Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

The day of the wedding dawned. It was a crisp and cool morning.

Lucien had left for the townhouse after a terse goodbye to Rachel.

He had never really cared for Rachel and I was not really surprised when he left. Not that I had not tried to make him attend the wedding that was scheduled for the evening.

*

Dusak

He knew that it would take a long time to take his revenge on the man who had blinded him in one eye. But the hate in his mind festered and grew with each day. He kept the photographs of the Delano family in his room and he looked at them religiously, hate eating into him as he stared at them before he drifted off to sleep.

His training had begun. Father Paval had set up meetings with many of Dmitri Rudenko’s former associates who had at first hesitantly, and later, openly come out to join hands with the wicked monk. They were prepared to help Dusak learn the ropes but on many occasions, Paval had had to step in to ensure that Dusak’s obnoxious behaviour did not put them off.

On other nights, when he had been to the local bar, he would return to be serviced by the women Paval had hired for this purpose. Dusak was always accompanied by Paval’s men who took care to see that the youth returned home safely despite getting into brawls in bars.

He was brutal and enjoyed inflicting pain on the hapless women who had been trafficked from places in Ukraine and Bangladesh. On more than one occasion, the men waiting outside the room had had to rush in to prevent him from beating the woman to death. He had grown up watching his father hit his mother to within an inch of her life. He had grown accustomed to the sounds of her moaning and screaming. In some way, he believed that men were the superior ones; women only existed to pleasure them.

And in some strange way, he got off on inflicting pain on the women who he used to satisfy his growing body.

He was young and he was lustful.

And he had discovered that he was sadistic, relishing the pain he inflicted on the women he used.

*

Proserpina

When I crept into bed and lay beside my husband that night, I submitted to his large hands moving over my willing body purposefully, even as I skillfully evaded his seeking mouth and holding his face between my hands, I whispered,

“Lucien, please. Please come with us to attend Rachel’s wedding?’

His cruel face had darkened and he had moved away from me abruptly.

Hurt and bewildered, I moved over to him, ignoring the fact that I was naked now and my breasts were resting on his chest.

“Lucien?’

‘Shut the f*ck up, you little c*nt.’ he snarled and rolled onto me, thrusting his hard manhood against my belly, his hands squeezing painfully, his hot mouth on my breasts, biting and sucking.

I stared at him, surprised and a little rebellious.

He should listen to me, that was the least he could do, I thought as I fought him.

“No,’ I said, pushing at his chest as he prepared to enter me, his hand already toying with my wet clit, my hands captured above my head in one of his large ones.

‘No, Lucien!’ I protested loudly, forcing him to stop.

His eyes were glazed with lust but he quickly recovered his equilibrium, a cold, hard mask slipping over his harsh countenance.

Suddenly, he sat up and turned away.

Pulling on his robe, he sneered,

‘If you are going to play hard to get, woman, I might as well attend to my work.’

This time I sat up, the tears filling my eyes, tugging the sheets across my body.

‘Hard to get?’ I whispered. Was that all I meant to him? Was I only a body to be used when he wished?

Without looking at me, he added, his voice a deep baritone, hard and cold.

“Do not expect me to bend to please you every time, woman.’

He stood up and left the room, striding into his dressing room and I stared after him, open-mouthed. He changed into a crisp grey shirt and chinos and left the room without looking in my direction.

What had he meant?

*

Paval

They had a ring of human traffickers who worked for them, supplying women to various parts of the world. The women, the young men and the children were carefully chosen from the poorest families all over Europe, Africa and Asia. With offers of lucrative jobs in the US, they were transported to the heart of Central Europe where Dmitri Rudenko and his brother, Paval, had been operating a prostitution ring and a human trafficking chain. The shield of being a man of the cloth had kept anyone from suspecting Paval all this while.

Once the women were there, they were divested of their passports and locked up till they voluntarily agreed to work at brothels. Beatings and rape, all forms of torture were inflicted to keep the unfortunate people in line. Yes, children and young men as well.

Their families were informed that they had died or disappeared and since the people back home were too poverty-stricken to do anything about it, the business, as Paval called it, flourished.

Paval, who fastidiously changed out of his robes while donning the mantle of the gang lord, had been happy to see the streak of sadism in his nephew. For himself, the lure of a woman’s flesh held no appeal; it was the power and the money that infatuated him.

But Dusak?

He sighed and smiled, ‘Ah, Duska! the boy was a chip off the old shoulder of Dmitri.’

A person who revelled in delivering pain. He was growing into a formidable fighter, despite his one eye. He looked handsome too, the brown hair cut close to his scalp and the one penetrating black eye, black patch over the other giving him a rakish look. His hearing was amazing and his reflexes! He could coordinate his body to react to a threat in a split second.

Father Paval smiled and thanked the powers that be for having helped him to find a true successor to Dmitri.

Now he needed to move to the US. And they were leaving in a day’s time.

Father Paval was a very satisfied man, indeed as he walked out of his room, ignoring the piteous screams of a girl who had been brought to pleasure Duska.

*