The Scandal: Mafia Vows

by SR Jones

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Oh nothing, only this isn’t the sort of place I’m used to. It’s a bit rich for my blood.” She laughs, but it is self-conscious.

  “You know what?” I lean forward. “I watched you walk in here like a fucking queen, and everyone noticed you, and yeah, you don’t fit.” She flinches a tiny bit. “You don’t fit because you’re better than nearly everyone in here, myself included.”

  “Don’t be silly, Stamatis.” She giggles softly, and it’s music to my ears.

  “It’s the fucking truth, Rhea. Not lying. You’ve got a grace few possess.”

  “Well, it’s kind of you to say so.”

  “The dress is a knockout too; you get it today?” I know she doesn’t own clothes like this in general.

  “Yes,” she says, but she goes red, really red.

  “What?” I ask. “Did the store assistants give you a hard time or something?”

  I’m envisioning some sort of Pretty Woman shit, and yes, I’ve seen that fucking film, whereby I go back in the store with Rhea, and she makes them apologize. So her next words shock me.

  “The man who owns the store bought the dress for me and wouldn’t let me pay. I tried to refuse, but the assistant said it was more than her job was worth.”

  “What? What fucking man?”

  “Jonathon Alanis.” She says the name so quietly I almost don’t hear, and I wish I hadn’t because fuck, he’s after Rhea? He must be; there’s no other reason for him to pay for her dress.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “I thought he was a member of staff, and he offered to help when I asked the sales lady to give me a hand finding a dress. I wanted to look good for you. And I don’t want an argument. I have no intention of seeing him, but I didn’t want to lie to you.”

  She’d better fucking not see him. On the one hand, I have no right to ask such a thing of her. We aren’t dating properly, and I still live with my wife, but no way am I letting Rhea spend time with that uber-tanned, trans-Atlantic drawling, posh boy fuck. In fact, I might have a word with the cunt myself. Tell him to leave her alone.

  The realization I’m already feeling this possessive about her brings me up short. I file it away to think about later because I do need to think about it.

  “It’s okay,” I say and take her hand. “I’m glad you told me. He has good taste.” She smiles.

  I won’t show her my jealousy because it’s a weakness, and I’m not sure what it says about me that I feel this way.

  The waiter comes, and we ask for another couple of minutes before ordering. I order a steak, but she goes for the taster menu. I can’t be doing with that crap, bits of foam flavored with something supposedly exotic, and tiny palate cleansers. I want a proper meal.

  “You’ll be finished way before me,” Rhea fusses. “I should change my order.”

  “Don’t you dare. You eat what you want; besides, I can enjoy the heck out of watching you eat.”

  She flushes again, and it makes me think of that fucker, Jonathon Alanis, trying to take advantage of her. What kind of man goes up to a woman like that and pulls such a stunt? Does he think his store is his own personal brothel? By the time I’ve done contemplating, I’ve decided to slowly break both his legs.

  We’re halfway through our meal, or rather I am, and Rhea is on her second tasting dish, something with foam of the sea on her plate, and samphire, when there’s that change in the atmosphere of the room that tells you someone big has arrived. I glance up, expecting to see one of the country’s movie stars, or maybe a Greek pop star, but no, it’s the cunt himself, Alanis.

  Did he know Rhea was here? I’m fuming as he approaches our table with the woman he’s accompanying. An older woman, who as she nears, I recognize as his mother.

  Jonathon sees Rhea, and his face lights up into a smarmy smile, then he sees me, and the smile freezes.

  Yeah, that’s right, motherfucker, she’s with me.

  I can visualize the war being waged in his head. He’s unsure about saying hello now that he knows she’s with a mafia man, but he can’t pussy out and not speak to her at all. Rhea is so wrapped up in exploring her foamy sea nightmare she hasn’t even noticed him.

  He halts at our table. “Nice to see you again,” he says in a surprisingly deep voice. He’s not a big man. Around five-foot-ten maybe, and slim.

  Rhea turns around, and her mouth drops open. “Oh … erm, hello.”

  She’s cool and polite, but I notice the way her chest rises and falls faster. Is that because she’s worried his presence will piss me off, or is it because she likes him?

  “The dress looks as lovely on you as I thought.” The fucker turns to me. “Stamatis,” he says with a polite smile. “I didn’t know you two were … friends.” His eyes are imploring as if he’s begging me not to put him on my shit list. Too late.

  “Yes, well, we are. Very, very good friends,” I say.

  “Well. We’ll leave you to it.” He smiles at Rhea again, and it’s nothing but polite. “Mother, shall we?” He gestures to the table at the back, discreet and out of the way.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhea says as soon as he’s gone. “I didn’t know he’d be here. And I only took the dress because I didn’t want the sales assistant to be in trouble.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I tell her. I’m fucking pissed, though, and if I was in a bad mood when I got here, I’m in a worse one now.

  I make small talk with Rhea, but when I see Jonathon make his way through the restaurant to the bathroom, I excuse myself and follow him.

  He’s halfway through taking a piss when I walk in. He glances at the door, and his face pales, but he finishes what he’s doing then goes to wash his hands.

  I lean against the wall and watch him. The fucker is wearing a suit jacket and a tie, in this weather.

  When he’s finished washing and drying, I walk over to him, grab his tie and wrap it around his throat in one smooth move. His eyes widen.

  “Jesus, Stamatis, what the fuck?”

  The bastard doesn’t know me, except for the odd occasion we’ve said a brief hello. “It’s Mr. Kantos to you,” I snarl.

  As I push him up against the wall, I take great satisfaction in his pulse pounding against my knuckles where I have the tie right up against his neck.

  “Do you go around buying every woman who comes into your store clothes?”

  “No,” he says through gritted teeth. “I won’t be buying her anymore either.”

  “No, you fucking won’t.” I’m dying to fuck him up, but it’s an irrational emotion, and I didn’t get where I am today by giving in to every impulse to come my way.

  “Look, I didn’t know she was with you, okay. Now, I respect who you are, but you don’t think I have friends as big and bad as you?”

  Oh, I’m sure someone as rich as him has some very unsavory friends.

  “I’m sure you do,” I drawl.

  “Well then, neither of us want any trouble, do we? So why don’t you get your fucking hands off me, and go back to your mistress.”

  “She’s not my mistress,” I snarl.

  “Well, she’s not your wife because I know her well enough to recognize her, and she’s clearly not the woman you’re dining with.”

  I let him go but not before I give one vicious jerk on his tie, making him cough.

  He shakes his head at me. “Stamatis, I don’t know you, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on with that woman out there. I do know you’ve had a fucking horrific loss in your family. Out of respect for that, I’m not going to hold this against you.”

  As if he could. The man doesn’t remotely scare me. No matter who his friends are.

  He pauses at the door and turns to me. “Word of warning. I’m out of the picture, so long as you’re in it, but you discard her, and she’s fair game.”

  He’s gone before I can say anything else.

  I make a mental note to get Damen to dig into every single part of his life.
If he thinks the only way I can harm him is with my fists, he’s got another think coming. With my connections, and the powerful people who owe me big time, I could wreck his life. His business could be taken apart, and his personal life put under a microscope like he wouldn’t believe … and certainly wouldn’t want.

  As I wash my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror, and wonder why I’m envisaging tearing apart the life of a man who simply bought a dress for a woman who he didn’t know was involved with me. Furthermore, is she involved with me? We’re fucking, dating a little for sure, and I’m keeping her, I suppose. She is my mistress. Fuck, I’ve made her something tawdry whether she’s aware of it or not.

  The trouble is I can’t offer her anything more. Not because I’m married because that shit is getting sorted, but because I am not a man who can love again and make a life with someone. I let my own son be murdered by a Bratva hitman. I’m broken, and so is she.

  There’s a romantic idea that two broken people can make a whole. They can’t; they simply make a mess. I should cool this down, starting right now.

  A sensation akin to panic builds in me. For once in my life, I’m stuck. Jonathon’s actions have highlighted my dilemma. The thought of him having her makes me sick, but the thought of taking this further makes me anxious. I’m on a ledge, teetering, and I’m not sure I want to fall.

  Shit.

  I need some space. From her. I’ll take her home and won’t touch her. I need an excuse, though, because I don’t want to hurt her, but I need some time to think about all of this.

  I fire off a text to one of my henchmen.

  Call me in thirty minutes. Say it’s an emergency.

  I feel like shit for doing this, but if I don’t, I’ll end up falling into bed with her and staying the night which will only serve to intertwine us even more. I’m not giving her up, but I am giving both of us some space for a day or two. I need to get my head around this and what I want. Then I’ll lay it out, on the line, open and honest. No point letting her think this might lead where it can’t.

  We’re five minutes into dessert when my phone goes. I take it out of my pocket and listen to one of my men tell me I need to come home as there’s a business emergency. I pocket the phone and turn to Rhea, who is studying me with worry, which makes me feel like utter crap.

  “I have to go, sorry.” I stand and go to pull her chair out. “Let me drop you home.”

  “No,” she says softly. “It’s fine. I can take a cab. It’s the wrong direction for you, and it sounds urgent.”

  I don’t like leaving her to get a cab, so I’m about to insist when she puts her hand on my arm. “Stamatis, don’t treat me like a child. I’m capable of getting a taxi, you know.”

  I sigh and nod, feeling worse by the minute, but needing some time and space to get my head around my reaction to seeing that prick Jonathon chasing after Rhea, a woman part of me already thinks of as mine. The rational side of my ego wants to scream at the irrational part just about ready to claim Rhea and chain her to me for life.

  Against my basic and raging animal instincts, I kiss her cheek and say I’ll call her in a day or so.

  Then I leave, and something tells me I might be making a huge mistake.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rhea

  I’ve been waiting for a cab to come by for five minutes now. It’s just my luck that normally those ubiquitous yellow cars are now distinctly absent.

  “He’s a thug, you know?” A cultured voice has me turning to look at the woman standing by me, taking a cigarette out of a slim, gold case.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Stamatis Kantos. He’s an absolute thug.”

  “And you are?”

  “Madame Alanis.” She holds out her free hand and gives me a limp shake. “My son seems somewhat intrigued by you, or rather, he did, until that lowlife you are hanging around with threatened him in the bathroom.”

  Stamatis did what?

  “Now, my son won’t say anything, and if he comes outside, we will revert to talking about the weather, but you ought to know who and what you’re getting into bed with.”

  I huff, about to tell her to mind her own business, but she holds her hand up.

  “I came here from France. My mother is French, my father English. I married a very powerful Greek man, and we became more powerful as our families consolidated their wealth. My husband opened the store where you got that dress, and now my son helps run it, but it’s a side hobby. We keep it going because it helps the family image. Do you know what our real wealth comes from?”

  I shake my head, not sure where she’s going with this.

  “Shipping. We ship things, legal things. Your … lover, he also ships things. You might want to ask him what he ships. It most certainly isn’t legal. Now if it is weapons, then he’s helping maim innocent children in war-torn countries.”

  She takes a drag of her cigarette and blows the smoke to one side, away from us. “If he’s dealing in drugs, then he’s helping contribute to that.” She points down the hill to the square at the bottom where a motley crew of teenagers are clearly out of their heads on something or other.

  “If he’s dealing in flesh … well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what the consequences of that are. I’m not saying this because of my son. I doubt he’ll be interested in you now. I’m saying it because you’re a beautiful woman, and you’re not some young thing to be easily dazzled. I consider it my good deed for the day to warn you of what I can only presume you did not know. He. Is. Not. A. Good. Man.”

  The door swings open, and Jonathon walks out. “Mother?” he says.

  “Just chatting about the weather, how hot it is. Unbearable. Oh look, dear, a taxi. I presume you’re waiting for one?”

  I nod and mumble a thanks. I can’t face looking at Jonathon now I know Stamatis threatened him in such a way, so I rush to the road and hold my hand out, hailing the cab.

  Perhaps I ought to get out of this … whatever it is that we have going on. Maybe I ought to avoid Stamatis for a few days and try to find out more about him. The idea that he might ship human beings, women, and maybe even children honestly hadn’t crossed my naïve mind. The idea that Star might be involved with men who do this has my blood running cold.

  It’s Friday tomorrow, and Saturday I am invited to spend the night with Star at Damen’s home, so I will talk to her then.

  By the time Saturday arrives, I’ve wound myself up into something of a state and tried to get out of going, but Star seemed genuinely upset when I said I might have a night in alone. I am so desperate to sort out our relationship, I immediately capitulated.

  I say hello to the guard at the gate when I arrive and step out of my cab. I give a squeak of surprise when the gates swing open, and I see Alesso standing there.

  He’s the one out of the men in the house who scares me the most. Star told me she thinks he’s a cold void of a man, and who am I to argue. Handsome, though. He has the face of a god.

  “Let me take your bag, Rhea.” He’s smooth too. So is Damen. Markos isn’t. Markos just … is. I think he’s a very genuine person, and I hope when I talk to Star she can reassure me he isn’t involved in anything too horrific. I’m sure I recall her saying he was more involved now with the casinos than anything else, and mostly ran them, rather than working alongside Damen and Alesso.

  “Hope you’re hungry,” Alesso says conversationally. “Maya has had Rita cook up a veritable feast.”

  “What, for me?” I’m confused. I’ve stayed before, and we’ve never had a feast. We’ve had nice food, but nothing hugely fancy.

  “For all the guests. Full house. We’ve got yourself, Stamatis, and Andrius is here too. Plus, Cole is back from America.”

  Stamatis is here? My heart picks up speed. I haven’t talked to him since he had to leave the restaurant suddenly, and frankly, it’s been a relief because I no longer know how I feel about him, or any of this world.

  Have I simply jumped from one frying pa
n into another? Or what is the saying, out of the frying pan and into the fire?

  The door opens, and my daughter comes out to greet me. Seeing her beautiful face so happy reminds me these men aren’t all bad. They rescued Star, didn’t they? And they put an end to Leader Zeus’ reign of terror. I’ve never seen any sign from Star that she’s ill-treated by Markos. And as for Maya, that girl runs rings around Damen.

  Stella and Alesso, I’m not so sure. She’s quiet, and he’s forceful, and I do wonder if he treats her as well as he should. He certainly doesn’t show the same level of affection that Damen shows Maya, or Markos shows Star.

  We get into the hallway, and Stella hits the landing as Alesso puts my bag down.

  “There she is,” he says with a smile, then reaches for her, pulls her into him and kisses her noisily on the cheek.

  “Alesso,” she says softly as she flushes.

  “She’s not into PDA,” he tells me with a grin. “It’s that upper-class upbringing of hers, isn’t it, Stella?”

  “Stop teasing me.” She slaps his arm, but her smile is warm, and so is his. Maybe he doesn’t show her as much affection because she’s not so outgoing as someone like Maya?

  I’m thinking about this when I hear voices, and I stiffen at the sound of a heavy accent. Andrius.

  He terrifies me. I most definitely wouldn’t have come this weekend if I’d known he’d be here.

  The way he treated us after the commune was raided was awful. I saw the way he looked at us. He’d have killed every single one of us adults given half the chance.

  “I don’t like it,” Damen says, from the study, and I glance in to see him, Stamatis, Markos and Andrius sitting around, all sipping at dark amber drinks. Brandy maybe, or scotch.

  They’re clearly discussing business, and I’m surprised the door is left open. Alesso pokes his head around the door. “I’ll just take Rhea’s bag up, and then I’ll be back.”

  Stamatis looks up, his eyes meet mine, and they’re different. There’s a coolness there I’ve not seen before. Whenever he’s looked at me it has been with such fire, but now he’s putting up a barrier. I don’t know why. And I should be grateful, but I’m not; it upsets me.