“Which leads me to our last piece of business before we move to the entertainment part of our night.” He smirks, and I shift uneasily in my chair, knowing what’s coming and wishing I could make my excuses and leave. To do so would dishonor our host, so I’m resigned to spending the night in the company of whores and sex slaves. Bile churns in my gut, and I gulp back a large dose of bourbon, welcoming the tart apple and caramel notes, and the comforting warm heat sliding down my throat. Getting drunk might be the only way I’ll get through this night. “Does your father have a response to my proposal?”
Again, with this bullshit. I grind my teeth to the molars, counting to ten in my head before I reply. “I’m not marrying a child bride,” I tell him bluntly. “And it’s unnecessary. Forging stronger business alliances and uniting under the auspices of a new Commission is all that is needed to bind our families.”
If I have my way, when I’m the boss, I will be petitioning to amend some of the old traditions, like the practice of arranged marriages. I’m not naïve. I know part of who we are is embedded in the old ways, and there are some things I won’t get agreement to change, but the barbaric practices when it comes to women and their roles in our society is something I am passionate about.
I wasn’t able to do anything for my mom, but maybe I can alleviate some guilt by ensuring other women are spared what she endured.
“I’m not sure I like your tone,” Saverio says, a fresh layer of hostility filtering through the air.
“I mean you or Anais no disrespect, but I have already told my father I have no intention of getting married. I take my duties tola famigliaseriously and marryinganyonewill weaken my position.”
I’m expected to marry a beautiful well-behaved woman who will give me heirs to carry on the Mazzone legacy. Yet wives are little more than accessories. Caged birds who need to be kept in place, and I have zero desire to subject myself or any woman to that fate.
The reason why many men in our world agree to arranged marriages is so they can avoid caring too much. Lavishing affection on your wife is seen as a weakness, so our men rarely marry for love. And keeping a whore or two on the side ensures their wives are kept in check—should they harbor any romantic notions about their husbands.
Wives and children are obvious targets in our world, and I want no part of that. It’s ironic our code of conduct supposedly reveres women, yet it’s okay to disrespect them by kidnapping and killing them to make a point or to bed whores, as long as it’s not flaunted openly.
Other families have even less regard for women, and Vegas is at the top of that list. Rumor has it, Salerno murdered his wife—eleven-year-old Anais’s mother—because she objected when he moved three of his whores into their home. He’s also amassed a large fortune from the sex trafficking trade, something we have stayed clear of in New York, out of principle and to avoid excessive heat. While I hate doing business with a man like him, we need his shipping and distribution routes, and he has other forward-thinking ideas I like.
“Be careful, boy. Change may be inevitable, but don’t force change where it’s not needed or wanted. I’m sure your father has told you to choose your battles wisely.”
“Touché,” I say, lifting my glass, returning his intense stare with one of my own.
His lips tug up at the corners, in the merest smile, as he raises his glass to me.
The sound of approaching footfalls in the corridor outside draws all our attention, and Salerno stands as the doors open and a group of scantily clad women are ushered into the room. Someone raises the volume on the music as the waiter deposits another bottle of scotch on the table alongside a bucket of beers.
“Relax, Messina.” Salerno gestures at Leo. “Take a seat. Enjoy my hospitality.”
Leo drops onto the couch alongside me, flashing me a grin. Unlike me, my best friend has no issue screwing whores. Removing my black suit jacket, I roll the sleeves of my white shirt to the elbows, forcing myself to relax on the couch.
Salerno greets the women as if they are long-lost friends, not prostitutes he’s kidnapped and trained so he can pimp them out. He kisses and touches them while they pretend to enjoy his attention.
I don’t care how rich and powerful he is; there is no way any woman can enjoy kissing that ugly motherfucker’s face.
A couple of the women move over to the stage, gripping the poles as they start to shimmy up and down in time to the music. The rest descend on us like cocksucking vultures. Leo is the same age as me, and we are the youngest, and the hottest, by a mile, and it’s almost comical how obviously the girls vie to reach us first.
I don’t protest when a blonde with massive fake tits plops down on my lap, even though my instinct is to tell her to fuck off. Her arms snake around my shoulders as she purposely squirms on top of my cock. A thin brunette with boyish curves slinks onto Leo’s lap, and his arms automatically encircle her waist. A slew of pouting girls drapes themselves over Gambini, Russo, and Salerno’s capos, while the rest of our men, oursoldati, stand around the room, keeping guard.
Leaning around the whore on my lap, I swipe two beers from the bucket on the table, silently handing one to her. I watch Salerno as the girl on my lap tries, and fails, to snag my attention. There is nothing stirring in my pants, but I’ll make it happen when it gets to that point in the night. Salerno is staring at the door like he wants to riddle it with bullets. A dark look washes over his scarred face, and his eyes narrow at the single guard standing at the door. “Where is she?” he barks.
“On her way, boss. Renzo’s gone to get her.”
Salerno turns toward us as Leo helps himself to a beer. “I met the most stunning creature upstairs,” he explains, pouring himself another scotch, before reclaiming his seat. He pulls a curvy redhead down on his lap, his hand diving underneath the band of her panties. She arches against him as he rips her panties off, the torn material falling to the floor while he openly finger fucks her. “She is all legs and golden-blonde hair with these big green eyes.”
Gambini chuckles.
“Screams of innocence,” Salerno adds, winking as he roughly thrusts three fingers inside the redhead. “She was fucking terrified, and I can’t wait to smear her blood all over my cock.”
“Virgin pussy.” Gambini licks his lips as he fondles the naked brunette on her knees, between his legs, unzipping his pants. “Our favorite.”
“I’m taking her first,” Salerno says, continuing to finger the girl on his lap while his eyes remain glued to the door, waiting for his victim. “And Mazzone can take her next. Then she’s yours to play with,” he tells his number two.
I smirk as I lift the bottle to my mouth, draining half my beer. I have a role to play, whether I want to or not.
Commotion in the corridor pricks my ears as the blonde on my lap starts unbuttoning my shirt, pressing sloppy kisses against my neck. Beside me, Leo is slouched on the couch, with his thighs stretched open, a happy grin on his mouth as the brunette lowers her lips over his hard-on.
Crying reaches my eardrums as Salerno’s soldier hauls two young women into the room. The small curvy woman with the short brown hair is openly sobbing while the taller, willowy blonde is wrestling against the man’s hold, trying to pull herself free. “Let me go,” she screams, and there’s something familiar about her voice that has all the hairs on the back of my neck lifting. I try to get a good look at her, but it’s hard from this angle, and masses of blonde hair shield her face from view.
