The Mafia’s Nanny

FLORA

In an instant, the sweltering heat gave way to a sudden downpour as dark, ominous clouds rolled in over Palermo. It felt as if the devil himself had wrung out hell's mop, drenching the garden in a deluge of rain.

Not that Flora minded. If not for the rain, Guiseppe would have insisted on unsavory activities in the backyard. Apparently, he wasn't keen on getting wet, so he ushered her indoors. At least now she could finally take in the grandeur of the mansion, which did not disappoint.

As her feet traversed the opulent halls, following Guiseppe down a lengthy corridor, Flora marveled at the lavish interior. The ornate paintings and sparkling chandeliers stirred a longing within her. Coming to a stop before a large brown door, Guiseppe abruptly halted, causing her to bump into him. He swung the door open and pushed her inside. "No touching!"

She stumbled onto the marble floor, her gaze immediately drawn to the towering ceiling of the massive room. It loomed over her like a wise sage, lined with shelves overflowing with books.

"What is this?" she inquired.

"Library," Guiseppe grunted. "Wait there." He gestured towards a dark loft at the top of a spiral staircase, then shoved her further into the room before softly closing the door behind him.

Surveying her surroundings, Flora couldn't deny the wealth exuding from every corner of the room. Though she was tempted to disregard Guiseppe's warning, she dared not risk angering him and forfeiting a potential meal. Reluctantly, she ascended the metal stairs to the balcony area of the so-called library, filled with rows upon rows of books. Rich people and their obsession with books.

Finding little to entertain her, Flora leaned over the balcony to observe the expansive ground floor below, adorned with even more shelves and books. Unlike the secluded nook she occupied, the lower level was vast and magnificent, fit for a true library. Such opulence astounded her; this room alone surpassed the size of her family's home in Romania by tenfold.

Her eyes caught sight of a plush sofa by the window, accompanied by a fancy bottle of dark liquid on the nearby table. It beckoned her, tempting her to descend and take a sip.

Surely it would taste exquisite. After all, rich people always had the finest things.

She flicked her glance towards the door. What was keeping Guiseppe? He never took long to get her something yummy to fill her belly. She liked this deal she had with him. Food for sucking him off. He was easy too. She showed him her boobs, and a few minutes of his dick in her mouth, and he came as hard as a waterfall. Extra protein for her, like her mama would say. She had, of course, neglected to inform him she was providing the same services to Alonzo next door in exchange for lodging. Men and their dicks.

Her stomach grumbled. Yesterday, the Corleone sons had been home, and Guiseppe didn’t dare meet her. He was terrified of the two brothers. He pretended not to be, but what he didn’t know was while she roamed the back door looking for food and some extra knick-knacks to grab, she often heard the maids jabber in the kitchen. She was poor but not an idiot. She understood Italian contrary to what these people assumed of her. Idiots who didn’t know they shared a Latin language. Oh yes, Guiseppe was terrified of the men. Then again, who wouldn’t be when the Corleone’s were a part of The Mafia family? Another thing he assumed she didn't know. The man really thought with his dick. Anyone in Palermo and beyond knew that the old man Corleone was the consigliere for the family.

He was even more of an idiot to think she was content with their arrangement. This was just a stepping stone in her plan. All she needed to do was capture the attention of one of the Corleone brothers, and she was set for life.

Everyone knew how the old man Corleone had fallen into the trap of his now wife. Fuck a man, get pregnant, and deal. If it worked for that woman, who was a two-faced bitch as good as they get, it would definitely work for her. She was known for her beauty, and seducing a man with her ample boobs and willing pussy was simple work for her.

Finally.

The door opened to reveal… fuck.

She slunk down into the dark alcove and ducked her head out of sight. The glint of a wheelchair had caught her eye. What was the old man Corleone doing here? It was past time for him to be sealed off in his coffin. It was already a shocker that his conniving wife hadn’t killed him off. She listened to the wheels rolling in, followed by… footsteps. She frowned.

“Grazie, figlio mio.” The old man’s voice hinted at death nearby.

“Un momento, Papà.”

Oh, whose sexy voice was that?

Flora inched her face up and peaked down in between the iron rods. This must be the eldest son. She had already seen the younger one, and he was a fine specimen to fuck. She would gladly push him off the ledge for this one.

This one was hotter. She watched him walk towards the door to close it. All muscle and strength like a rich man. Not like the bodybuilder bodies of security men who she had gotten a taste of. This one looked like he got out of bed looking like one of those sculptured gods from their garden. Money and body and she was a goner, but this one's hair was so … rich…unusual. He had very thick hair going in slight waves. Dark, dark brown mixed with a bit of silver grey, like what you would find in a nickel. She wanted to run her hands through his hair. She looked down at her hands. Well, after she washed them first. Rich men didn’t do dirty.

He closed the door and walked over to join his father near the sofa.

Cristo.

If his back was yummy, his front was delicious. Like a fine piece of meat on a barbeque wrapped in thick gravy. She wanted a piece of him. The man had a beard. Not the wild ones she was used to, but one of those that rich people had. Faintly there, nicely trimmed and taken care of, barely there type of thing. Civilized. Yes, that was it. One of those civilized and fancy-looking beards the models on the bus stand advertising had.

When he sat down on the sofa, with his legs spread wide, he was almost directly below her. She snuck slightly back into the shadows reluctantly. Even the way he moved spoke of power and money as he poured himself some of that liquid and drank from it. Flora watched him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Her hunger for food evaporated into the air. She was horny now, and all she wanted was right below her. She smacked her lips quietly.

“It’s good to have a few minutes of peace,” Old Man Corleone spoke.

The younger Corleone let out a laugh, although there was no humour ringing out of it. “I don’t know how you stand her.”

“Mistakes. You’re lucky if you can learn and move forward. But some are there every day to remind you … of a moment … of weakness.” Damn. The old man looked like he might die right now, right before her eyes. He might have been a hottie once to father such sons, but now he was all shallow skin and bones sticking out.

Hot Corleone leaned over and grabbed the old man’s hands. “Let me take care of this, Papà.”

Her eyes stuck on his wristwatch. He didn’t wear the normal sparkling stuff. It had a brown leather strap and a black face. It looked expensive.

Concentrate, Flora. If you go about this right, you can nab way more than a wristwatch.

“No. This is my life, and I will take my mistakes to the grave. You and Dom need to learn from it. Besides, I didn’t come here to discuss your mother.”

Ha! Flora could see even from this distance that the son didn’t agree with the father. There was a tick going mad at his jaw, but he kept silent, even though his eyes were wild and ready to commit murder. A cold thrill ran up her body. She suddenly understood why Guiseppe was petrified of him.

“What did you want to discuss, Papà?”

The old man didn’t seem to notice his son’s violent look. “Chase has called in a favour.”

Shit.

Flora shifted on her toes. She hoped he was not talking about Chase Di Matteo, the boss of The Mafia.

Please don’t. Please don’t.

“What favour is the don calling in from a dying man?”

Shit.

She was dead. If they found her now, they would kill her. She clenched her hands tightly on her rumbling stomach.

“His cousin in Boston is having some problems. They are trying to work together with the Russian mob, but it’s not working out. They need someone—”

“I don’t like this direction, Papà.”

“Ascoltami, figlio mio.” Old Man Corleone wheeled his chair away. “Boston PD is down their throats. He is looking to turn his organisation legal. They want to embed more honour in their codes. Chase has spoken to him about our family. Your grandfather's work. Mine. Your ambitions.”

“But I—”

“Let me speak. I am trying to spare my breath.”

Flora sniggered from her vantage point of view. The man was old but still good at manipulating his son. The younger Corleone fell instantly silent and obedient. It was obvious the son would do what the father asked.

“This is what you have wanted. More diplomacy. Fewer weapons. This is what your grandfather and I have worked for. You will continue that. You have made a name here. Your diplomacy is highly valued. In Boston, apparently, they want to work with the other mobs, and they need someone who will be good at negotiating deals, including with us here. If Chase is asking this of you, it means he trusts you and your capacity.”

The old man paused to catch his breath before continuing. “I have already discussed this with him. You are to still manage your private banking business. In fact, this is what they want. More legal businesses. You will be perfect for their organisation.”

No. No. If he moves to America, who am I to seduce?

The old man wheeled his chair closer to his son and took his hand in his. His hands were more a packet of bones than flesh. “This will be good for you. Go to Boston. When you are done, you can come back home. Take Dom with you. A break from all this drama from your mother. Create some distance.”

She could go with them to America. She would just have to hurry with her plans ….

“Papà—” He put his fancy drink down.

“I have little time left. It is what it is. Make no mistake figlio mio. I want you to take care of your mother. But never at the expense of your own happiness. Don’t follow in my footsteps. Don’t allow culture to dictate who you should marry. I don’t care about what our culture dictates. I want you to find love.”

“Love is for fucking idiots.”

Old Corleone laughed. “One day, you are going to find a woman who’s going to love that foul mouth of yours. I’ve seen it. Love is—”

Flora’s belly let out a loud rumble. She watched in horror as two pairs of eyes shot instantly in her direction.

Fuck.

Hot Corleone shot out of the sofa and was upon her in an instant, hurling her to her feet by yanking on her arm.

She was going to die. This close, his dark brown eyes were almost black, with a never-ending depth to them. Death was upon her.

“Who the fuck are you?” The roar rolling out of him sent her eardrums trilling.

The vibration of it left a daze in its wake. Noise reduced. Movements slowed. Fear vanished. With death nearing, she found peace. Gone was her hunger. She noticed the small things cloaking them. His grip on her arm, like a metal vise. His jaw sharp, enough to kill with it. His smell, a mixture of something woody and something else. It reminded her of autumn. She just couldn’t pinpoint what that other smell was. Wood and…

Her muteness worked on his patience. He shook her hard like a ragged doll. Her teeth clattered.

“Who is she?” Old Corleone’s voice floated up.

“Like fuck if I know.” He turned around and dragged her down the stairs, behind him, like a cloth the maids used to mop the floor and threw her in front of his father.

“She one of the maids?”

Old Corleone rolled closer to look at her. “No.” A frown foamed in between his brows. “She’s not from here. You speak Italian?”

A different smell snuck into her nostrils and pulled her back to reality. The stink shrouding Old Corleone was one that reeked of hospitals.

“Your name, girl?” Old Corleone asked in Romanian.

She fought off the face of recognition. These people weren’t idiots. If they knew, she would be dead.

“Is she dumb? What are you doing here?” Hot Corleone’s voice was no longer hot. It sounded mad and violent, with a rage building up that she didn’t want to face.

Her stomach rumbled again loudly, drawing attention to her basic needs.

The door opened behind them. Guiseppe stood there, mouth open, holding a bowl of food in his trembling hands.

Hot Corleone snapped his fingers at him. “Who the fuck is this?” he asked, indicating to her.

“I think Guiseppe knows the girl,” Old Corleone said, his shrewd gaze looking from him to her. “Does the girl speak our language?” he asked him in Italian.

“No, Signor,” Guiseppe answered, letting out a violent diarrhoea of streaming words. “I would never bring in someone… She was hungry… was at the back door… I just wanted to give her some food… help her out… She must have sneaked inside…somehow….”

Old Corleone chuckled while the son looked like he might blow a fuse. “Learn to keep your fucking dick in your pants,” he bellowed to Guiseppe, who looked like he might chop it off himself right now rather than stand here.

Hot Corleone pulled her up again and drew her close to him. Sandalwood. That was the other smell. “If I ever see you anywhere near us again… I will deliver you as food to your family, in a fucking box.”

“Get her out of here.” He pushed her into Guiseppe, who caught on to her and started dragging her away. “One more thing, Guiseppe.” He sauntered closer to the frozen man. “You do this again, and I will cut off your fucking dick. Capisti?”

“Sì, sì, spiacente, Signor.” Mumbling, fumbling idiot, Guiseppe dragged her out of the room and ditched her outside without the food bowl in the rain.

“Don’t think of stepping foot here again. Fucking gipsies. Getting me into trouble as well.”

He slammed the door on her face. Flora was disappointed. Not in Guiseppe. She had had little hope in him to begin with. Not even in her missed chance of getting some food into her. It was rather that throughout that exchange, Hot Corleone had not once looked at her ample bosom.