Arthur
My father hated the Tudors. The family was new to New Orleans, Italian, but with a secure link to the American Mafia. Their reach was growing in the underbelly of the city, and the thing about being as powerful as the Calthorpes was that we could not afford to ignore the underdog. If the Tudors managed to influence the gangs that were outside of our control, it could start a revolution. And that was something we did not want. The Calthorpes were in control and intended for it to remain that way.
Luther believed in keeping our enemies close, through life-long partnerships, and the first time I laid eyes on the golden-haired goddess, Guinevere Tudor, I couldn't agree more
Guinevere smiled at me shyly from across the room, in her crisp, white ankle-length dress that swayed when she moved. She looked like a Greek goddess, her big blue eyes reminding me of the ocean on a clear day. She was the vision of an angel, standing next to her tyrant of a father, Gustav, a ruthless drug lord. How someone so vile could create such perfection was beyond me.
My father arranged this event for the sole purpose of me finding a wife, and it had been served. I would have married any woman he’d asked me to, but it was destiny that she was the one he preferred.
There were beautiful women all over the room, ready and willing to give themselves to me, but I could not take my eyes off her. I could imagine running my fingertips over the porcelain skin at her neck, feeling her pulse beneath it. The skin above her full breasts made my pulse quicken and my cock harden. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, stealing glances my way, and before I could stop myself, I was crossing the room.
“May I have this dance?” I asked while casting her father a brief glance. The glint in his eye indicated his approval. He’d like nothing more than to sell his daughter off to a Calthorpe. It would secure his wealth and his life.
She looked at her father first for permission. That would change soon enough. She’d answer only to me. Gustav nodded, and she offered me her hand. The moment I held her dainty hand, I knew she’d be mine. Guinevere looked at me through hooded lids as I wrapped my arms around her small waist. She lifted her arms, lacing them around my neck, and I pulled her flush against me. A small gasp left her full, soft, pink lips when she felt my erection.
“You’re a sight to behold, Guinevere,” I whispered in her ear. Her cheeks instantly turned rosy. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Arthur.”
“I know who you are,” she said. Guinevere had a rich Italian accent, and I wanted to hear what she’d sound like in the throes of passion. I wanted to lap up every word she spoke.
I was taught to own women, that they were nothing more than a means to an end. I watched my father’s disregard for my mother in the years until she died. But this, this was different. Looking down at her sparkling blue eyes as we swayed, I knew it was love at first sight. I believed it, and I knew this woman would be the one to finally bring me to my knees.
I would say no such thing to my father. Love was a weakness, and there was no room for it in the world we lived in.
As we walked around the grounds that cool summer evening she told me she painted but that she hadn’t attended college for it. Her parents thought it was a terrible waste of time since she was to marry and settle down with kids. I assured her that if she married me, she would never have to choose. She’d looked down at her feet bashfully, and I’d tilted her chin and kissed her under the moonlight. Her lips were even softer than I’d imagined them to be.
Six months later we were married, but the shy girl who had looked at me like I was her world during our courtship, was nothing but a cold and frigid bitch after we married. She looked at me like I’d trapped her even though the decision to wed had been both of ours. She’d agreed as much as I had, but I soon realized that had all been for show. She’d been forced by her parents, and she went along because that is what daughters do. She’d been in love with another man before she’d met me, but marrying a Calthorpe was surety for her family.
But I still wanted her, still desired her. I was devoted to her. She would lie beneath me like a corpse while I fucked her, not even a moan escaping her lips. She wanted me to know that she hated me. That I did not have her permission to enter her. It angered me, but I would not hurt her, despite my desire to.
No matter what I did, I could not reach her. She’d shut herself off to me. Her every whim was taken care off, but it never satisfied her.
By day she was one way, by night another. She would show the world the devoted wife she was, giving me more affection than I could ever hope for, so much so that I preferred being in public rather than alone in our bedroom. I realized that I’d let her do that. She knew she was my weakness, and she used it against me.
When she fell pregnant, she would not let me touch her. She locked herself in our bedroom for days on end. But I kept trying. I would do anything for Guin. I knew that arranged marriages were archaic, but it was our way. And I would make it work. I took out my frustration on others, on thieving, traitorous bastards that deserved to have their throats slit. Men who were dumb enough to double-cross my family. I’d sever parts of their bodies to satisfy my need for power because I was losing it when it came to her. I considered fucking whores to get her rejection off my mind, but I could never touch another woman. Guin was mine, and I would remain faithful to the vows I took.
My daughter Giuliana was born on a bright summer’s day. She was exquisite. A little porcelain doll. She looked just like her mother; golden hair, perfect azure eyes. But her nose, it was mine. Her tiny hands and feet moved in the blanket she was wrapped in as I held her close. I had never known a man could love as deeply as I loved this little girl. Maybe she was the key to unlocking her mother’s cold heart.
* * *
“The Cavalieri are making you lose focus, Arthur. I have told you, family first. If it isn’t those young men, it’s Guinevere. I swear that woman has her claws hooked into your ball sack,” My father’s voice boomed through the hall of our family room as he stood by the ornate fireplace, staring into the dying embers in the grate. ‘It is not our way to think with our cocks.”
“I know that, Father. And that’s not what I am doing. The Cavalieri are loyal, to the word, and Guin, she knows her place.” I would do anything to protect her from his wrath. Luther was not a man to cross.
“Knows her fucking place does she? I have eyes, boy, and I never thought you’d grow to be such a woman pleaser. They are meant to please us, bow before us in submission. But your wife, she rules you, rules your house, and you don’t have the balls to realize it.”
I poured a glass of scotch, knocking it back. I could not help but replay Luther’s words over in my head. What he said about Guin was right; I was softening, but only because I loved her. Yet when it came to business, I’d done everything he wanted. I’d never been unsuccessful in carrying out my duties, even at the cost of my marriage and time with my child. I did as he told me without question.
And the Cavalieri were just as duty-bound to my family as I was. I started the Tabella Della Morte or the Table of Death two years ago, they were a band of men called the Cavalieri Della Morte.
Brought together because of their lust for violence and order. Each man was chosen because they had a specific set of skills I needed. Some were younger boys who I saw great potential in. They were the knights of my round table and worked with me, travelling the world to keep order, however that would be done. My father never understood the purpose of the organisation and I doubted he ever would.
Another thing I loved about Guin was that she adored the younger Cavalieri boys. At times it frustrated me that she distracted them from training by offering them cookies and reading to them, but they needed her to keep them human. All I did was encourage and train them to kill. But the younger ones needed to be skillfully initiated into the Cavalieri way.
“She hasn’t even borne you a son yet.” His voice was even. All my father cared about was the Calthorpe legacy. I was his only son, his heir, and my sister knew that all too well. He’d married her off the first chance he got.
“She will, but these things take time. I have my knights, and they’re every bit as loyal as sons. They’ll ensure the Calthorpes remain in power.” I despised these conversations with my father.
Why was Giuliana not enough? I thought of my daughter, nestled against her mother’s breasts. She’d stolen my heart since the day I laid eyes on her. I could not imagine ever feeling the kind of contempt my father had for my sister. He’d practically handed Anna off to our housekeeper when my mother died, not offering her any comfort as she mourned. I, on the other hand, felt nothing. Death was but a passage to another world, one where she might be happy again.
