Owning the Mafia Don

Lucien

Miles away in Europe.

Broodingly, Lucien studied the photo he carried on his phone. It showed his family, his lovely wife and the six children. It was not a formal snap; Schwartz had taken the picture soon after Proserpina had been rescued. Proserpina looked exhausted but so achingly lovely that he swore he just wanted to get back and hold her in his arms, see his beloved children. her long hair unbound, those full breasts with their dark-hued peaks, barely visible through the fine material of her lace blouse, dimpling as she held their triplets in her arms, leaning back in their bed. Ria, Piers, and Claude were also beside her.

He swore again, as he knew it was a distant dream.

It had been a month, and he was still counting. The slippery, elusive Dmitri Rudenko had given him the slip and disappeared into the mountains, yet again.

***

Schwartz entered the small bedroom where Lucien stood, staring out at the white, snow-covered landscape.

He had on a parka and he looked weary. Aiyana came in after him, her face as expressionless as ever.

“We might have some news.” she said, and moved to the table where a thermos of coffee stood, ready and filled. She poured herself a mug and made a face as she sipped it. Ngoc was not the best when it came to brewing coffee.

Lucien watched her.

“What news?” he rasped.

“It is not confirmed, just a hint,” said Schwartz tiredly, pouring out a mug for himself, looking enquiringly at Lucien to check if the Boss wanted a mug too. But the stocky, muscular man shook his head.

Schwartz sighed and went on,

“Picked up some chatter on the air. The grapevine tells us that Salam Khan is arriving tomorrow in the afternoon.”

The man was a notorious kingpin, who was being closely monitored by Interpol. He lived in one of the failed states in the Indian subcontinent and was indulging in terror activities as well.

And if Dmitri joined hands with him, it would be a lethal cocktail.

Schwartz pursed his lips and stared away into the distance, coming up to join Lucien at the window. And sipping a little of the strong brew, he went on,© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“The pub owner was telling someone about how he had to cater to a few guests in the coming week. ”

Lucien stood looking at him, rocking on his heels.

“Is it reliable? Or was it a …?” His unspoken words gave away his disbelief.

They knew that the local pub owner was definitely on Dmitri Rudenko’s payroll. But Aiyana had used her charm, something she could turn on when required, noted Schwartz caustically, to bribe a regular who sat at the bar each night, drowning himself in the drink but who listened carefully to every exchange that took place around the counter.

Schwarz shrugged.

All of them knew that they had their backs to the wall. Time was running out. Dmitri Rudenko had to be put away. Forever.

“We have to try …,’ he said and Lucien nodded, turning back to stare out at the falling snow.

***

Dmitri

A few miles away, Dmitri sat, his hollowed cheeks and dark eyes, burning with his maniac passion, giving away his growing anxiety. He was one step ahead of Lucien Delano, he reckoned but Lucien was catching up. Stubbornly camping in the town, he was like a threat that would not disappear.

Not any time now.

His nephew Dusek, who sat in a corner idly, watched him, narrow-eyed.

He had seen Lucien Delano when the man had been leaving a restaurant, surrounded by his men. The empty, pale grey eyes had looked through him at first, dismissively and then returned for another, cold, assessing look. It had sent a shiver down Dusek’s spine and he had slunk away quickly.

Now he watched his uncle. They were meeting someone who would help them to escape Dmitri had told him the previous night.

Dusek hoped it was true.

***

Lucien

From where he stood on the snow-covered mountain, he had a clear view of the house that was perched on the mountainside; the little chata where Dmitri’s men were hiding. They had been watching it since last evening, all night long, taking turns; Fred Simmons and Ngoc and then, Lucien’s own men, Belair and Tony Rhyme.

All to no avail.

There was no sign of the man they had been chasing. Lucien’s fists clenched. He was furious with himself for having missed another opportunity to trap the man he was chasing. he thought back to the young boy, the teenager he had sighted on his way out of the local bar a few nights back. With his fair, dirty blonde hair hanging over his forehead and the strong sculpted face, he would have been noticed anywhere, especially that fierce look on his face that seemed to suggest that he was a Bad boy and proud of it. But it was the fact that Lucien had felt the boy’s eyes on him that had made the mafia Don turn to look at him again. And as the teenager took off at a run, he knew that the boy had to be related to Dmitri Rudenko. There had been the same, malevolent, evil gleam in his eyes as he stared at Lucien, eyes filled with hate.

His men, Simmons and Rhyme had tried to track the fellow down but the child seemed to have disappeared into thin air, into the white swirls of mist in the valley.

Lucien had felt heaviness, a weight in his chest that night as he sat, drinking. The uneasiness that could only be quelled by the feel of a woman in his bed, he thought cynically.

And not just any woman.

Only His Woman.

Throwing back his head, he tossed off the last of his whiskey and then lumbered off to bed, to lie for hours, missing Her warmth, Her softness.

Jerking off in the middle of the night had not helped. He wanted to bury his c*ck, balls deep in her wetness, hear her sobs as she cried out his name, clutching his arms as she came. He wanted to smell the fragrance of her body, feel her shuddering beneath him…

Anger flooded through him, and he had fallen into a fitful sleep towards dawn.

But he woke up feeling as dissatisfied and angry as ever.

Edgy.