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1
AMELIA VOLINI
The assassin says nothing. He never does. Just stands there quiet like a monk in a monastery, silent like a tree in a nameless forest.
His name is Zedd. No way that’s his real name, but it’s what Father calls him. As for the rest of the Family . . . well, nobody calls him anything. See, Zedd occupies this strange position in the Volini Family. He’s got direct access to Father. One of just two men in the vast hierarchy of our crime family with whom Father talks business directly.
“Zedd is an insurance policy, a backup plan in case your father needs to putmedown someday,” Carlo Giani, Father’sconsiglieriand the only other man trusted with direct orders from the great Anthony Volini had grumbled to me one morning three years ago, shortly after I’d returned from my private schooling in Italy, when Zedd was alone with Father, leaving Carlo to pace the Italian marble floors outside the closed oakwood doors of Father’s fortress of an office. “See, every mafia family uses the trustedconsiglierito pass on orders to the captains and soldiers. That way nobody lower down the ranks can testify that Anthony Volini ordered them to do a damn thing. But the flip side is that theconsiglieriknows enough to put away the Godfather for a hundred years. So your father maintains this one other direct connection to make sure I don’t get any treacherous backstabbing ideas. Hell, right now your father could be giving Zedd the order to cut my balls off and feed me to the gators on the edge of the estate.”
“Why would Father have your balls cut off before throwing you to the gators? Don’t they like to eat testicles?” I’d peered up with a flash of sweet wickedness when Carlo had grinned nervously at me as I sat there on the sprawling balcony outside Father’s office, pretending to read a book bigger than my boobs, peeking up now and again to see if Zedd had emerged from his monthly private meeting with Father.
Zedd always showed up on the thirteenth day of every month, and I made sure I was preened and perfect just in case this was the day Zedd looked my way, maybe even talked to me.
Carlo had gulped at my comment, then rubbed his savage mouth and shaken his balding head, muttering something in Italian under his breath before snatching up his phone which buzzed nonstop every moment of every day. He put the phone to his ear, talking in muffled tones to one of the captains, pushing through the glass-framed doors to the mansion and disappearing into his own office adjoining Father’s.
I’d giggled and then adjusted the blue velvet cushion in the white-painted wicker chair, positioning myself at just the right angle for Zedd to see me when he emerged from Father’s office. I always scheduled a tennis lesson on the thirteenth of the month, right after Zedd’s meeting. That way I had an excuse to wear my white tennis skirt and a black top cut low enough to show my cleavage without making it obvious that I wanted to display aforementioned cleavage. The angle of my chair was set up for me to plop my tennis-shoed feet on a wicker footstool, showing off the pronounced curves of my thighs beneath that white skirt. Then I’d pretend to look down into the open book on my lap, my heart hammering like an excited rabbit beneath my boobs as I waited for Zedd to emerge.
Of course, that day—like every other day—Zedd had stridden past the glass balcony doors without so much as a sideways glance in my curvy direction. My heart had sunk a little, but it wasn’t like I actually expected him to approach me. He never spoke to anyone except Father. This was just a dumb game I played with myself. It was just a silly girl’s infatuation for a silent beast with a gladiator’s physique and a monk’s mystique.
“Nobody’s ever seen Zedd with a woman,” I’d heard the maids whispering one night when I snuck into the kitchen to steal a slice oftiramisufrom one of the six fridges. The maids and kitchen staff were out on the service porch in the back, sharing a jug of wine like they always did after the night’s work was done. I’d frozen in place, my toes curling in my socks, my butt tightening beneath my nightshirt. My pussy was still wet from touching myself beneath the covers, eyes closed as I imagined they were Zedd’s fingers sliding through my soft folds, his big thumb pressing down on my little clit, his hot mouth on my quivering lips as I came hard like I always did the night of the thirteenth, with the most recent Zedd sighting clear in my mind. “Some of the soldiers see him eating dinner at Marco’s, but he is always alone. No wedding ring. No girlfriends. None of the soldiers have ever seen him take a whore either.”
“Maybe Zedd does not like pussy,” one of the male cooks had said gruffly, perhaps a hint of envy in his voice at the swoony curiosity of the maids.
“Oh, Zedd most certainlydoeslike pussy,” one of the maids who worked the upstairs bedrooms had slurred. “One in particular, if you ask me. Except that virgin vagina is off limits for anyone without pureblooded Italian mafia pedigree.”
I’d almost dropped the plate on the kitchen tiles as my heart skipped a beat, maybe just straight up stopped beating.
Did she mean . . .me?
“You mean Amelia?” one of the other maids had gasped. “Zedd likesher?How do you know that?”
“Don’t tell anyone this, but I saw Zedd upstairs once, a couple of months ago,” the slurry maid had replied after a hiccup. “The main floor bathrooms were closed for cleaning and Zedd had come up to the second floor to take a leak, I guess. It was the big bathroom in the hallway with the jacuzzi and the sauna behind that dividing wall. I was wiping down the wooden benches in the sauna. He didn’t know I was in there. I was about to call out but stopped when I saw him standing at the window overlooking the tennis courts.”
My heart had almost exploded, the dessert-plate trembling in my hands, my pussy tightening and squeezing out fresh wetness as I listened like my entire life depended on what came next.
“Amelia was having her tennis lesson. That white skirt and black top, everything bouncing and bobbing,” the maid had continued. “Zedd watched her quietly for a while. And then he . . . he unzipped.”
“Ohmygod, did you see it? How big is he?” Gasps and giggles rose up from the bevy of maids and housekeepers. My nipples immediately pebbled, the tips tightening to sharp points, my sex so wet I had to clamp my thighs together to not leave a puddle on the kitchen tiles.
“Did you go out there and offer to help?” teased one of the maids.
“Oh, I’d have been on my knees sucking him if he asked,” groaned the first maid. “But I was petrified. Have you seen the size of Zedd’s hands? He could snap my neck like a chicken’s. If he knew I’d seen him jerking himself off to the boss’s daughter . . . shit, he’s a fuckingassassin,you guys. I just hid in the sauna and prayed for it to be over.”
“I’d have gone out there and helped him out for sure,” declared one of the other maids. “He could keep watching Amelia’s big ass bouncing on the tennis court while he came on my tits, for all I care. I’d be cool with that.”
Cackles broke out from the maids. “I doubt he’d like your mosquito-bite sized boobs,” teased another maid. “After all, Zedd clearly likes some meat on the bone.”
“Keep your voice down or we’ll all get tossed to the damn gators,” cautioned a housekeeper. “And Amelia is an innocent sweetheart. Stop being mean.”
“Nobody’s innocent in this family,” grumbled the other maid. “But you’re right, I guess. Amelia Volini’s about as innocent as it gets in this world. Poor thing. I almost feel sorry for her. She’s just part of the system, born to be nothing but an arranged bride to secure an alliance with one of the other Families.” There’d been a pause while more wine was poured. Glasses clinked. A cigarette was lit. Sips and sighs followed, then the maid continued. “But wait, finish the story about Zedd. So you saw him watching Amelia. Then you saw him unzip. But then you said you hid. So you didn’t actually see him jerking off?”
“Well . . . no,” said the first maid. “But he didn’t take a piss, that’s for sure. Just stood by the window for maybe five minutes. Then I heard him grunt under his breath, let out a stifled groan. Heard him snatch some tissues from the box near the sink, heard him wipe off. Then he stomped over to the toilet and flushed the evidence before washing his hands and heading out the door.”
The first maid sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe you didn’t actually see his cock. What use are you to us?”
“Yeah, what a missed opportunity!” cackled one of the kitchen helpers.
The teasing went on, and soon the conversation moved on to other topics. But my heart and mind stayed fixed on what I’d heard. I’d left the slice oftiramisuon the counter, scurried silently out the kitchen, padded up the back stairs to my room, locked the door and slid back under the cool sheets which got warm very quickly once I lifted my nightshirt and found my pussy slick and hot, my clit stiff and erect, my mind going to places that would most certainly have caused that housekeeper to retract her statement about little Amelia being an innocent sweetheart.
