by S. W. Frank
Sophie turned; her eyes were on his face, not the sizable erection. “Ora!”
Yosef the brute flexed forward grabbed her waist and brought her to his lap and her knees went to the bed after her legs naturally parted to give access to what she truly wanted. His toes gripped the floor and she held on to his shoulders, angry and wanting.
Yosef’s husky grumble as he inserted in Sophie resulted in an expulsion of breath from his bubbula. “I will say where I live and you will accept your husband.”
She clawed at his back as he thrust in and out without insult but affection. His teeth guided the thin strap downward on her arm and she assisted with the other, and lifted the silk over her head before caressing her breasts to tease his eyes. “Accept that this is my home, bello.” She cooed in response.
He refused to live at another residence. To hell with her demands. The tigress drew blood from his tattooed back and kissed his mouth, biting his tongue, rotating over his shvantz with equal ferocity.
No, he would not go from this woman and he made his protest known with hard fleshy insertions, spreading her cream around from tip to shaft. “Within you is where I inhabit Sophie. Evict me and we die together.” He grunted with force as the need of more escalated.
Her sexiness was lethal. “Kill me then bello and make it pleasurable,” she whispered in his ear to incite the beast. She licked his mouth, parting his lips with her tongue and inserted for him to suck as rough as his plunges.
Yosef growled, stood with her attached, twisted fists in her lovely hair and spun her to the bed with a convict’s fortitude. “Then we die tonight by passion!”
Sophie nibbled his meaty flesh and they both smiled with delight. Carlo was also strong and passionate. Yosef made her remember their love and she hungered for the old days of her youth. She saw Yosef in his officer’s clothes, saddened when she returned to Italia after pledging his love and learning her heart belonged to another.
Carlo and Yosef were men of war, hard as the world where dogs unleashed on peaceful protestors tore apart brown skins.
She grappled with Yosef, breasts feeding him her milky essence, fighting the world that brought both pleasure and pain. They understood these Yosef’s and Carlo’s of the world, how to live without rules of strangulation invented by human jailors. Inside her was the same rebellion, held impotent by a dress.
“We are one Sophie and you will find it best to work in unison!” he stated as she lifted to his chest and he thrust deeper and harder pushing her backside inward to make her gasp at the fullness of his love. “Fight me no more. Say the words of love bubbula in your tongue!”
She throbbed at his girth, and smiled at his stamina. Yosef’s concrete and steel body sought compliance. He exacted pressure to the V of her ass and impaled her so deeply she bit his chest.
He moaned in enjoyment, releasing his hold to roll her down supine on the bed. She shrieked when he roughly brought her legs up to his shoulders while digging for her core with a penile shovel.
“Tell me I am your love Sophie!”
In the heart was Carlo, yet there was room for another. She cried Yosef’s name in the dark amidst sexual thrashes. Claws followed her declaration in Italian to his skin, bleeding rakes of pleasure to the hardened felon.
The words he longed to hear for many years from the beauty’s lips resulted in strong kisses. He rejoiced, ejaculating many times. An internal roar is the victory to claim a lioness’ affections. A formidable feat, because there is nothing kosher about a Jewish Mafiya or his bubbula –an Italian Mafia Donna named Sophie.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Tony I’ll be back in about an hour or two. Nicole and I are going to the outdoor market,” Tiffany shouted upstairs where her husband had gone earlier to use the bathroom.
She didn’t know if he heard, and ran up the flight to make sure he did. There was a pot on the stove simmering. Her jambalaya specialty was missing a few ingredients. Thank goodness, Nicole called to say she was heading to a farmer’s market nearby and invited her along.
She tapped on the door. “Tony, did you hear me?”
“Yes, the birds and trees heard you, too. Can’t a brother drop logs without interruption?”
“Oh, okay, TMI. Please don’t forget. If you fall asleep turn the pot off.”
“Aye aye Captain!” He laughed. “Tell Nicole hi.”
“Okay and I will see you soon.”
Tony listened for footsteps, but couldn’t hear any. Dancers are light on their feet. Tiffany the Tinkerbelle.
Tony then heard squeals of girls, a car door shut and grinned. Nicole and Tiffany, sounded like a nursery rhyme, it was so sweet, that best friends are sisters.
Tony finished his business, soaped and rinsed his hands, looking out the window over the landscape, loving the view and hating his circumstances. He had to get out of the killing line of work. He supposed marriage and starting a family changed his mind about a lot of stuff, especially a career path in murdering for money.
The only problem is he hoped Nico and Alfonzo understood. The saying, “Live by the sword die by the sword,” is really how these criminal organizations worked. He had only three options as he saw it, try to get out alive or die staying in.
Tony checked on the food. The aroma was so enticing; he had to taste a little. He felt naughty as a kid, standing and eating out of the pot. One taste had become several slurping and chewing mouthfuls.
“Damn that’s delicious,” he said, stepping to the sink to clean the ladle.
Afterward, he filled the kettle to make hot chocolate, something he drank when young, year round. This was Tony’s comfort drink in lieu of liquor.
Tony heard a motorcycle, checked the monitor and identified the rider by the markings on the bike. He wondered what brought Nico by, but then scrapped the question because Nico didn’t have patterns only motives.
He went to the front door and looked. Where did he go? Then he saw Nico coming from the side of the house without his helmet, clad in jeans and a leather-riding jacket. Tony instinctively checked his hands; they weren’t gripping a weapon, only his gloves.
“Buongiorno Tony!”
“Hey, what brings you way out here?”
“I wanted to go for a ride; unfortunately I didn’t have a destination since I don’t keep many friends.”
Tony relaxed. Nico considered him a friend, that’s the first he heard.
“Yeah?” Tony asked skeptically. Maybe, his guilt over considering leaving the organization is what made him uneasy. There’s no way Nico could have found out because he hadn’t breathed a word to anybody except Tiffany and that occurred outdoors with background noises, just in case.
“The fresh air is good for the lungs.”
Nico’s features were a mixture of ancestries. He was ambiguous looking; too light in some minds to be considered black and too tan to be white. Nico professed his identity was that of a proud Sicilian.
“Well my wife’s cooking, she’s run to get some stuff, and you’re welcome to eat dinner with us.”
A smile canceled Tony’s discomfort. Nico should smile more. When he did, his face transformed to an affable normal person.
Nico shoved his gloves in his pocket, clapped and then rubbed his hands together. The sinister nostrils inhaled, flaring as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Sounds like a plan.”
Tony entered the hous
e, Nico followed, and the door locked. The sound was loud. Nico wanted him to hear the closure.
“So, this isn’t a friendly visit?” Tony stated when he faced Nico who had donned the gloves when Tony’s back was turned.
“You keep failing lessons Tony. That’s disappointing.”
Tony scoffed. “Which one this time?”
“The first time you get a pass when you leave a witness, the second time you don’t.”
There was a quizzical expression on Tony’s face and then a sneer to his mouth. “What the fuck are you talking about? I fucked up once and we took care of it.”
“You see, Tony the test began the day you entered the family. You didn’t check thoroughly when you escorted your boss that day in New York. Sloppy, especially considering you were the person who pointed out I dropped a cigar.”
Then the wheels clicked. “So, someone’s coming out their hole, to what, blackmail the family?”
The smile was gone. “Bingo, except we both know that’ll never happen, capisce?”
Tony hadn’t failed, he simply hadn’t heeded Tiffany’s advice that these people weren’t amateurs like Chip, and you’d never get an outward sign that the end was coming until it did. He rushed Nico, slamming the tall man into the door, it shook, but these were solid homes unlike America and weren’t easily breakable, neither was Nico.
An elbow to the throat sent Tony stumbling away in pain. Nico’s fist collided against Tony’s chest with such power it broke a bone and stabbed his insides, leaving him immediately in a fighter’s disadvantage.
“That’s all you got Tony?” Nico spat, advancing with lethal strides straight out of a killer thriller.
Tony breathed gentler, he wouldn’t make it to the sideboard for the gun or the kitchen for a knife, and he had to fight even with the fractured ribs. He witnessed Nico brawl healthy professional killers and win. Tony thought about Tiffany and his fight against Nico really began.
Nico deflected the punches and kicks and then responded when Tony entered within range with a head butt from a seasoned enforcer that caused blurriness. A kidney punch bent Tony sideways, a kick with a booted foot sent a student crashing to the floor of the kitchen.
“Damn Tony,” Nico said as he knelt, and lifted Tony with a chokehold into a stand. “I liked you kid, I really did, but you fucked up too many times to live.”
Then Tony came alive. Nico smiled, hoping and then found a weakened foe in the anticipation.
Tony tried to unlock Nico’s wrist, a backward head butt went to air, an elbow jab hit leather but Nico did not release.
Tony’s eyes drooped. A spark, a will greater than his strength woke Tony once more, his hands reached around to Nico’s neck, and he would’ve done damage if Nico hadn’t raised him into the air and slammed his face into a wall.
“You damn young people talk shit and act tough.” Nico said as pulled Tony back from the bloody wall, determined to end the one-sided brawl. People spout a whole lot of mess and when the time comes to back up the talk –nothing but hot air. Maybe, that works on the street, but when going toe-to-toe with an enforcer, a man had better bring the heat.
Imagine a botched execution of a person on death row, where a prolonged death horrifies the witnesses’ type scene.
Challenge me; win this bout, put me to sleep for eternity, is what Nico’s always challenged. Once, just once he wanted to feel death's kiss at the hands of a worthy opponent and not shit-talking punks.
Tony wasn’t the man for the job.
Die already, cazzo!
There aren't witnesses to Nico’s brutal act, except a kettle hissing its presence.
A sudden click of the front door resounded just as the choking sounds replaced a last ditch effort to survive. Brown hands slapped uselessly against lighter ones and then fell limply.
Nico inhaled the aroma of a Louisiana staple. He had tasted jambalaya many times, a Creole dish of Spanish and French influence. It was delicious; however, Tony would not enjoy the meal.
Gargling saliva has an overflow when not swallowed. Human froth tinged with blood ran over arm hairs to drop in an insult to the victim's broad chest. Tony’s body jerked, kicking at the murdering fucker’s boot. Not a single twinge of remorse from Nico, nothing except disappointment for the lack of exertion he had to put forth to eliminate an enforcer in training.
What happened to Tony’s fight? He had the opportunity to kill the killer and he didn’t take it. Students with promise who don’t heed lessons are the greatest letdowns for the teachers.
Tony didn’t catch the hint. Tony should’ve known he didn’t have ‘friends’ unless they were ‘family.’ What about the other clue, the ‘going for a ride’ statement should’ve had Tony in action, Nico reflected.
“Hey where are you? Don’t you hear the kettle? Gosh, I said I’ll be right back that didn’t mean let the house burn down!” The woman shouted.
The hissing kettle lost steam. It had air. The lifeless form slowly released to the floor didn't.
A murderer glanced up at the woman standing at the opening to the kitchen whose feet were light as the wind. She froze, shocked at the murderous scene in her home. Unlike the killer, she panicked; hesitation is immobility. She didn’t scream because she couldn’t. The sight of Tony’s bloody body leaves a wife speechless.
Angry eyes glared at Nico. She had never trusted his face. He was attractive but the eyes were dead. Those eyes were cold rocks. Nothing compassionate inhabited there.
Nico rose, slow and deliberate. “Buongiorno Tiffany.”
Run!
She wouldn’t –couldn’t, anger held her firm.
Disbelief?
Yes, because she warned Tony and he had finally agreed they should leave. They were going the night of Nico’s birthday party, she hadn’t told Nicole or anybody. Tony had said its best she didn’t know until they were out of Sicily and then they’d give her a call. Tony believed if Nicole asked Giuseppe to ensure their protection against any retaliation, he’d oblige.
That was the plan, and it would have worked because Nicole’s husband would have done it to please his wife, especially after that last incident with her manager.
Tiffany dropped the bag of groceries, grabbed a knife from the butcher’s block with both hands and threatened a menace. “Don’t come near me Nico or I’ll kill you –you bastard!”
Nico advanced. Oh, the little thing and her sharp butcher knife, how cute, he thought, that is until she lunged and cut him, oh that cuteness fled as she stepped away and turned to run.
Maybe, she should have run earlier. Maybe, she should have lingered five minutes longer at the market. Had she done that, she would have arrived home to an empty home and none the wiser.
Maybe.
Speculation isn’t certainty.
Tiffany bolted clutching her weapon.
There’s certainty, the cute cutter wouldn’t make it out.
The kettle and Nico made a bet. He'd catch her before the water evaporated. Certainly, before she exited the door. Too bad, Tiffany observed him in a killing kind of mood. Unlike, Tony, witnesses unless they’re asleep, kids or blind, they never see the light of day. He usually went only for a target, but as he told his students, there are time constraints on hits, and you have to execute everybody around but the clock runs out.
The kettle cried impatiently.
Nico’s legs were long scissors in pursuit of a cutter.
The bet’s on!
~
“Hi, are you coming home for dinner?” Nicole asked as she chopped celery as Francesca set the table.
Giuseppe said, “Sí.”
&n
bsp; “All right. Harold quit, so you got your wish.”
“Ne, I do not wish to end your career.”
“Well, I have prescheduled engagements in a month, one’s at Carnegie Hall and the other is a charity event at Gracie Mansion.”
“That is wonderful,” he said, but Giuseppe is not a good liar when he is upset. “Carlo and I will attend each one.”
She laughed. “You say that now, but then something will come up.”
“Ne, prometo.”
Nicole smiled when Carlo tapped her leg. “Eat mama.”
He didn’t talk much, she noticed but after the kiddie party, he became more outgoing. The child needed to be around other children and not his cranky father, inside walls with unsmiling guards.
“All right, see you when you get here, Carlo is hungry, so hurry.”
“I am at the gate, ciao.”
She took the boy’s hand, bent low to kiss his fingers and then said, “Look out the window, as soon as your papa arrives, we’ll eat, okay?”
“Si,” the growing toddler said joyfully and bounded away to watch for his father’s arrival.
Such a cutie-pie, she thought, with those bright eyes of innocence. She planned to make his life as full and joyful as humanly possible, he had a lot to contend with when he grew up. With a dad like Giuseppe, the boy would require stability and a sane parent. Yes, his dad was plain crazy lovable.
Nicole finished chopping the celery, and then scooped them up and sprinkled the pieces atop the salad. The colorful vegetables, legumes and sliced chicken were visually pleasing and should entice the child to eat his veggies.
It’s funny, the day Giuseppe came with Carlo demanding breakfast like a thug in a suit, he didn’t even know if she cooked. Traveling around the world, eating a variety of foreign dishes is the best way to sample the world’s cuisine. There were multitudes of recipes she enjoyed; one of her favorites was Mediterranean foods. Now isn’t Giuseppe lucky? There’s a lot Giuseppe had to learn about her. She definitely had to set him straight on a few things.
She wasn’t Shanda for starters or anybody’s carbon copy Barbie Doll, the brown version anyway, or a pushover.
Nicole smiled, oh Giuseppe, had redeemable qualities despite his abrasive behavior. He was multi-faceted and there wasn’t one dull moment with the oversized child. In fact, he was also rather chivalrous for a brute. Okay, chivalrous is going too far, but loyalty is undeniably one of his strongest attributes. Who better as a husband, than one who will kill for his family?
