“I know, but that was the past. This thing that we had is over,” he told her, helping her off of his desk.
“This thing?” Constanza asked, offended.
“I’m sorry, Constanza,” Francis said, escorting her out of his office by the elbow. “If you ever need anything, call Paolo. He’ll see to your needs.”
Constanza snatched her arm from Francis’ grasp. She turned on him with fury in her glare. Francis was preparing himself to deal with the wrath of a woman scorned, but within seconds, Constanza became calm. She watched him in silence for a few seconds before asking, “Is it a woman, Francis? Have you found a woman?”
Francis nodded. “Si, it is a woman,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you in love?” Constanza asked in a whisper.
“This does not concern you, donna.”
To Francis’ surprise, Constanza only smiled. She ran her fingers through her straight black hair and placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Keep your woman if you like, Don Savelli. I will stay as your mistress.”
Francis stepped out of Constanza’s grasp and grabbed her by the face, forcing her to look up at him. He smiled sympathetically and said, “Constanza, I am in no need of a mistress, and you are too beautiful to lower yourself to that status. You deserve much more than that.”
She looked up at him with sad, tearful eyes. “I’m beautiful and good, but you don't want me?”
“No,” Francis confirmed. “I’m sorry, but I desire another.”
Constanza recoiled and stepped out of Francis’ reach. “Very well, Francis. I wish you well. I really do,” she said before fleeing the room.
Francis returned to his desk and picked up his cellular. His intention was to call Tracy and wish her a good morning, but Paolo’s abrupt entrance was an interruption.
“Kelly O'Reilly and his crew are here. We set them up in the lounge.”
“Bene,” Francis replied, following Paolo out of his office.
****
Francis took a sip from his glass and listened to grown men whine about the trivial. In the room were Alejandro “Angel” Medina and Nico, the South American smugglers, Kelly O'Reilly and his underling, Jason McCleary of the Irish Republican Army, and Paolo, Francis’ friend and enforcer.
Kelly was strongly expressing his desire to cut Angel and his South American crew out of the plan to transport weapons from Italy to Ireland. He wanted transportation and safety to be handled by the IRA, cutting out the middleman. Angel’s skills did not come cheap, and O’Reilly was not happy about paying. But Francis didn't trust the IRA to handle a shipment of that size. And if they lost a shipment, Francis wasn't handing out any refunds. Angel Medina controlled international waters. He had taken the journey many times, and the Irish didn't have half the connections the Bolivian had.
“I don't know this man, nor am I familiar with his organization. I don't like it,” Kelly complained. “Transportation should be handled on my end.”
Francis’ menacing glare landed on Kelly. He sat his glass on the table and scratched the stubble that had formed along his jawline. “Then, may I suggest that you get to know them. Have dinner, drinks, procure whores for all I care. Because if my decision-making skills are not to your liking, O'Reilly, you're free to arm your so-calledcauseelsewhere.”
Kelly, knowing that he wouldn't get a better deal elsewhere, was visibly disappointed. He did, however, very wisely remain silent. The deal had been finalized, and since he hadn't been able to call Tracy earlier, Francis was eager to hear her voice. He wanted to check on her and the baby, so he stood, grabbed his glass, and emptied the contents.
“Bene. Now that we have it all settled, Paolo will show you out.”
Without another word, Francis exited the parlor and headed to his bedroom. He grabbed his phone and flopped down in the chair next to his bed. Francis opened the photo gallery on his cellular and looked at pictures that he’d taken of Tracy at past events.
Without even trying, Tracy was stunning. She had gorgeous black skin, a body that was made for loving, and full lips that were enticing enough to incite to most erotic fantasies. Tracy was the woman of his dreams—literally. Francis had been dreaming about fucking her from the moment he laid eyes on her.
He pushed the button that activated the call. When he didn't get an answer, he tossed his cellular on the bed. He relaxed his head against the soft cushion of the chair. It was eleven PM in Calabria, therefore about seven AM in Chicago. Maybe she was still sleeping. Knowing Tracy the way he did, Francis would bet that she had worked until the wee hours the night before. He wouldn’t call again and risk waking her. She needed to rest. When he returned to Chicago, Francis would speak to Tracy about her hectic work schedule.
He stood and walked into the en suite bathroom to take a shower. When morning came, Francis would have his own business to attend to. He had an early meeting in Naples. In order to secure the shipments coming in and leaving out of the Amalfi Coast, officials needed to be paid.
From the shower, Francis could hear the shrill ring of his iPad. Since he’d only purchased the iPad so that he could FaceTime with Tracy, he knew that it could only be her calling.
He snatched a towel from the vanity and wrapped it around his waist. With excitement, he hurried out of the bathroom and grabbed the iPad. Realizing that he was behaving like a virgin boy in his very first whorehouse, Francis took a cleansing breath and exhaled before accepting the video call from his woman.
Coincidentally, Tracy was also wrapped in a towel. Her long dark hair was pulled into a bun that sat on the top of her head. Her face was clean of makeup, and water dripped from loose strands of hair that had escaped the bun.
She was stunning.
Francis lowered his gaze to the towel that barely covered her substantial breasts. He was picturing the dark, pert nipples that he’d memorized in his mind. Francis’ cock instantly swelled.
He returned to his chair and sat, placing the iPad on the table beside him. Knowing that Tracy was naked beneath only a towel, prompted Francis’ cock to jerk. By then, he’d had a full hard-on, and his erect cock managed to dislodge the tuck of his bath towel.
Francis didn't miss the hitch in Tracy’s breathing when his dick escaped. She stared shamelessly. Admittedly, Francis loved the way she appreciated his manhood.
“Tracy, hello,” he greeted, hearing the hoarseness of his own voice.
