Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

CESARE

P eople had two reactions when it came to a powerful man. They either wanted his attention, or they didn’t. There was no in between or grey space. It was simply one or the other. In my case, it was typically the latter. No one wanted the boss to come knocking on their door. Not only did it mean they fucked up, but that they fucked up so bad that I had to be drug away from my very busy life to deal with their bullshit.

Like right now.

The small man bound to a wooden chair coughed out a spritz of pink droplets onto the beige dining room carpet. “Cesare please..”

“That’s Mr. Mancini to you.”

Neil Carmichael was yet another annoying thorn I had to deal with. My time was valuable. It would be better served handling the Bratva threat, managing business transactions, or one of the hundred other things that needed my attention.

Yet here I was, wasting my afternoon in a mediocre two-story house that smelled of cheap candles. All because of a bet. Normally Fat Ricky or my son Romeo would handle such things, but this particular bet happened to be in a high stakes poker game that a man of Neil’s stature should never have been allowed into. The man who let him in was currently resting at the bottom of the bayou.

“I can get the money.”

Neil’s entire net worth didn’t even cover a quarter of the amount owed. “No, you can’t.”

He didn’t just lose, he lost bad. His debt was large enough that I was personally contacted about it. It didn’t help that the man Neil owed was a business acquaintance from California.

So here I was, in a middle class neighborhood, handling a situation that should’ve never happened in the first place. The beating he took that left three of his fingers twisted unnaturally and left eye swollen shut was just the beginning.

“I can get it.” Neil lifted his swollen face and looked over at the table in the middle of the room. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m not doing anything.” My men were.

Mrs. Carmichael wasn’t overly attractive, she was more on the plain side. But my men seemed to be enjoying her average build. The table jarred along the floor as the four of them used every hole she had. It was amazing what a man could do when there were no limitations. Toss a female in a room and say do whatever you want, and even the average man would happily release his inner feral beast.

The only one who wasn’t taking part in the fuck fest on the dining room table was Saul. He stood behind Neil with his hand on his shoulder. He was more controlled than most. One day, his carefully constructed focus would snap, but that day wasn’t today.

“There must be some arrangement we can come to.”

Neil lost so bad that I paid him a personal visit and he was still trying to make deals. Some people never learned.

I ran my finger through the dust on a shelf riddled with China figurines and sighed. “What kind of arrangement do you propose. Do you have something worth half a million dollars?”

“I don’t… I have… I… I can’t.”

Neil hung his head and closed his eyes making my gaze roll over to Saul.

“Why are his eyes closed?”

One slap from Saul was all it took for Neil’s lids to pop back open.

“Please don’t make me watch.” He blubbered.

“Why not,” I glanced over my shoulder towards the sounds of male grunts. “Your wife seems to be enjoying herself.”

Barbra Carmichael had two cocks in her pussy, one in her ass, and one shoved down her throat. She was stuffed full and moaning like a whore. Mind you I did roofie her first, so her inhibitions were lowered, and she wouldn’t remember any of this. That was the beautiful part. Neil’s wife would have no idea why he was suddenly looking at her differently, and he couldn’t say anything without looking like a piece of shit.

Fat Ricky, slammed his cock down her throat and groaned. “You want some of this boss?”

Joining in the use of a moaning whore didn’t interest me. Not only did I not like sharing my women, but I preferred them demure, shy, and on their knees ready to obey. Mrs. Carmichael was loud and obnoxious.

“No,” I waved over my shoulder and went back to inspecting the shelf.

Someone in this house had a thing for cats. Every second figurine or picture was of a kitten or some other feline. My guess was this was the wife’s decorating scheme. No self-respecting man would adorn their house with fluffy animals. Unless said animal carcasses were on display. Then again, no self-respecting man would put his family at risk like Neil did.

I picked up an orange tabby and blew some dust off the statue’s head. Mrs. Carmichael wasn’t much of a housekeeper.

“Be careful with that,” Neil called out making me cock a brow. “That’s Fawn’s favorite.”

Fawn? That was a new name.

“Who’s Fawn, Neil?”

His eyes shifted over to the panting woman on the kitchen table.

I’m not sure what pissed me off more, the lack of compassion on his face while he watched his wife get ridden hard by four men, or the fact that he seemed to care more about this fucking cat statue.

“She’s… no one.”

That was the answer he was going to give me? Let’s see how much of a no one this Fawn was.

I held up the figurine. “This is her favorite?”

Neil nodded. “Be careful with it.”

Why is he so desperate to save this thing? Obviously this night was not going to end well for him. Did he think his actions could be forgiven if he managed to save this five-dollar piece of crap? That in some small way, he’d come out of this a hero?

No there was something else.

“Saul…” I locked eyes with Neil. “Break his hand.”

Neil made a desperate attempt to jump out of the chair, but Saul already had a hold of his arm. The heel of Saul’s boot came down on the back of his hand, again, and again, and again, until a loud crunch rang through the air. Followed by Neil’s scream.

I waited for him to finish sniveling like a little girl, then tipped my head. “Who’s Fawn?”

One thing everyone knew about me, I could smell a liar from a mile away. And I never went somewhere unprepared. Neil’s wife’s name was Barbra and the only child he had was a son named George.

He cradled his broken hand and blubbered, “S-she’s my w-wife.”

“Don’t you think I know your wife’s name Neil?” I looked over at the panting mess that was Mrs. Carmichael and added, “Having fun over there Barbra?”

Neil gulped back a swallow when I locked eyes with him. “Who’s Fawn?”

His lips pressed together.

With a deadpan look, I sniffed back a snort and dropped the figurine, letting it smash on the ground.

Neil’s eyes widened as I picked up another ceramic cat and once again asked, “Who’s Fawn?”

“No one.”

Soft tinkles rippled through the air as that one shattered next to the first. The interesting part was the pain that etched its way across Neil’s face when what remained of the figurine was crushed under my shoe.

“Ricky… How’s Barbra’s throat feel?”

Neil’s wide eyes widened.

“It feels like velvet, Boss.”

Keeping my eyes locked on Neil, I took a step closer to him and said, “But can she still breathe, Ricky?”

Richardo Montez didn’t get the name Fat Ricky because of a few extra pounds. He was a seven foot tall wall of muscle and bone that could lift a truck. And his abnormal size carried on to other parts of his body. The last woman Ricky made swallow his eleven inch cock was now six feet under in the Gatlin graveyard.

Two seconds later, the greedy moans and needy pants Barbra was letting out were cut off by her loud gagging.

“I’ll ask you one more time, Neil,” I tipped my head at the urgency in his eyes. “Who the fuck is Fawn?”

He stared back at me and opened his mouth before quickly clamping it shut.

Alright.

“Ricky, cut her throat.”

“No, wait.”

Oh, now Neil gave a shit.

I held up my hand, signalling Ricky to hold off, and arched a brow. “I’m waiting.”

He had exactly five seconds.

He made it almost four.

“Fawn is my wife’s daughter.”

His wife’s daughter? “That’s an interesting way to phrase it, Neil.”

Why not call her his stepdaughter or daughter? There was only one reason I could think of.

“How long have you been fucking your stepdaughter, Neil?”

His eyes widened as he stammered out, “I’m n-not… I-I would n-never…”

He would never, my ass. I’d never seen a more guilty look on someone’s face than I did his right now.

My eyes narrowed. “She’s not a little girl, is she?”

I might have to gut this fucker with my bare hands.

“No,” Neil’s lip curled. “She’s sixteen.”

“So, you are fucking her?”

Neil shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t deny it either,” I pointed out.

His lack of response was just as loud as an admission of guilt. The fact that the girl was only sixteen wasn’t helping him. She wasn’t a child, but she wasn’t an adult either. Exactly how long had Neil been violating her?

“Ricky, you can let Barbra breathe now.” I was tempted to let him finish the job. She had to know what was happening to her daughter. But Barbra’s death would only be another mess I didn’t want to clean up. I had other things to do.

Ricky pulled back as Barbra greedily gasped in air. One of my men sighed in disappointment. Tommy was my guess. He enjoyed choking out bitches as did my son Giovanni. Though my son didn’t leave a body count behind. Yet anyway. He was engaged to Novalee Ford. A stubborn, smart mouthed, mess of a girl who constantly tested his limits. She was nothing like her sister.

Veda Ford was an elegant and beautiful woman that was so timid it made my cock hard. I’d been watching the skittish way she hid from the world for a while now. The Ford’s had some very interesting secrets in their family. Secrets I fully intended to exploit. Pairing Novalee up with my son was the first part of my plan. Veda was the second. But I could deal with her later. Right now I was much more interested in the picture on the far side of the room.

I sauntered over to the table beside Fat Ricky, unphased by the stench of sweat blanketing that corner. Barbra’s naked body was drenched in fluids and filth. My men were voracious. This was her second round with three of them. She didn’t seem to mind though. Which made me wonder…

Plucking the picture off the table, I eyed the pretty little brunette standing beside her mother. How much could Barbra’s daughter take? I couldn’t exactly blame Neil for dipping his toes in that pond. Fawn’s pouty pink lips and innocent big green eyes were just begging to be fucked.

“She’s pretty,” I looked back over at Neil, who was glaring at me like he wanted to hit me.

Now he was jealous. This bastard’s wife was getting used because of a fuck up he made, and he was more concerned about the picture in my hand. Perhaps he did have something worth half a million after all.

“Where is she?”

Fawn wasn’t here. I had the men search the house. Although, one did mention and empty bedroom upstairs. Neil’s son’s room was on the main floor – he was away at camp – I passed the other off as a guest room. But maybe it wasn’t.

Neil kept his mouth shut and glared back at me.

Okay, if he didn’t want to talk that was fine.

“Saul, find Neil’s phone and give Fawn a call.” A smirk curled the corner of my mouth. “Tell her her father needs her to come home.”