Chapter 10

TEN

Angelo

My uncle's trick still leaves a sour taste in my mouth when I enter the casino and spot the women in their glitzy dresses waiting next to my four o'clock appointment.

I know what he was doing. He was sending me a Sabella look-alike, someone he thought would satisfy my taste, an easy woman with a soft smile to make me forget about my rebellious spouse. Nothing sweetens the bitter taste of a wife's rejection like a willing woman's pussy. That's how it works in our circles. Men go out to work, kill, and fuck. The wives stay home to remain faithful and have our babies.

My father was the exception. He never looked at another woman for as long as I accompanied him on his business trips. I doubt he ever did, not even before he started taking me along. My uncles are a different matter. They have whores in every casino and a mistress in each town where they conduct business. They always had. The habit continued throughout my aunts' lives. My uncles told me so themselves.

The thought of another woman simply doesn't do it for me. There's only one pussy in which I want to bury my dick. My wife's. It's stamped with my insignia too. A man can't be clearer than that. I hope Uncle Enzo suffered the humiliation of my rebuke. He overstepped his boundary by trying to soften me up with a whore. The woman looked embarrassed when I sent her away.

This man will learn too. The women who hang on his arms, batting their eyelashes and flaunting their tits as I approach, only repel me.

The high court judge sucks on his cigar, the end glowing red as he scrutinizes me through squinted eyes.

"Judge Fabre." I offer him a hand. "Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

He wraps his arms around the girls' waists and palms their ass cheeks. "In my suite, you mean?" He slaps their asses. "Do you have a soft spot for one of these beauties, or do you prefer both?"

"Neither," I say, my tone dry. "A private lounge will do."

His face drops. "You're no fun."

My smile is cool. "All work and no play, I'm afraid."

He grunts. "Go on, ladies." He kisses each one's cheek before groping their tits. "Go have some fun."

They saunter off, throwing sultry looks at us from over their shoulders.

"Through here," he says, indicating a door with a private sign to the left.

The casino owner set up the meeting. I trust him to keep the room clean of bugs, but I send one of my men ahead to check while I offer the judge a drink.

Once we placed our order for a bottle of Scotch, we take a seat on opposite sides of a roulette table. However, we're not here to gamble, at least not in the traditional sense.

"So," he says, spreading his arms across the back of his seat. "I hear you have a new supplier."

"Yes."

I remain quiet as a waitress enters with a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. Fabre tilts his head to look up her short skirt as she bends to deposit her charge on a side table. She serves us, her lips curving into a strained smile as Fabre's hand finds its way between her legs.

"The waitresses are off limits," I say, narrowing my gaze.

The girl shoots me a grateful look mixed with something like fear. She doesn't want to suffer the consequences of refusing the judge's advances. He's not known for taking rejections gracefully.

Sighing, he pulls his hand away. "Like I said, you're no fun."

The girl hurries away.

When one of the men in my guard detail closes the door, I continue. "I have an opportunity to get regular shipments from the east."

"Destination?" he asks, picking up the glass and sniffing the liquor.

"Namibia."

"Which port?"

"Durban. That's already secured." Thanks to Edwards's old connections. "What I need is a safe passage across the border."

"Border control," he muses. "Why not go in directly via Walvis Bay or Lüderitz?"

"Sea patrol," I deadpan.

"Ah, yes." He rests an ankle on his knee. "I heard they're getting cranky about foreign boats fishing in their seas. Tightening the vise, they are."

"So." I take my glass. "Can you secure the passage or not?"

"Of course I can." He grins. "That's why you came to me. I have those puppets in my pocket."

"How much?"

"Twenty percent."

I raise a brow. "Ten percent. I have a monopoly in the market. You won't get a similar offer from anyone else."

The corners of his mouth pull down. He considers it, tracing the rim of his glass with a finger. It's just for show though. When it comes to this particular stock, I pull the strings in Africa. The eastern supplier was the last one who sold their product to a competitor. They quickly transferred their business when I offered them a higher price, one my competitor will never be able to match.

"Fine," Fabre says after a moment. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Russo."

I stand. "Expect the first container to arrive in April. I'll be in touch with the details."

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out. It's Ryan, Sabella's brother.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," I say, making my way to the door. Outside, I accept the call and put the phone against my ear. "Ryan?"

"I want to talk to my sister."

"No, good evening, how are you?" I taunt.

"Fuck you, Russo. It's been a week with no word from you."

"Your sister is fine." I walk to a quiet area with less people. "There's no need for concern."

"I want to speak to her."

"She's not with me."

"Where are you?" he asks with disdain. "Are those slot machines I hear? Are you in a fucking casino?"

"You know what the business requires."

"Where's my sister?"

My tone is dry. "At this hour, she's sleeping cozily in her bed."

"Yeah, well, excuse me for not taking your word where my sister's welfare is concerned. My mother is worried about her." He adds after a pause, "So am I."

"I'll be home tomorrow night. I'll let you speak to her then."

"Why can't I call her now?"

"Goodbye, Ryan," I say, disconnecting the call.

Pocketing my phone, I continue to the exit. It's a pity Ryan and I are enemies. In different circumstances, I would've respected him. Liked him even. He's reliable and discreet, and he gets the job done. He's got that classy vibe going, a certain panache that well-educated men of his status possess. Not rough around the edges and uncivilized like me. The logical side of me can't blame Benjamin Edwards for never wanting his precious daughter to marry me. Even I hate myself most of the time. It's difficult to like someone who has no redeeming qualities.

Outside in the crisp, cold air, I dial Heidi. "How did it go?"

"She's safely in the new house."

I hesitate, not sure how to phrase the question and not sure why I care. "Did she like it?"

"She loved it. As always, Fabien did a great job. I think he's a little smitten with Sabella."

Even though I know he prefers men, that phrase fucks with my head. "I think I'll fire him." Or better yet, kill him.

She laughs. "Then you'll have to fire me too."

Not sure what to make of that, I scoff. "Don't make my wife out to be an angel. Fabien just loves anything that's beautiful. Correction—Fabien only loves beautiful things."

"Yes, well," she says with a haughty tone, "some people are blessed with external as well as internal beauty."

Not in the mood for a lecture, I tell her in a gruff voice, "I'll be home late tomorrow. You don't have to prepare dinner."

"Yes, sir."

I end the call.

It strikes me then how much I'm looking forward to going home. I've never felt the pull this strongly, not when my family was alive and even less after their deaths.

It must be the prospect of laying claim to my wife's sweet pussy. Of wanking off in her perfect body. Of using her for only as long as my cock stays hard. It can't be wanting to spend time with her. I resent her way too much to crave the pleasure of her company.