Tesorina

▪️Pour Some Sugar On Me▪️

                      {•Half Edited•}
            V  A  L  E  N  T  I  N  O S   P  O V

     "Tieni la tua fottuta bocca chiusa *Keep your  fucking mouth shut,*" I tell Antonella through clenched teeth as she moans like a dying whale. Her hands ball into tight fists above her head, the tight leather cuffs rub against her smooth wrists, reddening her tan skin. The large rose tattoo on her wrist peaks out from under the cuff, the skin raw. Her legs stay wrapped securely around my waist, her black high heels pressing into the dimples of my back.  
    She's a wonderful woman but the abounds she makes us like something from a murder scene. The orginal plan with her three months ago was a simple dinner date with the intentions of fucking her and nothing more. Long story short, we ended up in the hospital that night and kept texting each other afterwards, finding ourselves in a relationship before we knew it was one. All I wanted tonight was to get myself off and kick her out for the night but her head game was worse is like keeping sucked by a dead person. In an attempt to make things more entertaining for myself I chained her up with her arms cuffed to the headboard.
When another moan leaves her mouth, I reach up and clamp my hand down over it to silence her. Her soaking pussy clenches around me as she reaches her second climax. Bored and irritated, I pull out and start unchaining her. She sits up, her body glistening with sweat. Rubbing her wrists, she brings herself onto her knees. I brush my hair back out of my eyes, reaching down for my boxers that got lost on the floor.
"Did you cum?" She asks in confusion. With anyone else I would be honest and tell them how bad of a fuck they were but the last time I did that she only tried "proving me wrong." I choose to ignore her question by putting a pair of sweats on. I grab her phone from the nightstand and set it next to her. Picking it up, her neatly done brows pull together in confusion. "You're kicking me out already?"
"È tardi; Ho ancora degli affari da finire *It's late; I still have some business to finish up*" I tell her. That's not the truth, I just don't want her here with me. She's only good company when she's drunk.
   After my wife died I had no desire of being in another relationship but as said this wasn't intentional. For me, my wife is the only women who'll be able to make me feel again. No matter how many donnaccia's *slut's* I fuck, none of them manage to bring me the high she did or even drown her memory anymore. My right hand, Giancarlo thinks she's good for me and I just need time to heal. It's been three years since my wife and my ten year old were killed in front of me, no time can wash that pain away.
Being the leader of the Italian mafia, Discesa di Dio, I don't want to bring her or any other woman into my world. My wife and I had met in high school, before I got serious with this business and broke away from my father's mafia. Once he got involved with sex trafficking I wanted out in fear of something happening to one of my own girls. My father had always been a crooked worker, allying with whoever he has to regardless of morals to get what he wants.
    When I finally broke off from him and started my own, it was only myself and Carlo who was one of my father's soldier's in training and my best friend. We started by slanging drugs on the streets as starters, our regulars becoming more like employees. Over time we realized we could do more than sell the drugs we were making ourselves at the time. Having in's with family members and friends it wasn't difficult for me to build my own empire with Carlo. Now we're the second ranked mafia in the world.
    "Sei il capo; non puoi prenderti una notte libera? *You're the boss; can't you take one night off?*" she asks. As if a saving grace, someone knocks on the door. Calling for it to open, Giancarlo walks in still dressed in his casual work attire consisting of a white and tie. On second thought if this is my saving grace, I'm gonna be damned. Her bony shoulders slump disappointedly.
    "Mi dispiace interrompere *I'm sorry to interrupt,*" he says. "Possiamo parlare in corridoio *Can we talk out in the hall?*" Maybe I do have work I didn't realize. Pointing to her clothes scattered around the floor I tell her to get dressed so I can call her a ride home on my way out the door. Carlo takes a few steps away from the room to keep out of accidental ear shot of Ant, opening the file he has in his hand. The tip of his pen reflects with the annoying light above above us.
     "Che cos'è? *What is it?*" I ask.
     "Devo sapere a chi devo telefonare la mattina, *I need to know who I need to make calls to in the morning*," he tells me, tapping the paper in the folder with a list of names, some that are new to me. Taking it from his hand, I let it shut and clip the pen to the top.
   "Lo lascio sulla tua scrivania la mattina *I'll leave it on your desk in the morning,*" I tell him, not wanting to deal with it right now. The door opens, Ant coming out looking pissed as hell. Looking up at me, her eyes narrow in an attempt to intimidate me but it only angers me. Placing my hand on her back, I give her a soft smile. Her body relaxes at the sight of it, leaning into my side.
     "Mi vuoi uscire? *Are you going to walk me out?*" She asks, holding my bicep. Nodding, I give Carlo a quick look before leading the way down the long hall until meeting the staircase. Every wall is empty except for the occasional decoration on a shelf but no pictures. When I first moved in with my wife and daughter it was fully decorated the way she envisioned it with family pictures scattered everywhere. Every time we'd walk by a photo she hadn't paid attention to in a way she'd look at it like it was the first, her eyes lighting up with the memory attached to the photograph. "Signori abbastanza da accompagnarmi fino alla porta, ma non abbastanza da farmi passare la notte, *Gentlemen enough to walk me to the door, but not enough to let me stay the night*," she says sarcastically.
    Grabbing the back of her neck, I shove her against the door; she squirms against me and the hard surface, trying to roll her back in pain. "Non mancare di rispetto a me *Don't disrespect me*," I tell her. Looking at me from the corner of her eye, a tear falls.
   "Mi dispiace. Non capisco *I'm sorry. I just don't understand,*" she tells me. I've explained it enough times for her to get it through her head. "Prima avevi una moglie; Non sono abbastanza? *You had a wife before; am I just not good enough?" Whipping her around by her arm she gasps in surprise. Her brown eyes widen when my grip slopes to the front of her throat and tightens.
"Non parli di mia moglie, *You do not speak of my wife,*" I tell her, hair falling in front of my face. Grabbing my wrist, she hugs my arm until I let go. Hunching over, she lets her forehead rest against my chest as she gasps for air. "La mia vita non è sicura; Non ti porterò volontariamente in esso *My life is not safe; I will not voluntarily bring you into it.*"
    "E se potessi gestirlo però? Penso che valga la pena provare a prenderlo sul serio *What if I can handle it though? I think it's worth a try to take this serious.*" She never gives up. Taking her by surprise by taking a step back she stumbles a few steps. I open the door, gesturing her out with my hand. Grabbing her bag up from the table next to the door she walks out, looking up at me with a snarl on the way.
"Sembra una manciata *She seems like a handful,*" I hear Carlo say from close behind me. Brushing my hair back, I let out a deep breath. "Ecco i documenti. Finisci che poi vieni con Mario e io al club *Here are the papers. Finish that up then come with Mario and I to the club.*"
I shake my head. I haven't been down to my club in months. Alfio manages the place for me since I have more important business to attend to during the days. The most I've been involved is signing my name on their paychecks. I bought the club when it was going bankrupt under another man as my first investment and now it's booming with business and a franchise. Strip clubs are usually full of tasteless women and perverted men with no class, in other words, not just scene.
"Non sono dell'umore giusto per questo no, Carlo. Inoltre, non voglio lasciare Gianna qui da sola, *I'm not in the mood for that right now, Carlo. Plus, I don't want to leave Gianna here alone*," I tell him, taking the folder from him. Opening it, a list of numbers is printed on the sheets of paper. "Who'd we speak to last about January's Wilson Gun shipment?" I ask.
"Emiliano Abruzzo. Ha detto che non ne sapeva nulla, sto facendo in modo che alcuni dei ragazzi esaminino ulteriormente quelle persone che sembrano ancora un po 'sospette. Quando è stata l'ultima volta che hai parlato con tuo padre? *He said he didn't know anything about it, I'm having a few of the guys look further into that people it seems a little suspect still. When's the last time you spoke to your father?*" he asks me.
My father is going someone we speak fondly of around here. We went from being partners to wanting to kill each other. After the death of my girls I suspected it was him who was responsible for their deaths, but it all linked back to a man who was a Mexican citizen, supposedly working for a cartel. I decided not to waste my time trying to hunt him down when we failed on our first attempt, nothing was going to change the fact that my wife and daughter were dead.
"Mio padre è un uomo di molte cose ma non è un ladro; lo vede come uno spettacolo di debolezza. Se un uomo non è in grado di provvedere a se stesso, perché avere gli affari è come li vede, *My father is a man of many things but he is no thief; he see's it as a show of weakness. If a man can't supply for himself why have the business at all is the way he sees it,*" I explain.
He and I were somewhat close so I know how he operates; my mother wasn't around and we wanted to make sure that one day I would be able to fill his shoes. It was my sister he ignored and for some reason resented, which led me to hate him. Ever since Gianna was born I had a protective instinct over her, realizing early on our fathers neglect towards her. Our mother passed away a few months after she was born so it became me who was I change of caring for her during the night while he did business and days because I didn't trust the maids or nanny's with her.
"Questa non è una risposta alla mia domanda però, Valentino *That's not an answer to my question though, Valentino,*" he says. Grumbling, I tuck the folder under my arm and cross them.
"Un anno; forse due. Non lo so, cazzo *A year; maybe two. I don't fucking know,*" I answer him. He contacted me in hopes I would interested in working together to share parts in distributing guns. I quickly turned him down telling him I had no interest in his sick business. I see myself as a humble person, someone who does bad things because I know that if I did what the average person did I wouldn't be as satisfied with life and it's all I know, I would never find myself wrapped in his business, especially since he got involved in sex trafficking.
"Bene, ma di nuovo, dovresti venire. Non esci più, dovresti vedere come sta andando il club. Sono passati mesi da quando ci sono stato; Emma non me l'ha permesso. Mi batterò il culo per questo, *Good, but again, you should come. You don't go out anymore, you should see how the club is running. It's been months since I've been there either; Emma hasn't let me. I'm going to get my ass beat for this*," he tells me. Emma, his wife, would have him by his dick with scissors if she knew his plans. He is right, it would be good to see the way things are being ran. I don't want my name being attached to trash.
"Belle. Dammi venti. *Fine. Give me twenty.*"
••••••