Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
New York City, USA.
“Are we sure it’s him?” Mario Vicenti asked, scratching his forehead in tiredness and worry.
Eleanor simply nodded, blowing out smoke into the confinements of her husband’s large home office. It was located on the ground floor of their luxury home, the Vicenti Mansion. The room had a mix of tradition and modernism, as the interior design of the office was very well thought through. It didn’t come as a surprise when the office was finished, as Eleanor had chosen every little piece in it, from the colour of the item to its position, it was her end product. Many people had advised her to enter the interior design profession, to which she politely waved off as she saw it nothing but a hobby. Her ambitions were set way too high to settle for something as trivial as interior designing.
“Do you have to keep fucking smoking every god damn minute?” Mario muttered, feeling the pressure get to him.
Eleanor remained quiet, as she continued to smoke her cigar and observe the man she supposedly loved. Mario really had let go over the years, and his love for cannoli outweighed the need to stay in shape apparently. A healthy and fit body supported a sharp mind. Eleanor was aware of that phrase and kept it mind as she endured murderous workouts at crazy hours over the years. Now in her late forties, she was still a beauty queen, tight and fit. The term Italian beauty was defined by her existence. Beautiful smooth complexion, olive tanned skin, silky black hair and green eyes concluded her prettiness. She had been on the covers of ‘Vogue’ and ‘GQ’ numeral times and was listed in the top ten sexiest women alive coming in third, a rank that led to many angry phone calls, shouting and the result of people getting sacked. She had said it before in several interviews; she was an ice queen and nothing would come in the way of her ambition and goals. She had a vision and every intention of smoothly executing it to the smallest detail.
“That is him, alright.” She said, her face nonchalant as always. “He looks so different.” She stated and couldn’t hide her ping of sadness from revealing.
She glanced at the picture on her husband’s desk. It was a small, black and white A5 photograph. The face was of a handsome young man, but that was all she could decipher from the terrible quality.
Mario was still in shock, but whereas his wife was able to hide her strongest emotion and expressions, he was an open book to be read by anyone. His face was already red, sweat converging on his forehead his hands shaky. He looked at the photograph and fumbled for words. The news that were broken to him and Eleanor fifteen minutes ago was still the elephant in the room and the tension in the room was electric.
“Let’s send Vito.” He finally said.
“To do what?”
Mario sat down, needing his heart rate to slow down significantly if he didn’t want to be victim of a cardiac arrest. “To fucking find more about him. We can’t just buy him a plane ticket and invite him into our home, we need to be careful. This could very well be a fucking trap.”
Eleanor stood up and her silk nightgown hugged around her curvaceous body was being critically eyed down by Mario. She was a knockout and the look on her husband’s face was enough empowerment for the night. She stopped across the large mahogany desk where her husband sat behind, bent over and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek, allowing him a lusty opportunity down her nightgown of her big tits.
“That was the smartest thing you said all day.” She corrected her stance and began walking away. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Eleanor didn’t just leave the room, she made a statement by swaying her hips playfully and treating her husband a little for his clever thinking tonight.
But for them, that was where it stopped. The couple hadn’t slept in the same bed, or the same room, for almost a decade now, since Eleanor found Mario cheating on him with some Russian prostitute he found in their own brothel that they were running. Things changed then. They decided to not get a divorce. If they did, then it would give plenty of options for their rivalling families to take action and seize what belonged to them, and that would mean the end of the family Vicenti. So they stayed living together and began tolerating each other. It was easy for the two, as years of marriage allowed them to become friends and partners. This type of marriage also came with benefits. Both Mario and Eleanor were free to see and fuck whomever they wanted, the only rule was to be discreet in order to keep the house and family in order. Leaders in crumbles meant a family in crumbles, and they both agreed to the need of retaining the infamous name of the Vicenti’s.
“What are you still doing up darling?” Eleanor asked as she entered the kitchen for a glass of water.
Twenty-year-old Vanessa glanced up from her Tort Textbook and smiled at her mother. “Studying for an exam.” She said as she eyed down her mother’s choice of clothing.
“Want pendik escort me to make one of those infamous hot chocolates?” Eleanor offered in a seducing tone, glancing knowingly at her daughter who always craved her Italian version of the beverage.
“If you’re offering.” Vanessa playfully giggled, not denying her obvious craving.
“How’s your husband?” As soon as the words left her mouth and formed the question, Eleanor regretted it.
Vanessa looked down at her textbook, a look of sadness washing over the entire aura, and a heavy sigh escaped her.
Eleanor had made the biggest mistake of letting her precious daughter marry a useless douchebag, but it was part of a deal. A peace making to bring the two families together, otherwise there would have been a decade long war with many bodies lost in the battle zone. Instead of war, the families chose the white flags and decided to marry their children; Vanessa from the Family Vicenti and the oldest son of the Family Moretti, Vincent.
Eleanor quickly changed the conversation, and with it attempted to change the mood. “How are you doing with college?”
Vanessa sighed, no chance of studying anymore with the presence of her mother and hence retorted to turning around from the kitchen aisle and continuing their conversation.
“It’s alright, definitely more fun than high school.”
Eleanor smiled proudly at her daughter. Only twenty-two and she was about to graduate from law school at Columbia. Mario and her had Vanessa tested at a young age as her primary school teachers kept complaining about her lack of concentration and terrible performance in tests. It turned out that Vanessa’s IQ was much higher than average, which led to her skipping a few grades.
“Enjoy it sweetheart, because after college, life will hit you really hard and responsibilities begin to exist from thin air.”
“You’re making it sound like a terrible and slow death.” Vanessa laughed at her mother’s pessimistic view.
“Trust me, you’re going to want to work for me.”
Vanessa scowled in playfulness. “Mother, I have literally no idea about anything of the lingerie business, I still don’t know how to buy a bra that fits.”
Her mother couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “You don’t need to know anything about the products, just about business and that you got plenty from me.” Eleanor placed the warm cup of hot chocolate, topped up with cinnamon and four marshmallows, and kissed her daughter softly on the top of her head. “Now study, we can’t have the future of our family at risk because you failed your bloody tort exam.”
Vanessa took offense and slapped her mother on the butt, who howled loudly and gave her daughter a deathly stare. “Watch it miss, I can be lethal.”
“Lethal my ass.”
“At least I know how to buy a bra.” Eleanor quickly ran from the kitchen before her daughter decided to throw the freshly made cup of hot chocolate after her.
“This woman, Jesus.” Vanessa muttered, as she turned her attention back to the text book and pages of case law.
Tony Marinetti slowly smoked his Marlboro red, illicitly enjoying the smoke escaping from his lips that briefly blocked his vision of the beautiful scenery of the labyrinth garden. The balcony was his favourite morning and night spot, perfect at sunrise or in the middle of the quiet night. It was the place he sought at times when he found himself to be in deep thoughts, in a problematic dilemma or to just unwind beneath all the stress and pressure.
Behind his muscular frame spanned a villa across 18,000 square feet and located in the north east of London. It was completely detached from all nearby buildings and properties, a five-meter fence ensuring privacy from speculating by-passers. Above everything he was fond of – money, power and influence – privacy topped them all. Tony Marinetti was a man comfortable in the dark and operating from the shadows. A virtual ghost. He was non-existent to the public and government, remaining unknown. But for the people that mattered – rivalling families and gangs – and the word on the street, his name was one to be feared. To get in trouble with the great Tony Marinetti was deathly, and anyone who was unfortunate to end in such a situation had a better chance of a peaceful death by committing suicide. At only twenty-six years of age, he was a prodigy of the game, a criminal mastermind and the true napoleon of crime. His organisation run and ruled the game in Europe; from narcotics to money-laundering schemes of billions on international level. Tony lead it all, and was the youngest billionaire in history.
He smoothly put the cigarette out in the ashtray, fuming out the last smoke and going back inside his luxury home. Despite his vast wealth and assets, Tony was a simple man and enjoyed the small things in life, like the cup of black coffee in the mornings ground using the finest roasted beans from Italy with a glass of kartal escort orange juice on the side and the warming morning sun hitting his olive skin, Cavatina playing in the background and bringing joy to his ears. He was not a fan of wild parties or events where wealthy people showed off and competed against each other like a game of kill. He found happiness in his own company, and that was what made him scary, as he had no need for the acceptance of the society except his own beliefs and justifications. To not rely on anyone and only his own ability, that was what essentially led to his vast success.
“It’s time for you to go.” Tony said, as he sipped on a double espresso and eyeing down his choice for the companion of the past night.
She was pretty, but blond. He didn’t know why, but for some reason he was only ever attracted to brunettes, which made these nightly hook-ups more convenient for him, as he felt no need for his guest to stay over. He was a man with needs and high demand, but still a businessman with immense responsibility, hence had no time for a relationship or “love”. It made the procedures swift and formal, as formal as it could get.
He reminisced, remembering little snippets from last night of them in various positions. He was a demon on the loose seeking only his own satisfaction and somehow that worked for the woman he was bedding, as she reached her climax mere seconds prior to his. He showed no mercy, fucking her hard from behind with her bubbly ass presentable to him and her head between the soft pillows. He felt a burning sensation along his large back, and thought of how hard she scratched him as he fucked her in missionary, her legs completely locked around his and drawing him further into her pussy, as if needing more of him and his perfectly shaped cock.
The blonde hadn’t moved an inch at his command and he quickly became irritated, taking a step closer to the king sized bed and clearing his throat loudly.
“Hey, did you hear me?” He took a closer step at her lack of response and came several inches close to her.
That was when the blond acquaintance moved in lightning speed and bolted towards Tony, jumping onto him from the front, locking her legs around his waist and mashing her tits against his hard chest.
She spoke slowly and seductively. “Why don’t we pick up where we left things last night.” She licked the side of his face and gave his soft cheek a wet kiss, inhaling his masculine scent and felt the needs of her pussy growing, a pool of juices flowing from it already.
Tony smirked wickedly. In one swift movement he unlocked her legs and arms and could’ve dropped her on the bed to minimise injuries, but decided for the hardwood floor instead. She’ll learn, he thought as he saw her face change from horny to scared and then shocked when she made contact with the floor.
“I hate repeating myself.” He began in a low tone, which made the blonde glance up at him.
What she saw wasn’t humane, but instead a completely dark aura surrounding the Greek god. His green eyes were piercing holes into her body, his presence in this state made her heart rate increase drastically and she began ventilating. That was the moment when she knew she fucked up.
Tony could firmly smell the fear off her and leaned down, inching closer to her face. “So if you want to keep doing this, I suggest you listen to every fucking word of mine and behave, capisce?”
The poor blonde nodded so fast, she almost head-butted Tony and that would have turned the day bloody.
“Very well.” He gave her a brief kiss on the lips and corrected his form, standing tall at six foot four. “Let’s get your things and I’ll escort you to the door, shall we?”
From then on, it was a smooth ride. The blonde was acting either from fear or was absolutely smitten, as she efficiently gathered her belongings – which weren’t much – from his master bedroom and slipped her panties, then her silky silver dress, back on, hiding her large and pointy nipples on her big tits.
“I’ll contact you.” Tony simply said, not bothering to look the blonde in the eye as he slammed the door shut after her.
He headed to the kitchen, his mind on the breakfast feast he will enjoy. His chef, Emily Van Woven was a renowned chef, having worked and lead famous restaurants in London and Paris, releasing commercially successful cook books and even landing her own TV show, she was famous for her cooking specialties. Now at the age of fifty-five, she was content in slowing down and enjoying the more simplicities that life offered, much like Tony. That was how they connected and eventually led to her accepting the more than generous salary that came with this job position as his private chef. Cooking his meals was a piece of cake compared to her marvellous masterpieces. Besides, having a fond relationship with someone like Tony – who despite his secrecy had a lot of influence and authority – had its advantages.
“Another one of your time wasters?” maltepe escort
Tony winced at the harshness of the term, but smiled wickedly at his chef, who had more in common with a motherly figure than his private cook.
“I have needs.” He casually said, shrugging his shoulders and peeking over Emily’s shoulders. “It’s how it keeps me focused.
Emily scuffed. “If you had a special someone in your life, she would help you keep your eyes on where they should be, and your Johnson tucked away where it should stay.”
A deep laughter echoed through the kitchen and somehow made Emily flustered.
“I am not in the business of –” He stopped to for a few seconds, careful of his word choice. “Of trivial emotions.” He could see Emily rolling her eyes and ignored it, as somehow he had a soft spot for her.
“When’s breakfast ready?” He asked, trying to change the subject.
“30 minutes.” She replied. “Now get out of my kitchen and let me do what I do best, unless you want an overly-burnt breakfast ready in an hour?” She questioned with a knife pointing at his throat and daring him to cross her.
Tony put his hands up playfully and retreated slowly, his eyes holding her gaze. “As you wish, mademoiselle.”
He went back up to the master bedroom. He stretched for a few minutes, his powerful muscles contracting and stretching soothingly, and then dropped face down, doing push ups. After having accomplished his morning goal of 500, he took a minute rest, and then started on his crunches. That was when he felt the sweat forming and he pushed harder as he felt his abs tightening.
The ice cold shower was heaven as the cold stream washed away the worked up sweat on his body. He stood under the stream for several minutes, not moving or talking, just existing. In this still state, he had a complete shut down of body, mind and soul. Every morning he would carry this out and begin his day accordingly. This was his daily therapy or yoga, to keep his mind sharp and stress minimum. After all, he was a man of power, vast wealth and assets, influence but more importantly, a targeting leader.
New York City, USA.
“I will make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
Vanessa sighed, not believing the bullshit she was hearing. She loved the movie, but the image it portrayed of a true Mafia family was rubbish, and how they conducted business and the following procedures weren’t accurate either. Nevertheless, it was a masterpiece and one of her favourite movies. She could tolerate the few cringe moments for the satisfying feeling in the end.
Suddenly her phone rang, leaping her out of the zoom she found herself in. She grunted disappointedly, paused the movie and picked up the phone without looking at her caller ID.
“Yeah?” She answered, the annoyance clear in her tone.
“Hey babe.” The voice on the other line began.
Vanessa’s attention piqued, her eyes widened for a few seconds before she retrieved her composure and cool.
“Hello Vincent.” Her voice monotone, her face dropping.
She heard his masculine laugh on the line and couldn’t help her cheeks from warming up. He had this effect on her, made her squirm however and whenever he wanted. He played her by the chord and even if she never would admit it, loved it every second. It was toxic, but she was addicted, like all the good things in life.
“Can I not call my favourite girl.”
Vanessa’s face dropped. ‘Favourite girl’, it implied there were others and the thought clenched her fists hard enough for her perfect nude nails to break. Without saying anything further, she hung up the call and got up from her bed. She wore only panties and a bra and stepped into her walk-in wardrobe, unclasping her bra, dropping it to the floor and releasing her natural 32DD tits into the open, the cool air hardening her nipples and giving her Goosebumps. She slipped on a sports-bra, a tank top and leggings, then put on some running shoes. But she wasn’t going to go for a run. Vanessa Vicenti had something else in mind that caused her lips to break out into a huge grin.
Ten minutes later, Vanessa was firing a sleek gun at the target, the protective ear guards fitted around her head and goggles to stop anything from entering her gorgeous blue eyes. She kept shooting accurately at the head, chest and groin of the target. Over and over again, until her clip finished. She efficiently dropped it, reloaded and continued her attack on the poster until it was covered in holes, her precision admirable to anyone watching.
She pulled the lever and the poster glided to her. She removed it and hang up a new one, ready for the tenth round.
Vanessa was thankful for her parents, to show her the guns at a young age and teaching her the right path. She wasn’t innocent, not in the slightest, and very well aware of everything going on. She knew her family was different in a way most wouldn’t comprehend. The Vicenti family was the biggest Mafia present in New York City, and sharing the top spot for nationally with the once rival Amani Family, until the peace proposition of 08 happened. Ten years of collusion, sharing resources and connections allowed the Italians to reshuffle an entire country, pooling in profits from every direction, giving incredible wealth to both families.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32