ripped at her blouse, tearing the buttons off. She screamed and continued to struggle, making him smile. “No one’s going to hear you, and the only happy ending you’ll be getting is at the end of my cock.” He shoved her bra up, baring her breasts. He grabbed one, his smile widening. “I thought these babies were fake, but I’m real glad they’re not.” He leaned his face closer to hers, looking like he was going to kiss her. He smelled like he’d smoked twenty packs of cigarettes, the man’s rancid breath polluting her lungs.

  “Stop fucking around with her,” Tito snapped. “Pick her up; we’re taking her to Christo.”

  “Just give me a few minutes.”

  “No! That murdering troia killed my uncle.”

  The man holding Bianca glanced over his shoulder. “You can have your vengeance once I’m finished with her.”

  “No, Malik, we need to take her now. Christo has men looking for her.”

  “Then I’ll be real quick.” He let go of Bianca’s wrists and forced her to her knees. Smiling down at her, he unzipped his pants.

  Tito took up position next to Malik. “That troia will bite your cock off, and I’ll laugh at you for being so stupido.”

  Malik pulled out his cock. “She won’t do that, unless she wants to die painfully.” He ran a finger over the Band-Aid on her nose, a remnant of her husband breaking it. “Tito can peel your skin off if you dare hurt my cock. Capito?”

  She nodded, knowing she was going to hurt him no matter what, because there was no way she was sucking his cock, let alone allowing them to take her to Christo. Their Don would do worse things to her than they could ever do.

  Refraining from cringing, she took a hold of Malik’s genitals, the man watching her intently. She started massaging his balls, pulling out a “Yes” from him.

  “Put my cock in your mouth,” he said, “and remember, be careful, unless you want to suffer for hours before you die.”

  She moved his cock towards her mouth. Without warning, she twisted his balls hard, squeezing his cock at the same time. He screamed and hit out at her. Ducking, she let go of him and punched the other man in the crotch before he could attack her too. Tito stumbled backwards, his hands going to his groin, while Malik fell to his knees, doubling over in agony.

  Without a second thought, she jumped up and took off, running as though the Devil was on her heels. She cleared streets fast, eventually finding herself in the countryside. Recognizing the pointy hills in the distance, she cut across a field, slowing down as she neared the back of the Santini compound.

  She searched for an opening in the high fence, getting more and more frustrated when she couldn’t find one. A bout of dizziness made her stop in her tracks. Her mouth was dry and her body was aching, dehydration and exhaustion finally becoming too much. She took a step forward, knowing she needed help now. A second later, she was falling, out cold before she hit the ground.

  3

  Ricardo hated being out among the general public and even more so in crowds. He couldn’t stand non-Mafioso; they reeked of fear. He could almost smell it, taste it, and he could most definitely see it. The way the crowd had surged back when he’d entered the club with his soldiers was pathetic. They were falling over themselves and each other to get out of his way, as though he’d reach out and snap their necks. A nasty smile played across his lips. He’d rather shoot them.

  He focused on Valentino, someone he respected. It was disconcerting how much the man resembled him, only their eyes different. Valentino had pale blue eyes, the depth of pain within them no doubt due to his wife’s murder.

  “Grazie for coming.” Valentino bowed his head. People often bowed to him out of fear, but there was no fear coming from Valentino, just need, making him wonder what his brother wanted.

  Ricardo sat down next to him, not bothering to acknowledge Valentino’s guard, who was eyeing him warily. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Valentino nodded, the pain in eyes doubling. “Likewise, your pain is my pain.”

  Ricardo nodded. He’d also lost a loved one to the war, someone he’d been after for years and had finally gotten, only for her to be cruelly taken away. She had been murdered by Pedro Landi, someone he would make pay. His motto wasn’t an eye for an eye, it was total annihilation. He would do more than kill the man responsible, he would wipe out his family. Forgiveness wasn’t in his nature, only vengeance.

  Ricardo looked up as his men stepped aside to let a waitress through to take his order. She was trembling, a little butterfly in a black miniskirt. He c
ould imagine her heart beating rapidly, making those big breasts of hers tremble. He crooked a finger so she would come closer, the noise in the club loud. The DJ was pumping out the latest David Guetta song, the music not to his taste.

  “Vodka,” he ordered, as she lowered her head to him.

  “Sì, Don,” she replied.

  He didn’t bother to correct her error, because he would be the Santini Don by the end of the night. Before she could retreat, he grabbed her face, making her eyes widen in fear. “An unopened bottle and three glasses,” he added.

  “Sì,” she squeaked.

  He pulled out a few hundred dollars and stuffed it down her brassiere, then let go of her face. She stared at him in shock, fear paralyzing her. He waved a hand at her, which sent her scurrying off. Weak, he thought. He couldn’t stand weak people, which was why he’d loved Ghita. She’d been a strong woman, who had never allowed him to railroad her like all the other women he’d been with. Only two women had ever held his attention, Ghita and Bianca, but one was dead and the other had walked away from him, saying she couldn’t tolerate his violent temper. He clenched and unclenched his right hand, the thought angering him, because he’d never struck her—unlike her dead husband.

  Ricardo refocused on Valentino. “What do you want from me that couldn’t have been said over the phone?”

  Valentino cleared his throat, for the first time appearing nervous. “I know by being born I’ve brought shame upon your famiglia—”

  “Our famiglia,” Ricardo corrected. “And you brought no shame, only our father has.”

  Valentino gave him a tight-lipped smile, looking like he appreciated the comment. “As you know, my wife was murdered because of her Rosso blood.”

  “Which I don’t understand,” Ricardo said. “The Landi are allowing other Rosso women who’ve taken their husband’s name to live.”

  “Regardless, they still killed her, and they would’ve killed my daughters too if my bambine had been home. My source says that Pedro Landi wants to crucify them in retaliation for what was done to his girls. It doesn’t matter that I had no part in his daughters’ murders or that my daughters have my name, all he sees is two girls with Rosso blood who are the same age as his dead children.”

  Ricardo nodded, knowing his brother’s fears were real. Pedro Landi was a vindictive man, someone who would murder innocent girls in the name of a vendetta. “So, what has this got to do with me?”

  “I want you to protect them by taking them to your compound.”

  Ricardo leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Women fear me.”

  “They’re not women, they’re girls, and you’re their uncle, so they have nothing to fear.”

  “They do have something to fear: my mother. She’ll go out of her way to make their stay unbearable.”

  “But, they will live.”

  “The Landi could take this war to my doorstep.”

  “They’ll be safer there than anywhere else.”

  Ricardo breathed out, knowing he couldn’t refuse his brother’s request. If it had been anyone but Valentino, he would’ve said no. He hated how his parents had ostracized Valentino. It was abhorrent to treat blood in that manner, all because of his mother’s wounded pride and his father’s lack of balls to stand up to her.

  “Where are the girls?” Ricardo asked.

  “In hiding.” Valentino passed over a piece of paper.

  Ricardo picked it up, raising his eyebrows. “They’re with the Spinelli? That famiglia are connected to the Donatelli, the bastardi responsible for this war.”

  “The Spinelli are protectors. They’ll deceive the Donatelli if it means they can save a life. They’ve been doing it for years. So, I beg of you, don’t tell anyone about them. They’re risking their lives for my daughters.”

  “No one will hear it from me.”

  “Grazie. The Spinelli are good people. They would’ve kept my girls longer, but are worried that the Donatelli Don will commandeer their house.”

  Ricardo smiled. “That’s good to know. I’ll get the girls, and have some of my men watch the Spinelli house. If we can kill those Donatelli bastardi that’ll be one less enemy to worry about.” He held up a hand to stop Valentino from speaking. “If the Donatelli do show, I’ll make sure that no Spinelli are hurt.”

  Valentino nodded, looking greatly relieved. “Grazie mille, Ricardo.”

  “No need to thank me, I owe you as a brother to do whatever I can.” Ricardo rose to his feet and placed a hand on Valentino’s shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. “I will protect your girls with my life. That’s a vow.”

  Valentino smiled at him, although the man’s suffering still permeated him.

  The waitress reappeared through the wall of soldiers, looking even more scared than before. It was probably because he was now standing, dwarfing the little butterfly. He took the bottle of vodka off her and handed it to Valentino. “Take care, brother.” He then turned and headed for the exit. People scattered away from him, a couple even falling over to get out of his path. He grimaced, again feeling nothing but disgust at their fear.

  He exited through the main entrance, the sidewalk’s lampposts lighting up the night. A long queue of people, waiting to get into the club, lined the building. Both men and women stared at him with wide eyes, a few of them turning to leave.

  He strode to his car, stopping in his tracks as a convoy of armored vehicles headed his way, the dark four-wheel drives belonging to the Landi. His men surged forward to protect him, readying for an attack. He indicated for them to move aside, not wanting to be shielded. He was wearing bulletproof clothing under his suit, so he just needed to protect his head if a battle occurred.

  The convoy stopped next to Ricardo. The window of the middle vehicle wound down. The face of his enemy appeared: Pedro Landi, the man who had murdered his woman. The fat fuck pointed two fingers at Ricardo and cocked them, as though he was shooting a gun.

  Ricardo’s head soldier grabbed his arm as he went to pull out his gun. “Don’t react,” Nero growled out, his eyes as black as his name. “It’s what he wants.”

  Ricardo gripped onto the gun tighter, then let go. He lifted a finger to his throat and drew a line across it, getting a sneer from Pedro. He would kill the bastardo if it was the last thing he did.

  Pedro’s window wound back up and the convoy drove off, leaving Ricardo fuming that he couldn’t do merda, the club a place of business, not war.

  He jolted as a loud boom sounded. Nero shouted for Ricardo to get in the car, his soldiers scrambling to protect him. However, the explosion wasn’t near him. Instead, it was down an alleyway on the other side of the club, close to the back entrance.

  People came pouring out of the club; panic reigning. They ran in all directions, causing general chaos.

  “Check the explosion out!” Ricardo yelled over the din.

  Two of his soldiers pushed some clubbers out of their way and headed towards the billowing smoke. A couple of minutes later a voice came through Nero’s radio: “The boss needs to see this.”

  Ricardo ran for the alleyway, the rest of his soldiers following, the club-goers avoiding them like the plague. They rounded the corner, the smoke and flames coming from...

  Valentino’s Lamborghini.

  Although the car was destroyed, its flat shape was instantly recognizable, even more so since it was the only Lamborghini on the island. Flames surrounded it, licking up its sides, while its doors were lying a good ten meters from where the car burned, the metal still smoldering from the explosion.

  Nero grabbed Ricardo’s arm as he went for it. He shook free, shouting out his brother’s name. He already knew it was too late. The fire was burning strong, the heat coming off the car in waves. A body was half hanging out of the driver’s side, the man unrecognizable, burnt to a cinder. It was probably his brother’s bodyguard, since Niko never left Valentino unprotected. Ricardo couldn’t see the other side of the car, but he didn’t need to. />
  His brother was dead.

  ***

  Ricardo walked through the front door of his family’s compound, his soldiers following close behind. He had lost his mind after finding Valentino’s burnt-out car, allowing his rage to get the better of him, but he was under control now, knowing he had to be strong for his family. They already knew what had happened, the word spreading fast. Regardless, he’d called for a meeting with his siblings, purposely excluding his parents. His mother would be happy that Valentino was dead, while his father would be impossible to wake, his mysterious illness steadily growing worse.

  He strode across the marble entrance, entering the lounge through the large archway. Like the rest of the house, the room had a high ceiling with crystal chandeliers. A sculpted relief of vines decorated the top of the walls, the neoclassical design simple yet elegant. Rich red curtains hung over the windows, and a patterned carpet covered the floor. Comfortable-looking seating curved around a state of the art entertainment system, the television, stereo, and gaming consoles catering for both young and old.

  His family all turned to look at him. Salvatore pushed out of his chair, his brother’s pale blue eyes sympathetic. Salvatore was thirty-six, a year younger than Ricardo, and the tallest in the family, the man a gentle giant.

  Salvatore embraced him, imparting his condolences, since Ricardo was the only one who’d met Valentino. His siblings had capitulated to their mother, not acknowledging Valentino in fear of upsetting her.

  Salvatore settled himself on the couch next to his wife, slipping an arm around Rosa’s shoulders. They’d known each other since they were children, the two inseparable, but, although they were soul mates, they looked like an odd couple. Rosa was barely five foot while Salvatore was six-foot-five.

  Ricardo swept his gaze over the rest of the room, assessing who was there. Four of his brothers were absent, only two having valid excuses. One was on his way home, while the other was visiting the Vatican due to being a priest.