Owning the Mafia Don

Sophie

She had arrived early in the hope of meeting Schwartz. She needed him, needed to tell someone about her sister, seek help for Sondra who was undoubtedly on the run again. Sophie had sent a message through a burner phone on another number her sister had provided on the slip of paper. She had succeeded in buying Sondra enough time to run before Worthington got back to interrogate her again.

***

But Schwartz was too busy. He was in the basement, she was told when she made enquiries. Handsome James was helping to oversee the last-minute preparations for the Christmas Eve fight which was taking place tonight. The entire Club was humming with activity; Lucien Delano was going to fight and it was not an everyday occurrence!

Damn the man thought Sophie, as she walked back along the carpeted corridors, hands in the pockets of her hoodie, brooding.

***

Although she had signed into the building earlier, she had beseeched her supervisor, Tanvi Shah, a sultry beauty, to give her ten minutes to rush up and meet Schwartz for some urgent work. The woman had looked at her, puzzlement writ large in her eyes but she was a kind soul and had agreed.

“Ten minutes,’ she had nodded, “Or Danielle …’ She turned away but Sophie had completed the sentence in her mind.

“Good Old Danielle would have her balls and mine…’ she had thought grimly as she had sped up to the private offices of Schwartz and Delano.

***

Now she was hopping mad. She had taken a shortcut by slipping into the corridors on the VVIP section of the Club, where the rooms were isolated from the Main Hall and other public rooms but the staff had direct access through a small elevator. Even the most private of rendezvous needed food and drink to be served on occasion.

She knew that she needed to get back in time or Danielle would yell at poor Tanvi as well.

She scowled and then came to a grinding halt as she rounded a corner; ahead of her, Paul Worthington had got off the elevator and was approaching from the other side. The man was staring at his phone and scowling in anger. He had not seen Sophie. Yet.

Terrified, she looked around for a place to hide. Only a series of doors that opened into private rooms stretched out on this side of the West Wing, appropriately referred to by the staff in private as Shaggers’ Wing. Without stopping to ask herself whether it was right or wrong, she darted into the first of the rooms which luckily enough, opened easily. At this time of the evening, these rooms were rarely in occupation, she thought. The fun would only begin after ten at night. Leaning against the door, panting, her heart thudding she realised that he was coming her way. He was on the phone and his voice was coming closer.

“I am trapped,’ the thought seemed to echo in her brain relentlessly.

***

But Sophie was a resourceful person and not about to fall into Worthington’s hands.

Her gaze darted around the room which was decorated in rich purple, the drapes, the bed covers, …the bed had covers that effectively hid anyone who could manage to slither under it. Without a thought, she dived under the enormous bed, scrambling to hide and praying that she would not be caught.

Squeezing her eyes shut, and reciting every prayer to appease every saint her mother kept praying to, she lay, trying to control her breathing.

Her heart almost stopped as a pair of polished boots entered the room. The bed was low, so low that she knew her large butt was almost touching the cot.

She gulped and covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to breathe loudly.

“He will go.” She told herself.’ He will leave any minute now. Get a hold on yourself, Sophia Maria.”

But to her horror, the feet crossed over to a long couch which she had noticed. Her heart sank as she guessed that the man who had come in had sat down.

He was obviously on the phone and she made out the words, spoken in a soft, appeasing tone:

‘…meeting her just now.’

Sophie almost groaned. No wonder, she told herself, no wonder the door had been unlocked. Worthington the Weasel had booked the room for a quick sh*g.

The door opened again, and this time she saw a pair of high heels appear in her vision. Red heels and fingernails were painted a hideous shade of blue with black stars. Sophia made a face.

Ugh! She thought. A tattoo was visible on the ankle, a tattoo with the letter S and some other letters that she could not make out.

Groaning to herself, she thought in despair, “Now WHAT?”

From her position under the bed, she could not make out the people. But she could easily recognise the voice of Worthington, nasal and unpleasant.

The woman who entered was saying something to Worthington.

. When Sophie caught a couple of words, her ears perked up in interest.

“…Delano…’

But it was the tone that made her curious.

Straining her ears, Sophie caught the words,

“…might not come…plan’

Oh, it’s about the fight, thought Sophie, and covered her nose to avoid sneezing. The woman’s perfume was too overpowering.

It sounded as though the woman, her unfamiliar voice throaty and deep, was nervous. In a huge hurry, to get into bed with the Weasel thought Sophie crossly. Laying her chin on her hands and staying still, Sophie was busy trying to devise a reason to explain her presence if she was discovered. And then there was Danielle to deal with.

Sophie covered her mouth to prevent her irritation from surfacing. She wanted to swear out loud.

But then her attention was caught by something the woman was whispering,

‘… pay me for the risk, won’t he?’

Worthington’s voice, nasal and servile,

‘Rudenko? Of course.’

It was possible to hear them because they had moved and sounded closer.

Damn it! thought Sophie in horror. They were coming to the bed! She would be discovered!