CHAPTER 15
FRANCIS
Paolo entered the study of Francis’ Calabrian home and plopped down in the chair in front of his desk. Francis looked up from his paperwork and at his enforcer. Apparently, there was something that Paolo needed to discuss.
“What?” Francis asked.
Paolo leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Vladi Romanov called again. His jet just landed in Calabria, and he requests an audience with you.”
“Fuck Vladi Romanov,” Francis grumbled.
Paolo paused, looking at Francis as if he were trying to choose his words wisely.
“What?” Francis prompted.
“I know that the Romanovs are our enemies, but it’d be wise to at least meet with them. No?”
“Si, the Russians are our enemies. I’d like nothing better than to wipe them off the map. But have you ever known me to make decisions based on anger instead of logic?”
“No,” Paolo responded.
“The Russians can't just come to my home and command my attention. What weak man - what weak organization - would jump when told? Again, fuck that Russian bastard. I’ll meet with them when I want.”
“Capisco,” Paolo assured as he stood.
“Bene. Let me know when our guests arrive.”
Paolo nodded and left the room. Francis massaged his temple. He’d been traveling throughout the night, only to arrive in the night. The time change and jet lag could be brutal when, instead of sleeping on the jet, his time was spent fantasizing about making love to his donna. He was exhausted.
Francis closed his eyes and allowed his head fall back against the headrest. He was enjoying the quiet when he heard the creak of the door opening, followed by the clack of high heels. Francis reluctantly opened his eyes. Constanza Macelli sauntered into his office and sat on his desk.
“You didn't call me. I had to find out from rumors that you were home,” she said with a pout.
“Constanza,” Francis acknowledged. “This is not my home. It is simply a villa that I visit often.”
Constanza was a dark-haired beauty with the complexion and the curves of a Sicilian woman. For the last two years, she had been Francis’ on again, off again lover. Francis had ended things when he started to spend so much time in the United States.
Because of Tracy.
But that didn't stop Constanza from calling him constantly.
“You didn't call,” she repeated.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, Don Savelli. Are you not happy to see me?”
“Si, Constanza. It’s always good to see you, but I have business now.”
Constanza stood and sauntered around Francis’ desk. She sat directly in front of him and opened her legs. It didn't go unnoticed that she wasn't wearing any panties. Tossing her long black hair over one shoulder, she leaned in and purred, “You always have business, Don Savelli. Why don't you handle this business first?”
Francis looked from her naked pussy to her dark piercing stare. He scooted his chair back and placed his hands on her thighs, easing her legs together. Constanza was indeed a temptation, but Francis had better prospects; his chance at having his own family. Francis didn't get excited about much, but thoughts of a future with Tracy and his son or daughter were consuming.
“Constanza, I believe that I told you that our friendship had come to an end.”
Constanza narrowed her eyes and studied Francis. Maybe she was waiting for him to tell her that he was joking. But Francis wasn't one to joke.
“I don't believe you. You always come back to me.”
