The Scandal: Mafia Vows

by SR Jones

  For some reason, Stamatis flashes into my head again when I think of the punishment I deserve. Dark, handsome, and very charismatic. He’d looked at me with something new. Not the kind pity of my daughter and her friends, or the disdain of the other men in their group; no, I do believe Stamatis coveted me. He wanted me, badly. I saw it in his gaze, and it lit something similar within me. I wanted to surrender to the fire and lust I saw in him just to see if it burned me too because at least then I’d be feeling something other than shame, guilt, and despondent despair.

  I shake those thoughts from my head and smile at the daughter I don’t deserve. “Thank you, today has been fun.”

  “Okay, coffee time,” Maya says with a grin. “After all, we need to be seen now we’ve gone to so much effort.”

  “Be seen by who?” I ask. “You have your man.”

  She frowns. “Yes, and I love him, and he’d probably kill any man who touched me with his bare hands, but that doesn’t mean it’s not nice to be seen and noticed now and again. Plus, I bought the new limited-edition Louis Vuitton, and I want to show this baby off.”

  I don’t know what Louis Vuitton is, so I simply smile and nod, so lost in this world.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Star says, admiring the bag.

  To me, a bag is simply something you carry things in. My clothes are old-fashioned because I don’t know what to wear or what suits me, and I’ve been wearing things I’ve had in my closet for years. From before I went into the commune in some cases even. Thank God, I’ve always maintained a trim figure because otherwise I’d have to go out and buy a ton of clothes, and I don’t have the money. Within the commune, I mostly wore dresses with long hems, and long sleeves, and often a scarf over my hair. Now, I wear the things I took in there as a young woman, seeking refuge, and hope I don’t look ridiculous.

  As if she’s read my mind, Maya turns to me. “We need to make one more stop before the coffee shop. You need some clothes, Rhea.”

  “Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I can’t afford that, Maya, and I am quite happy with what I have.”

  “I insist,” she says, grabbing my arm excitedly. “I’m buying, so don’t worry.” She holds her hand up the moment I part my lips to speak. “And don’t deny me this. I love shopping and honestly, if I buy more clothes, Damen will lose it. He says he’s going to have to build another walk-in wardrobe at this rate. This way I get to shop and not be in trouble.”

  “You’ll be in trouble for spending your husband’s money,” I tell her sternly.

  She giggles. “Oh, I can get around him, but it’s not his money; it’s mine.”

  She frowns then. “I mean, I suppose it does come from Stamatis, from my father, but it’s mine now.”

  At her words, I get a flash of a fantasy. Stamatis being the one to buy me clothes. What style does he like? Does he even care about these things? Most men don’t.

  As we leave, Star whispers in my ear, “This is her thing. Let her buy you something, but put your foot down if you’re not comfortable with what she chooses. Her style is different to ours.”

  A warm glow encompasses me at my daughter’s words, the way she said ours included me, if only for a moment in a unit with her. I don’t know how to make up the harm I did to her. I don’t know how to make it right.

  When we get to the store, Star is correct. Maya picks out things I would never wear. “I’m not comfortable in such skimpy things or tight things,” I tell her as she holds a dress that looks like a bandage up to me.

  “Okay, I know, Chanel.”

  “Oh my God, you can’t,” Star says in horror.

  Is Chanel awful? I don’t know.

  “I can, and I am. It’s so classic. Anyway, we’re not going to Chanel itself. There’s a store around the corner that sells pre-loved. I’ve been buying from them for a while because Stella got on my case about the environment. Their stuff is very high-end, and they have a few pre-loved vintage Chanel suits. They will suit your Mom perfectly.”

  When we get to the store Maya is talking about, I have to admit to being somewhat impressed with the clothes. The fabrics are stunning, and so are some of the colors. There are silks, woven wools, and patterns that are simply beautiful. The sort of clothes made to last and not cheap materials sold at a huge cost because of some logo or name. I used to make clothes in the commune, so I know quality when I see it.

  “Here, try these two on.” Maya shoves two hangers at me, and I don’t get a proper look at what is on them. I head into the changing room and see she’s given me two tweed skirt suits.

  “This will go with them.” Maya’s slender arm snakes through the curtain, handing me a cream silky t-shirt.

  I put the t-shirt on and then try the other clothes on. The first suit I dismiss as soon as I have the skirt over my hips. It’s short and tight, and I cannot wear something that looks so … sluttish. Luckily for me, it doesn’t fit around my waist, and I can barely breathe in it.

  With a sigh, I try the second one, and am pleasantly surprised. This does fit, and the skirt comes to just below my knees. It’s actually quite conservative, but in a smart way. I pull the jacket over the silky top, and that fits too. I like the dark gray checked pattern as well.

  “Come out,” Maya demands.

  I do, and she claps her hands. “Oooh,” she sighs. “You look wonderful in that. Some low-heeled shoes, or maybe even ankle boots?”

  Is she asking me?

  “Yes, ankle boots,” she carries on, clearly talking to herself. “What shoe size are you?”

  I tell her, and she bustles off to find shoes. She comes back a few minutes later with two pairs of boots. One of them is white. “Oh no,” I say at the white pair. Far too ostentatious and look at me for my tastes.

  “Try them,” she pleads. “They’ll work so well.”

  Again, I let her push me into it and try the boots. This time when I come out of the changing room, she has a gold necklace in her hands. It’s not a delicate chain, but a thick, interlinking, chunky gold necklace and she puts it around my neck.

  “There,” she breathes as if I’m some work of art. “Go look.”

  “I have to say, you do look amazing, Mom,” Star says. I stare at her for a moment. Does she realize she just called me Mom and not Mother?

  Glowing from both her praise and her use of the word Mom, I rush to the mirror. “Oh, my word,” I gasp.

  I look … amazing, if I say so myself. “Maya, you’re a genius.” I turn to her smiling.

  She beams. “I know,” she says, totally at ease with saying she’s awesome. Oh, to have a smidgen of her confidence. “I should be a personal shopper; I’d love it.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” I ask.

  “Because Damen wouldn’t like it if I was out of the house every day, and can you imagine clients being comfortable with that?” She points out the window, to the huge Russian with a gun under his jacket, who follows us everywhere we go.

  “You have a point,” I say. “Still, you are very talented.”

  She’s made me look both demure, and if I say so myself, alluring, at the same time.

  Maya stands behind me and pulls at the jacket. “You can make it a lot sexier if you fasten it because it will really nip in your waist, but I think for you, open, with the cream top underneath is great.”

  I agree.

  “Do you like it?” she asks.

  I nod because I do and maybe one day, I’ll buy it for myself..

  “We’ll take it, all of it,” Maya tells the assistant.

  “No, honestly, I can’t let you buy me these clothes,” I say, trying to be firm.

  “You can, and you will, and what’s more you’ll wear them now when we go for coffee. Please,” she adds, sincerely. “It would be an honor for me, and make me very happy.”

  What can I say to that? I nod, and thank her profusely, but she shakes the thanks off. “I enjoy doing this; you’re doing me the favor.”

  “I don’t know what to do with my old clothes,
” I say.

  “Fold them up and put them in my bag,” Maya says with a grin. “It’s not called a Neverfull for nothing, you know; it holds a lot!”

  I do as she says, and the store assistant gives me a bag for my old shoes.

  “Okay, can we get coffee now?” Star asks with a laugh. “My feet are killing me.”

  “Yes, come on, it’s only two minutes away.”

  We take our seats at a coffee shop, sitting outside in the middle of a very busy square. I stare around me at the people milling about. I might have been in the commune for many years, but since getting out, I’ve read the news and seen what has happened. Greece is supposed to be poor. Yet, the people here are very rich. The men wear smart suits, and the women beautiful clothes, and big powerful cars pull up to the side of the road and park every few minutes.

  Star and Maya order fancy coffees, and I order a mint tea. As we sit and sip at our drinks, I relax and enjoy watching the life around me.

  The two girls are chatting, and I’m utterly absorbed in the people peacocking for one another, all showing off, when a deep voice jerks me out of my reverie.

  “Maya, how nice to see you.” I turn to see Stamatis at our table, smiling down at his daughter. My heart starts to beat double time at his presence.

  I flashback to the previous week when I met him at the gathering at Maya’s house. He burned me with one glance and had me shaking as he stood close, talking to me in his super intense way. He asked for my number, and I gave it him. I gave this man, a mobster, my number. Why did I do such a crazy thing?

  He’s so handsome, though. Big and tall and broad. His shoulders fill out his suit beautifully.

  “Star,” he says with a smile before turning to me. “Rhea.”

  The way he says my name is different. It’s as if he’s caressing it somehow.

  In a place full of beautiful people, Stamatis stands out; not because he’s the most beautiful, but because he’s easily the most commanding and powerful presence I’ve seen all day … well, to be honest, ever.

  Only that terrifying Russian man, Andrius, has anything like the same presence about him. Damen, Maya’s husband, is big, but he doesn’t have the command that Stamatis does, which is why I suppose Stamatis is the boss. In the animal world he’d be the alpha male.

  “Are you okay, Daddy?” Maya asks. “You look tired.”

  “I’m fine,” he says. “Got a meeting in ten minutes … at my lawyers office.”

  He throws me a look as if that should mean something to me.

  “Is everything alright?” Maya asks.

  “Yes, nothing for you to worry about, darling,” he reassures her.

  “Where is the office? Do you have time for a coffee?”

  “No,” he says. “Sorry.”

  I’m both relieved and disappointed.

  “We’re having Rhea to dinner this evening; why don’t you come?” Maya asks.

  Star frowns but doesn’t say anything.

  “Thank you. I might, if I can finish up business in time. When are you eating?”

  “Oh, not until around eight, so plenty of time. It would be lovely to see you, Daddy.”

  Maya grins at him, and he smiles, kisses the top of her head, and then gives a nod to me and Star. “Ladies,” he says with an old-fashioned grace that makes me even more weak in the knees for him. “Until later.”

  Oh, dear Lord, help me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Stamatis

  “Where are you going?” Lena demands.

  “You don’t get to ask me that anymore,” I tell her gruffly. Her presence in this room, the room I now call mine, is annoying. I’m wearing only boxer briefs, and it feels odd having her watch me while I dress. I grab my Rolex and put it on with a bored look thrown Lena’s way. Next to the watch in the black leather jewelry tray on the desk is my wedding ring. I took it off today.

  Helena’s eyes dart to my hand and then to the box, and they narrow to piggy little holes of pure poison.

  “I’m still your wife,” she snaps.

  “Yes, well, hopefully not for much longer.” I rummage in my wardrobe for a shirt. I want something smart but casual. I’m not a vain man, but I’m glad I’ve worked out my whole life. Not many men my age have a physique like mine.

  I turn to Helena and quite casually say, “You better start to look for somewhere to live.”

  “What?” Her face pales. “You can’t be serious. You screw my sister-in-law, have an illegitimate child, and let our son be killed, and now you’re telling me to move out?”

  I get into her space, hustling her back until she’s against the wall. I won’t hurt her, but I’m not above using my bulk to intimidate her. I’m done being the nice guy who lets his wife emotionally abuse him because of guilt.

  “I want a divorce,” I say.

  “Fuck you, you can’t have one,” she screams, pushing me away from her.

  “What do you want?” I shout. Shouting isn’t something I normally do. I find that being quietly spoken is a lot more powerful most of the time, but I’ve had as much as I can take of Helena. I can’t bear to look at her face a moment longer. “You want us to stay here in this house hating one another? Living in some sort of purgatory?”

  “Yes,” she hisses at me. “It’s no more than you deserve.”

  “Lena, how long have you known me?” I ask.

  Her nose crinkles, and her brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”

  “How. Fucking. Long. Have. You. Known. Me?”

  “Years … decades.”

  “Yes, so you know what kind of man I am. You know that I’m not gentle and I don’t forgive those who trespass against me, do I?”

  “No,” she says with uncertainty.

  “Yet, you kept pushing, and I let you. I let you because I felt like shit over what happened to our son, but I’m done. Now you have two choices. Either we do this as amicably as possible, which means you find a house you like, and I pay for it. Pretty fucking decent of me, I think, under the circumstances. Or we go to war, and you do not want to go to war with me, bitch. Am I clear?”

  She flinches when I call her bitch, which is fucking hilarious because she’s spent months calling me every name under the sun.

  “I’ll think about it,” she says nastily, and then stalks out of the room, leaving me in blessed peace.

  I pick a dark gray button-down and dark jeans, then pull the clothes on. I spray some aftershave and run gel through my thick hair. I don’t know why I always feel so much older than Damen and Alesso when I’m not some old man. I think it’s because Damen is married to my daughter, and yes, she’s a fair bit younger than him, but that doesn’t seem to matter to my brain. In my mind, I put them as being the youngsters and me the old man, which is stupid.

  Still, as I look at myself in the mirror, I think I’m older than Rhea, who had Star very young. I don’t know if I like Rhea as a person. I think what she did to her kid was fucking shitty, and she’s probably screwed up as hell, but I want her. I’m a man who has spent decades denying certain wants in an attempt to make up for my crappy early behavior to my wife, and I’m done with that.

  I’ve spent the last couple of years living in a daze, and now I want something for the first time in a long time. I could decide not to bother, and instead go find myself a mistress. There would be women lining up because women love bad boys, and I’m as bad as they come.

  Somehow, though, despite finding the fact she lived in that fucking cult for years freaky, I want Rhea so bad I can taste her.

  I think I decided when I saw her at my daughter’s house that I would have her. I think the moment that solidified it for me was when she took out that old fashioned notebook and pen to give me her number. Christ knows why, but that gesture made me want to bend her over the furniture there and then and take her until she screamed.

  Fuck, and now I’ve gone and got a hard-on. I adjust it in my pants and pick up my wedding ring, absent-mindedly turning it around as I look at it.
There’s a groove on my finger where it has been, and it makes me sad to think this is how we’ve ended up, but here we are. I toss it in the basket and put it out of my mind.

  I grab my car keys, and head out the door, nodding at the two men keeping watch tonight. I always have my men here, always have and always will, but these days I think they’re more to stop me and Lena from killing one another than anything else. There’s been no outside threat for a while now. Although there are always sharks circling and young, dumb street kids who think they can take on someone like me.

  Last time that happened, the kid ended up being fish food. Serves the cocky little fucker right.

  By the time I pull up to Maya’s house, I’m second guessing myself. I’m not here to have a meal with my daughter. I can do that anytime. I’m here to see Rhea. I think Maya knows that too, and planned it that way. She’s always match-making, that girl. The thing is, I covet Rhea, but I’d be wise to walk away. The woman comes with more baggage than an airport. She’s probably fucked in the head, and after the drama with Helena, I should probably find myself some nice, pliant twenty-something to suck my cock and do as I tell her. Thing is, though, I’ve never wanted easy. I like to work for it. Always have, and always will. It’s probably why I spent so many damn years in love with Maya’s mother.

  Helena was always too easy, too desperate for my affection, and then later in life, too happy to accept the lack of it, so long as she had money, and status.

  Something tells me Rhea doesn’t give a damn about those things. And there’s the other reason I want her so badly. When Rhea reacted the way she did to me, she did so to me. My presence, who I am, not what I am. She didn’t react to my wealth or my status, and I know because of how instant and natural her response was when we were introduced.

  I find that enticing as fuck, if I’m being honest.

  Today, when I saw her at the coffee shop, she looked good enough to eat. Fucking hot as sin in her prissy little suit, with her hair done and make-up on. I wanted to take her hair, wrap it around my fist and kiss that lipstick from her mouth until we were both covered in it.