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Using cunning and cash, I solidify my infallible position of power within the city in a different way that achieves the same purpose that force and violence would, except without all the bloodshed and revenge debts. For months I work on fortifying my business dealings and restaurants, while at the same time buying off entire precincts of law enforcement and lining the pockets of some of the most powerfulcaposin the surrounding boroughs. I keep Lara well-protected during her pregnancy and not only rebuild and expand my crew but also build good relationships with other respectedborgatethat have a far reach in the city just as I do.
Well…almost all theborgate. After Malacoda Giotti put Lara at risk by sending her on the foolish mission to return to her father’s house, I vowed never to partner with him again. My decision put a strain on Malacoda since he had always had his sights set on claiming the highest seat among the crime families. He became increasingly bitter and began to mistreat his wife and children, opting to spend time with his mistresses instead. My heart went out to his children Arcangelo and Velia, as I thought about Loreto and Lara’s childhood. I vowed that once Malacoda was no longer thecapo, I would put my full support behind bolstering the Giottiborgata.
By the time Lara is nearing the end of her pregnancy, I’m essentially running all of Hell’s Kitchen. Without the biker gang, Roman Gunther has run off somewhere with his tail between his legs, and with Valentino Ricci dead there are no longer any formidable threats. Aside from the regular small run-ins with the cops who aren’t on my payroll, and a few attempted hits by shmucks who think they’re big fish in a small pond but fail to see they’re simply the chum floating around in the water. All is quiet and under control. And that affords me the luxury of taking a night off.
“I’m glad we got to go out on a date tonight,” Lara says. She’s been positively glowing for days now. With only a few more weeks remaining in her pregnancy, a rounded belly and breasts that are divinely plump, she looks positively radiant. I know I shouldn’t want to fuck her as bad as I do, but I truly can’t help myself. Thankfully, pregnancy has lit a fire under her sexual appetite too, and we’ve both been simply carnivorous in bed. We give each other the look and I follow her to our bed. I carefully undress her, fully enjoying all her new curves. She knows it and rather than blush like she used to in the past, she stands fully naked and unapologetic. I love her newfound confidence which is further bolstered by the fact that she’s in charge of me. It’s more comfortable for her to be on top now with the weight of the baby, so after we strip I stretch out on my back and wait for her to mount me. My cock is hard as steel as she straddles me and I lower her gently onto my length. I reach out and palm her breasts which begin bouncing wildly as she raises her hips up and down. She rides me slowly until she’s stretched herself comfortably around my cock. I know her orgasm is close when she starts to buck wildly, so I reach up and twist her nipples between my fingers as she throws her head back, moaning loudly. Her lips part and as she begins to shudder, I give myself permission to come inside her, knowing my wife is happy and satisfied.
Now that our date night has started off right, I surprise Lara with a dinner reservation at one of our restaurants. “This is nice,” Lara smiles at me over the top of her glass filled with a virgin cocktail, complete with a little cherry adorning the top of the drink stirrer. “Thank you for making the city so safe for us.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a more noble purpose for bolstering myborgata. And what did I tell you? I managed to do mostly all of it without violence, and without stepping on the toes of the other crime families.” Well, all except for Malacoda Giotti.
“Truly impressive,” she nods. I can’t tell if she’s being serious or sarcastic. Sometimes, she’s a master of masking her remarks. “You’ve almost become domesticated.” I cringe at her choice of words until I see a grin grow on her face. She’s kidding. “Let’s talk about baby names,” she says, randomly changing the subject.
“That would be easier if we had found out the sex of the baby,” I say. “I still don’t know why on earth you wouldn’t want to know. We could have the baby’s whole room decorated by now.”
“Because I want it to be a surprise,” she says. “Besides, we can explore unisex names too.”
I cringe at the thought of it. “If our child is a boy then he needs to have a powerful masculine name. And if the baby is a girl, then—”
“If you tell me that she needs to have some weak, flowery name, I’m going to reach right across this table and deck you,” she threatens, half-playfully and half-serious.
“Of course not,” I laugh. “Our daughter would need to have an equally powerful name, maybe something like—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence before our dinner is interrupted by someone I never thought I would see again. Roman stands in the front doorway of the restaurant, shooting a look across the dining room that reeks of payback. “You might have messed with the Hell’s Devils but you can’t keep me down,” he shouts at me, startling the other patrons of the establishment. Instantly my guys are on him and escort him out. But then some other people appear at his flanks.
“The Irish Mob,” I say beneath my breath as I motion for my soldiers to stand down. Normally I would tell them to strike first and kill them all, but there are innocent people in this restaurant, includingmy wife and our unborn child. “What are you doing here, Roman?” I ask as I stand up from the table. “Have you crawled out of whatever woodwork you were hiding in like the rat that you are, in the misguided hope of some delusional vengeance? You won’t find that here. I run Hell’s Kitchen now and you’re in my neck of the woods. You can bring a few micks with you, but that doesn’t meet my advantage. Get out of here before I have you carried out in a body bag.”
I’m confident there’s nothing Roman can do here except make an ass of himself, but I’m wrong. A devious smile grows on his face, and before it stretches to the full extent of his cheeks, the power is knocked out in my restaurant. It takes only seconds for the emergency back-up lighting to kick in, but by that time it’s too late. The doors to the restaurant are closed and Roman and his buddies are gone. “Get him,” I direct my men at the door. But when they go to open it, the door has been bolted closed from the outside.
“Smoke!” one of the waitresses screams as she points below the kitchen door. Sure enough, smoke is pouring in from not only the kitchen but corners of the dining room as well. Next comes the sound of small explosions as handmade bombs ignite and the place starts to go up in flames. Roman has found new allies—stragglers from the Irish Mob that had once been defeated by the Giotticapo. They don’t dare attack Malacoda again, but apparently Roman has persuaded them that I’m acapoto be trifled with. I suppose they benefit from seeing a new biker gang emerge in the city that might challenge some of the mafia crime families’ power. Little do those dumbfucks know that Roman is simply playing them. He’s a coward himself.
But coward or not, he’s executed a plan. And now some of my men, the waitstaff, and my pregnant wife and I are all trapped inside this restaurant that Roman intends to light on fire. All the doors are bolted and barricaded from the outside, and the windows are covered in decorative iron bars that are meant to keep threats out,not trap us inside.
Instantly, I go into a frenzied and feral mode to save Lara and our unborn child, searching all possible ways of escape, even including the trash chute. But it doesn’t look good as this place starts to go up in flames.
25
LARA
I’ve never seen anything like it before. I knew that Christian was strong. I’ve seen lots of strong men in my life. But what he does now is nothing short of heroic. He uses herculean strength to break through a wood bolt thrown across the back door of the restaurant. He carries me out and sets me down on the sidewalk before turning to go back into the restaurant. “What are you doing?” I scream at him. “You can’t go back in there!”
“I have to save my staff,” he says. “I can’t let them burn.” I reach for him to stop him from going back into the building, but he’s gone before I can grab him.
The smoke that I inhaled makes me choke, but the reason I struggle to breathe is because I’m terrified of Christian running into a burning building. I stand there in the dark alley alone, not even fully contemplating that if Roman and his goons knew I was back here, they would come and kill me on the spot. Thankfully, they think everyone is still locked inside the burning building. But as I stand there trying to catch my breath, I become increasingly aware that something’s wrong. I’m not supposed to have this baby yet for another six weeks, but pain shoots through my stomach and something wet trickles down my leg. The chaos of this attack has jarred me into an early labor.
“Christian!” I scream as loudly as I can. But the sound of the burning building and the sound of firetruck sirens now racing to the scene drown out my voice. I try to scream again but no words come out, only the agonizing groan of pain that shoots through my abdomen and nearly causes me to pass out. Right when things start to spin, I see Matteo run up from around a corner. “Lara?” he asks in confusion.
“Matteo, please, he needs your help.” I see the ground coming closer to my face, but I black out before I hit it.
In my unconscious state, I dream about my daughter. A little girl, all grown up and living in some suburban neighborhood in upstate New York. It’s well-removed from the city life, in one of those little towns that are surrounded by apple orchards, and everyone wears duck boots when it rains and shops with coupons. She has a husband who wears khaki pants and listens to jazz, and lives in a pretty house with an inground pool and a basketball hoop. On the surface, everything looks peaceful and content.
I walk through my dream as if I’m her shadow, instinctively knowing that this is my daughter and that this is her life. I don’t know if this is a vision or a concussed delusion, but I pay attention to it just the same. When I see my daughter and the look in her eyes, I see she has the same sort of fire inside of her heart that Christian does, and that she’s absolutely miserable living such a mundane life. She looks as if she wants to jam needles in her eyes just to avoid watching one more soccer match, or listen to one more violin concert, or attend one more PTA meeting.
Before there’s any real resolution to my dream, I wake up. My eyelids feel heavy and when I try and sit up and move my arms, everything else feels heavy too, as if I’m fighting against gravity. I take a minute to look around and try to get my bearings, and then realize I’m in a hospital room. I look over and see Christian asleep in a chair at the corner of the room and am relieved beyond measure that he’s okay. He’s wearing the same clothes from our dinner, which are covered in a sooty ash from all the smoke, but he doesn’t look burned or otherwise harmed. Next to him on the table is an oxygen mask which the medics probably gave him. Knowing how stubborn Christian is, he probably refused any treatment at all. He looks haggard and exhausted, but I’ve seen him beat up before and I know he’ll recover. At least I know he’s alive. And for the record, so am I.
I wait for the sensation of being weighted down and sluggish to pass after a few minutes, and then I try to sit up again. There are tubes filtering into an IV in my arm and a whole mess of monitors attached to wires. If I were to guess, I imagine Matteo and the rest of theborgatawere arriving just as I passed out. That would explain how they would’ve been able to help Christian before he got himself killed, and also bring me here to the hospital.
It dawns on me that I’m not in pain anymore, which is a relief since it was horrendous. I reach down to put my hand on my stomach, wanting to reassure the little baby inside that everything is okay now, but when I do, I am horrified when my stomach feels half the size that it should be. I look down in shock and a quickly climbing despair as I see that I’m no longer pregnant.
