Owning the Mafia Don

Lucien

He watched as his wife wrapped the robe around her bare body and wafted out. He was going to join her, in a few minutes, after he had checked with Schwartz and also, once he had spoken to Tristan Lord.

The first call made him tense. Schwartz sounded excited.

“Boss, the snow is letting down. You can fly in tonight or maybe earlier.’

And then, ‘It’s him, yes, It’s Dmitri, that bas*ard, alight.’

Lucien felt his gut muscles clench. He was going to leave. Lucien Delano had no desire to leave his sexy, loving wife but he had to. He would sorely miss her and his children, he thought, running a thick hand over his tired face. But he had no option.

Knowing that Proserpina would do her best to hide her fear and anxiety, he sighed. He was still getting used to the idea of loving a woman so totally.

No one had ever managed to hold him captive in their hands, no one whose feelings he would have ever considered above his own wants; but this woman had made him think of her, of their children before he did anything. And along with the feeling of wanting to kill the man with his own hands, was a deep, slow dread in him. Something was off.

His gut told him that only one of them would make it alive from that particular encounter…

When she had asked him to take her, in a susurrus, “Lucien Delano, will you please f*ck me, now?’, in that soft, submissive way she had, her head of long mahogany-coloured hair thrown back, the waves reaching her hips, and her brown eyes shimmering with desire, with love and longing, he had wanted to thrust his member into her then and there.

But he had taken heed of her vulnerability after birthing three children at one go; had tried to keep his passion in check. But his sexual needs, violent in nature had superseded his concern and he had ended up f*cking her like an animal in heat, violently, aggressively.

She had fallen into a deep slumber and he had felt alarmed.

Had he hurt her?

But when she spoke to him in her temptress fashion, clinging to him, arms draped around his neck, he had wanted to break her pretty neck for being so seductive and he had wanted to obey her soft-spoken words too.

Now he turned and began to leave the room. Then he remembered the fact that he had yet to speak to Tristan Lord. He swore and decided to let the man know. After all, he had done a lot in freeing Proserpina.

Sighing, he ran his hands and sank back onto his leather armchair and began to make his calls.

He would go up to join his wife presently, he told himself. After all, he needed to break the news that he was leaving soon, sometime later that day. A piece of news that would not be met with a cheer.

***

Proserpina

When Lucien came upstairs a long while later, I knew something was not right. I was hurrying to see my babies, as it was now a little over 7 a. m. and they would be fretting to be fed.

As I rushed away, I saw him, emerging from the elevator, a look of weariness on his face. It caught at me, that look of weariness and I stopped.

But he saw me and shook his head.

‘Go on, ahead woman, the little ones need you.’ he said flatly and continued to our large suite at the end of the passage. He was limping slightly and I sighed.

But the sound of my baby’s lusty wail from the nursery made me hurry and I forgot about it when I was in the room, surrounded by three hungry mites and three harassed nurse maids, one being Camille.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Towards breakfast time, I was back in the kitchen, taking care of the preparations. I had come down to prepare the batter for the pancakes and the maple syrup, my homemade receipe, was already ,

done. Lucien bellowed from the dining hall and one of his men, Hari Lal, appeared at the doorway.

“Ma’am, ‘ he said shyly, ‘The Boss wants to see you.’

Beatrice huffed and made a rude sound. Hari Lal was a shy youth but I knew from Camille that he was a sharpshooter and had taken down a few people for Lucien. But it was hard to associate this youth with an assassin.

Now I washed my hands and taking off my apron, I hurried across to Lucien’s study.

The twins were up; I had made sure of that and I could hear them splashing in the pool. Philippe was with them and he was studying the area surreptitiously in the manner of a guard, protective and alert, making me smile to myself.

I noticed all this as I passed the open French doors, leading onto the lawn. The cool morning air was crisp and rejuvenating. I need to begin my yoga routine soon, I told myself. But then, Lucien’s voice, loud and angry, made me run the last few steps.

As I barged in, I came to a grinding halt. He was dressed, in the clothes that suggested that he was going away. I leaned against the door jamb, my heart sinking as I met his grey eyes, pale and narrow as they took in my unguarded, heartbroken expression.

Beston was already there, and so were almost seven of his other trusted men, the core group that surrounded him when he left the house. I felt shaky and disoriented, as though the wonderful lovemaking we had shared just a few hours before, had not happened.

I could not show my dismay, I thought dully and tried to stand stiff.

But Lucien’s keen eyes had seen through me already.

In a gentle tone, he said, ‘Wife, come here.’

I stepped forward. He rocked on his heels as he watched me approach. Then, thrusting his fists in his pockets, he said in a cold voice,

“I am leaving in an hour. Beston here and these men, you know all of them,’ he nodded his head at them to indicate them, ‘They will remain here to be with you and our children.’ I nodded, my eyes filling.

But biting my lip, I willed myself to be strong.

Straightening my shoulders I said,

“You should have them with you, Lucien.’ He looked at me, eyes boring in and stepped closer. Ignoring the men around us, he tipped my chin up with a thick finger and said in a growl,

“I want to know that you are safe, you and the children I have bred.’

I felt my face turn warm. Trust him to say things like that!

Without taking his eyes off my face, he said, addressing his men,

“I shall meet you in an hour.’

The men murmured something deferentially and left.

I stood solemnly, staring up at my lover. He dropped his hand to the pendant at my breast and tugged it gently.

“You belong to me.’ he said thickly.

‘I do…’ I whispered.

Suddenly, I was in his arms, my face against his jacket, inhaling the scent of his familiar cologne, and his body,

‘Take care, please, take care, my love.’ I whispered, my mouth on his .

He grunted, kissing me back, greedily, hungrily, his hands hard on my waist, pinning me to his body as though he would not let me go. Finally, he raised his head and said hoarsely,

“Woman, I need to do this.’

I nodded, wiping away the tell tale tears quickly.

“Yes,’ I mumbled.

When he looked at me it was in a mixture of exasperation and tenderness.

“I will be back. I may take long but …’

And he pulled me into his arms, crushing my lips with his, biting me, hurting me as he growled,

“Remember woman, wait for me. You belong to me. Only me.’

I nodded.

Later, I was to wonder at his peculiar choice of words. What had he meant?

Had he had a premonition of what was about to happen???