Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
Iwoke up at six in the morning, despite barely having slept.
Daisy's muffled sobs filling the room next door kept me awake until dawn. I'd like to say I didn't know what had come over me to treat her that way, but that would be a lie. I was jealous of Daisy Parker. She had gotten under my skin like poison, eating away at me from the inside.
The hot water from the shower ran over my body, washing away the weight on my shoulders. I couldn't allow myself those emotions. The truth was, I wanted Daisy for myself. Only for myself. I wanted to sink into her until she cried my name for the best of reasons. I wanted her begging in my ear, scratching my shoulders, asking me for more.
My dick throbbed at the thought of her.Cazzo. I was behaving like a hormonal teenager.
With not much else to do, I slid a hand over the length of my cock, moving slowly, over and over. My head tilted back, allowing the hot water to cover my face. With eyes shut, I imagined Daisy’s legs over my shoulders, my dick sliding into that blonde pussy of hers as she moans, and it didn’t take long before the pressure started to build in my balls.
I came with a low moan, watching my release swirl down the drain, wishing her mouth was there to receive it instead.
Moments later, already dressed, somehow humiliated by my own weakness, I left the room and peeked into hers.
It was empty.
I checked the time on my wristwatch, aVacheron Constantin Traditionnellein midnight blue, realizing it was close to seven in the morning. At that hour, Daisy would watch the sunrise in the garden.
Once again disregarding common sense, I quickened my pace and in seconds was in front of the living room shutters, with only the towering mahogany bookshelves as witnesses to my idiocy. On the other side of the glass, at the end of the path lined with beautiful citrus and laurel trees, Daisy was sitting on the stone wall.
The image of her mustard yellow dress, dotted with small red flowers, falling to mid-thigh, revealing her slender, sun-kissed legs, was enough to make my blood boil. Yesterday, beingconfronted with the possibility of her being with another man had driven me to the brink of madness.
There was nothing I wanted more than to fuck my blonde, cheeky prisoner.
Dio, masturbating like I was back in my teenage years would never be enough. I would only be able to get that woman out of my system when I buried myself deep inside her and left the trace of my seed in her guts.
I swallowed hard.
I wouldn't allow myself to repeat the same mistake I made with Valentina. Getting emotionally involved with another woman was out of the question. However, what I wanted from Daisy Parker was very different. Having her in my bed wouldn't be the same as bringing her into my life. There would be no risks involved, only pleasure, and maybe I could allow myself that.
Maybe it wasn't that risky after all.
When the sun finally rose on the horizon, her hair turned to liquid gold, and I knew that in a few moments she would return to the villa. I turned my back and strode to the kitchen, taking my usual place at the small table.
I closed my eyes, drumming my fingers on the tabletop, letting the sun that streamed through the huge windows to my left wash over me. It was going to be a scorching day, I could already feel it, but there I was, in my three-piece suit, ready to go and deal with matters that refused to wait.
I was going to meet with several Capibastone from prominent families, including Don Ettore Zaccaria—the Capocrimine of the’Ndrangheta, capo locale of Reggio Calabria, and the man who oversaw the Gioia Tauro quotas. We were going to have lunch that day in Reggio Calabria, and I was the host. As usual, we would use the private room at Carlo Mancuso's restaurant, because anything could happen. From a surprise appearance by the Carabinieri or the Guardia di Finanza to a trap where we would end up with our bodies riddled with bullets.
Annoyed by the whole situation, I sighed. Recovering the Gioia Tauro quota would not be so difficult if certain Capibastone did not have eyes bigger than their stomachs...
Damn Cissio Accorinti.
The famiglia Accorinti was a relatively new ‘ndrina, which had started operations about fifty years ago. Unfortunately for the community, this brought its own problems.
The Accorinti didn’t enter the business the right way. In our industry, as in any other, there was no easy money. Everything required patience, deliberation, and concrete action. So much so that most of the ‘ndrine were not even known to the Guardia di Finanza, the Carabinieri, or the most enthusiastic prosecutors. Discretion—Omertà—was everything in our lives. The Accorinti, however, were never up to the task.
As soon as they signed their first cocaine import contract, they started staging pathetic initiation rituals. Things that no one else did. In a ‘ndrina, no theatrics were necessary for someone to become a soldier or associate. Any intelligent person knew the risks and obligations that working with a società entailed. When there were transgressions, we didn't worry too much. The person was killed. Finito.
However, the Accorinti wanted to assert themselves and, from the beginning of their activity, held ceremonies where new soldati kissed the hands of the Capobastone and swore to kill their own famiglia in the name of the Accorinti if asked to do so. It was an unthinkable request. Loyal soldati were only found among men withvalori familiari. Anyone willing to betray their own blood could not serve any self-respecting ‘ndrina. This was something the Accorinti did not understand and often proved.
Cissio Accorinti was a twenty-seven-year-old idiot who had risen to Capobastone in the most sordid way possible. He had set a trap for his parents and siblings and executed them in cold blood. A real bloodbath, according to reports. As if that weren't enough, his lack of discretion on social media, where he flaunted parties full of drugs, prostitutes, and money, as well as flashy clothes and cars, had caught the attention of one of the most voracious prosecutors in all of Italy. The police had never come so close to biting our ankles as they did at that moment, and it was all because of that imbecile.
But while he was busy with his parties, too high to form a useful idea, his existence was irrelevant to me. The problem now was that Cissio Accorinti woke up and set his sights on our share in Gioia Tauro and was waving a very lucrative, and equally inhumane, deal at the other Capibastone: human trafficking.
I cleared my throat. My famiglia had worked hard to keep Castello dell'Fiero alive and safe. Our cocaine and arms trafficking business always took place outside the village. We didn't want our people consuming our products and falling into disgrace. What we sold was intended for the idiots who thoughta few minutes of ecstasy were worth a lifetime of addiction. Cocaine, weapons, those were personal choices. Choices we didn't allow at our table, but choices nonetheless. Individual freedom. Human trafficking, on the other hand, was dark, sordid, and no Vicari ever wanted anything to do with it, nor would any Vicari want to as long as I lived.
But it wasn't just the Vicari. The other ‘ndrine in the region also abhorred the business. Or used to.