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I end the call with a smile.
Gwen
Bobby is supposed to be home late tonight. I am waiting to eat a late dinner with him. Maria made a lasagna and told me how to reheat it in the oven. She made a salad that is chilling in the refrigerator. All I have to do is add salad dressing. There is a loaf of fresh baked Italian bread cooling on the marble kitchen counter.
I am sitting on one of the outdoor sofas on the patio. I am reading a book on my Kindle. I am wearing a tiny, inappropriate, pink string bikini. My bikini leaves little to the imagination. I want to surprise Bobby. He would never let me wear this bikini in public. He would not approve. I love pushing his buttons. I am hoping after he gives me a wardrobe lecture, we can make love.
My body just aches for his touch. I am looking forward to seeing him. I miss him. I am addicted to the pleasurable orgasms he gives me. I want to fall in bed with him and rub my nude body against his erection. I want his tongue on me. I am soaking wet. I need to stop thinking about him.
My bodyguards are outside the front door of the penthouse guarding me. The sun is going down. I grab my Kindle and my iPhone and move to one of the pearl grey leather couches in the living room. I play music from my iPhone over the blue tooth speakers in the living room. I lay down on the couch. I pull the throw over me. I close my eyes. I drift off.
Later that night…
A strange sound awakens me. The living room is dark except for the lights of downtown Chicago shining through the windows. I feel a gloved hand over my mouth. Another gloved hand is holding a knife in my face. I look up and the gloved hands belonged to a tall, masked man. He is dressed in all black. I can smell his aftershave. I hear men walking around the penthouse. They whisper in a foreign language. Russian. I remember Bobby telling me he was having issues with Russian business associates. He lied – not associates, criminals. I do not move. I am terrified.
“Don’t scream Printsessa.” The Russian with the knife whispers in my ear.
He takes his gloved hand away from my mouth. The knife is still in my face. He pulls off his ski mask. He is thin but muscular. Young and handsome. He wears his blonde hair short. He does not look like a criminal. He looks like he attends an Ivy League University. He looks familiar. I remember he was standing with the Evie Bliss, and two other men, at the charity ball. He had been staring at me while I danced with Bobby.
“No one can help you, Gwen. Your bodyguards are dead. Where is your husband?”
He smiles with perfect white teeth. His eyes rake over my bikini-clad body. I feel naked.
“Working.” I whisper.
Relief floods me – Bobby isn’t home yet. The Russians are here to kill him.
“That is too bad for you Printsessa. You will have to come in his place.”
I stay calm. I try not to panic. I know that Bobby will come for me. He will rescue me from the Russians just as he had rescued me from the Razors. I am his and that he won’t let anything happen to me. Bobby will move heaven and earth to find me.
Christov holds a cloth over my face. The cloth smells medicinal. I struggle. He clamps his gloved hand down harder on the cloth. I need air. I breathe in. I feel light-headed.
“That’s a good girl, Printsessa. Just relax and go to sleep.”
Bobby
Meeting over. Lasted the whole fucking night.
My father decided to stay in New York for another day or two. I fly home alone with my bodyguards on the Fielding jet. I have a martini in my hand. I am too stoked to sleep.
We met with the four families for hours and came to an agreement.
The agreement? New York sanctioned a war with the Chicago Russian Bratva – we can take out the Antonovich Brothers. Adan Bellantoni will be dealt with by the four families – which means he will disappear. Paul Jr. will divorce Gia Bellantoni. She will return to New York to her family, but she will be ostracized – ruined – never be able to marry again. As consolation for his wife betraying him, Paul Jr. will become a capo of the Chicago Outfit. We will both be Capos of the Outfit. He will run the illegal businesses and schemes. I will run all the legitimate businesses.
As everything else in life, it always comes down to money. New York wanted a controlling interest, including a healthy percentage of profits, from the Outfit’s most successful casinos in Vegas. No way. I offered to give up all the Outfit’s profits from my pizza/heroin scheme that New York now runs. They agreed. Fine with me. Let them deal with the Feds. Happy to be completely out of it. I am not worried about money. The Outfit is making a ton of cash from internet gambling. When we put the Antonovich brothers out of business, people will have to come to the Outfit for illegal loans – also a money maker.
Turns out the mob families of New York do not want the Antonovich brothers running Chicago in place of me - better the devil you know than the devil you don't know.
Sico Signor asked my father if a marriage can now be arranged between Paul Jr., and one of his daughters. My father told Sico that will be Paul Jr.’s decision. I doubt Paul Jr. will ever remarry.
When I get home, I need to call a meeting with all the bosses in the Outfit to announce war with the Antonovich brothers. But first I am going to see my wife.
Gwen
When I come to. I am bound to a hard chair in an office. My wrists and ankles ache from being zip tied to the arms and legs of the chair. I can’t speak. There is a cloth in my mouth. I can hear loud music. I have a headache. I feel nauseated.
The office is garish – red velvet wallpaper and black leather furniture – the place screams “strip club”. There are a half a dozen Russian men in the office. An older Russian man sits behind a large metal desk. A man that looks like he could be his brother is standing next to him. I recall both of the men from the Charity Ball. All the men wear black from head to toe. They all have guns and knives strapped to their bodies. Everyone is looking at me and speaking in Russian.
