Married to the mafia boss Series

Carmelo

“Where the hell are you?” Antonio shouts through my cell phone.

“In Italy. I’m staying,” I say adamantly.

“Like hell you are, you are getting your ass on the next flight out to Chicago,” his voice sounds like it’s coming through gritted teeth.

“I thought Lazzaro already talked to you about me staying?” I pace in the guest bedroom assigned to me.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

“He called me last night to tell me he thinks some of Marco’s men are in Italy and that they almost got Arabella. He said nothing of you staying.”

I run my hands through my sweat slicked hair. I was exhausted when I left Arabella’s room this morning. Every hour I was up last night watching her was agony. I fought to keep my eyes peeled and my body alert. It was worth it to keep her safe. As soon as I got a few hours of sleep, my cell phone rang with Antonio’s name on the caller I. D. I woke up covered in sweat from the hot Italian sun beaming through the closed window.

I stand in front of the window hoping a breeze will cool me down as I hold my cell phone against my ear letting Antonio chew me out. “She was attacked and she needs me here-”

“You are not her bodyguard anymore. This is an order, get on the next damn flight.”

“No,” my heart pauses and time stands still. I know then that if things went south after pleading my case, Antonio would surely kill me.

“No?” His tone vexed.

“Hear me out,” I say calmly. “You know Arabella, she terrified of having bodyguards after Leonardo and I’m the only one she really trusts. Marco’s men or even Samuel himself is in Italy and they got as close as standing in her room. Lazzaro is busy running the damn Cosa Nostra as well as his family, and this damn villa doesn’t seem to be protected enough that they fucking got through.”

Antonio is silent on the other end and I think to myself in the moment, I’m dead for talking to the Don like that.

“And Lazzaro agreed to let you stay and watch her?”

“Yes, I already have his permission,” I let out the breath I was holding in. “Sir, I wouldn’t fight you on this if it weren’t important. I can watch her close-”

“Watching her close doesn’t mean fucking her. If I hear that you’ve made one wrong move, you will be on the first flight back to Chicago-”

“Thank you, Sir,”

“-where I will kill you with my own bare hands the second the plane lands.”

I gulp. “Understood.”

“I better fucking be. That is my cousin. I expect her to be under the best damn protection with you there. Don’t make me regret it.” The line goes dead.

My main priority is to keep Arabella safe. I won’t let an itch get in the way of doing what needs to be done and I sure as hell won’t get us in the situation where we might get caught. No more hanky-panky. This is the third time she’s been close to death and one of those times I stopped it due to my hacking skills.

Maybe Lazzaro will let me use some technology to see if I can track down Samuel or the other loyalist. Installing security cameras in her room and on her balcony would be a good idea too.

After getting yelled at by Antonio I’m wide awake. I know Arabella said she had plans, but now that it’s late in the afternoon she’ll be finished. I decide to take a stroll around the house to see if maybe she’s lounging in the living room, eating in the dining room, or reading in her grandfather’s own personal library.

No sign of her. I head outside and let the fresh air fill my lungs after being in the stuffy room all day. The pollen makes my nose itch and eyes water, but I ignore it as I check the pool area. There’s a little boy swimming in the pool and a chunky girl-possibly his mother-watching him. Automatically I assume it’s Lazzaro’s kid. I don’t know much else than he has kid. I don’t even know the gender, but just looking at the dark haired boy I see he’s the spitting image of Lazzaro.

I sneak away from the pool area not wanting to disturb their fun after not seeing Arabella there. I peak in the garden and the vineyard and find absolutely no sign of her.

“Looking for something?” Lazzaro’s voice rings from behind me. When I turn around I see him with his eyebrow arched and his arms crossed against his chest.

“Where’s Arabella?” I look around behind him to see if Arabella came out with him.

“Around,” he answers cryptically.

“You know, I am her bodyguard. I’d like to know where she is so I know she’s safe,” I match his stance by crossing my arms.

He raises his chin challengingly. “She is busy and is with someone who can most definitely do his job at keeping her safe. There’s no need to worry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy the sun with my son. You can wait in your room until you’re needed for the night watch,” he gives a quick condescending smirk and turns sharply on his heel.

My fists clench and I’ve never wanted to hit anyone harder than I’ve wanted to hit him. Lazzaro is infuriating-much like all men of high rank in the mafia. They all have this fucking annoying sense of entitlement. I’ve always been loyal to Antonio because I respect Antonio, but I refuse to be loyal to this new, inexperienced, infuriating Don.

***

It is nine o’clock at night when my door creaks open and startled me upright in bed and reaching for my gun at the side table. The intruder doesn’t even flinch as I reflexively aim the gun to kill. I don’t have to look at their face to know from the peachy smell quickly invading the room, that it’s Arabella.

She puts her finger to her lip and shushes me. She creeps in and lightly shuts the door behind her. I watch as she turns the lock on the doorknob and makes her way to me. Her brown hair is wet and she’s wearing a tiny silk nightgown that clings to her swaying hips. She crawls on top of the bed.

“Where were you today?” I ask quietly. I tuck a strand falling into her face, behind her ear.

“Doing business. Nothing to worry about,” she gives me a small smile. “Tell me something.”

“What?” I cock my head and rest my hand on her waist. Both of us are on our sides facing each other and staring into each other’s eyes.

“Tell me something about yourself. Tell me a story.”

“You already know my deep dark secret about the violin,” I chuckle, “What more could you want?”

“Everything,” she whispers barely audibly that I almost didn’t hear her.

I take a deep breath. “I love going to plays.”

“Huh?”

“Well one play in specific.”

“Which one?” Arabella wraps her arm around me and pulls us close together. She rests her head against my bare chest and her wet hair clings to my body.

“The Phantom of the Opera,” I smile reminiscing. “I was ten-years-old the first time my mother brought me. It was her favorite play. She used to sing opera when she was a little girl. She had lessons and everything. She played Christine-the lead in one of shows productions her company put on. This was before she was married to my father.

“Around the house she would hum songs from it. My favorite was when she sang, Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again. I was mesmerized by her singing and mesmerized by the emotion of the song. So, one night, when my father was working late, she bought tickets and took me and my brother to see it. I loved every second of it. I loved it even more because during every song I looked over at my mother, her hands were clasped together, tears were in her eyes and she was lip-syncing every song. I knew then that the theater was her home. She belonged on stage singing.

“I loved the play, loved everything it stood for. I wanted to tell her to take me again. I wanted to ask her to perform for me at home and teach me the lyrics so I could pretend I was the Phantom. My father was home waiting for us. He asked my mother where we were and she didn’t lie. He slapped her so hard that she fell. I’ll never forget his words. He told her never to take us there again, he wouldn’t have faggot sons who enjoy watching crap like that. So, after he kicked her a few more times, he moved onto my brother and I and beat the ever-loving shit out of us too.”

Arabella looks up at me with big sympathize eyes. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman.”

“She was,” my heart feels like its tightening into a knot.

“When was the last time you saw The Phantom of the Opera?”

I exhale deeply, “That day. I’ve only seen it once. My mother didn’t risk another beatdown. I almost wished she did. That sounds horrible I know, but you should’ve seen how happy she was sitting in the balcony of the theater and watching them perform. She was genuinely happy and I wanted to see her like that all the time,” my eyes start to sting.

“I’ve never seen The Phantom of the Opera,” Arabella changes the subject off my mother as if knowing I was on the verge of crying or breaking down. “I would love to see it.”

“I would love to see it with you.”

“It’s a date,” she laughs. “Now we just need tickets and permission from the Boss,” she makes light of the situation.

I pull her close in a hug and kiss the crown of her head. “I doubt Lazzaro would allow anything. I’m already in the doghouse with him, one wrong move and he’ll kick my ass back to Chicago where Antonio will murder me.”

“Antonio wouldn’t kill you,” Arabella props herself up on her elbow.

“Oh, he would so. He called me earlier to tell me. I have to be on my best behavior.” Realization hits and I roll onto my back and cover my face with my arm. “And I’m already fucking up,” I groan.

“Relax,” Arabella crawls over me. “No one saw me come in and I’ll sneak out when we’re done,” she gives one of her sexy, seductive smirks.

“If anyone heard us or came looking for you…” I trail. “It’s only nine o’clock, there are people awake.”

“Carmelo,” Arabella grabs both of my cheeks and forces me to look at her. “Laz went to spend time with his wife. His son is in bed. My Nonno can’t get out of his room. So, the only people who are roaming these halls are guards, butlers, and maids-although they really shouldn’t be roaming the corridors. So, we’re scotch free.”

“You seductress,” I moan. “Why must you be so tempting?”