Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

Brian and I connected as easily as we had done in the earlier years. It felt to me as though we had not been out of touch all these years. Impulsively, I grabbed his hands and we stood, grinning and speaking. Ria and Piers who had approached warily were thrilled to see him; in particular, Piers who hugged him in abandon.

As I stood with Claude in my arms, listening to Brian speaking in his calm, unaffected manner, I marvelled at his simplicity. I had read about his work online and I had been overwhelmed! He had been hailed all over the world as a man who was doing a lot of work in his field of spreading the message of peace via the teachings of the Buddha. He was also doing a lot for the people who were affected by natural calamities all over the world.

During a lull in the conversation, as we sat sipping tea, he asked,

“Do you know about the Mother’ His tone was sad.

I nodded. The Mother, the chief nun at the monastery when I had been residing there, had passed away peacefully in her sleep a month ago.

Ria was excitedly chattering away, telling him about her new cats and kittens when the sound of a powerful car engine drew closer. I whirled around in astonishment, Claude in my arms. Strangely enough, the baby had gone to Brian’s outstretched arms without a murmur. Now I watched in amazement as Ria hooted and tore across the lawn.

Lucien was back.

Brian smiled slightly and said in his soft, pleasant way,

“Is that your husband, ma chere?’

I smiled, my longing to be held in my husband’s warm embrace warring with the knowledge that he would not be pleased, to say the least, to find an old male friend of mine in His garden when he was returning.

Brian, perceptive as always, shot me a look but he said nothing. Lucien had thrown open the door of the car and stepped out even before the car had come to a halt and his men were beside him, guarding him.

His men were hurrying around and I noticed in horror, that he now had two men who wore their guns openly. They stood around, their faces expressionless but I knew they were alert, protecting The Boss as they called him.

I swallowed as I saw the look of fury on Lucien’s face as his cold grey gaze settled on me and slid to Brian.

He looked enraged. Tired, worn out and older too.

But above all, angry.

Claude began to flail; he had been fascinated by the Mala, the wooden prayer beads which he had found around Brian’s neck, and wanted to go back to Brian.

‘Mon ange,’ murmured Brain, ” He loves you a lot.’

I turned to Brian and beamed at him.

‘I know.’ I said simply.

Then, ‘Excuse me a minute, Brian, ‘I added and taking Claude from his arms, I walked across the lawn to where my husband was standing, glowering, Ria was in his arms, Piers stood beside him, clutching his hand. But his cold eyes were alternating between me and Brian.

And he looked furious enough to kill someone.

***

Lucien

He glared at them.

HIS woman with a man, a stranger?

He had always been aware of the fact that Proserpina and he were like May and December. She was so young and the fact made him want to take her fiercely, violently; to keep her locked away from the world. She was his, only his.

Her smiles, her laughter, were only for him to see, to hear.

But now, she looked so happy, a smile on her wide mouth, her soft body inviting as he hurried toward him, the wide hips moved hypnotizing him, with desire. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back, and it never failed to set his pulses on fire. She was hurrying to him, wide his swaying so invitingly, a laugh on her lips, that beautiful plump mouth which he wanted to claim again…

And his gaze shifted to the keen eyes of the man who stood back, lean and almost diminutive but with an aura of something which he , the Don, could not place his finger on.

Beston had informed him of the visitor and his identity when Gaulle entered the premises of the house. Lucien had nodded curtly, giving his permission. He had been aware of Brian Gaulle; the private investigator who had found Proserpina when she had been living, hiding in Bhutan , had given him the details of the young Frenchman.

At the time, Lucien had seethed with rage when he heard of the young man who had loved Proserpina. He still resented the Frenchman who was looking down at Proserpina with an expression of soft adoration.

They looked so comfortable, so much at ease in each other’s company, the young man and his wife. Seeing the joy on her face, the blood shot up to his head as he watched them. They looked like a couple, both young and happy, he thought and the knowledge stabbed him.

When she saw him, Ria had bounded across the lawn and he automatically scooped her up in his arms, burying his face in her golden hair, inhaling the fragrance of flowers and sunlight and child.

He loved this child, he thought fervently. His firstborn and the one he loved above all.

He kissed her round cheek and murmured,

“Missed your Pappa, eh, pumpkin?’

She giggled as she kissed his cheek, and said,

‘Pappa, your whiskers are prickly.’

Winding her small arms around his neck, she rested her head on his shoulder, looking down in a haughty manner at Piers who stood, holding his free hand.

Then, rearing her head, she frowned. She gazed into his eyes in an interrogative fashion as she queried,

“Pappa, you smell bad.’

Then wrinkling her nose she asked gravely,

“Have you been drinking that bad medicine again?’

He gave a wry smile and thought,

“My little battle-axe.’

He lowered her to the ground, his gaze fixated on his wife who was approaching him, her curvaceous figure swaying. There was a look of uncertainty on her face. A small voice within him asked- was it that she was not happy to see him?

He noticed that she was wearing the clothes he loved best on her, the skirt that rippled as she moved, the blouse that outlined the thrust of her large, full breasts. She had their baby in her arms and was smiling as she said, softly,

“Lucien.’

And then, simply, “I have missed you.’

She lowered Claude to the ground and came to Lucien, unheeding of the baby’s outraged wailing.

His eyes flicked to the man who was standing a short distance away, watching them and he pulled her into his arms without any preamble.

Planting his firm mouth on her soft, willing lips, he kissed her long and hard, thrusting his tongue in, gripping her against his hard body, a hand moving to her soft a*se cheeks and squeezing, in plain view of the world.

She was HIS. And he wanted everyone to know.

The sweet honey of her mouth made his c*ck rear and he held her flush against him, making her aware of his want.

It had been too long; he wanted to take her.

Raising his head, he noted her flushed face and swollen mouth with satisfaction as he growled,

‘Who is that?’NôvelDrama.Org owns all © content.

She laughed, breathlessly. Her hands were on his arms as she said,

“Brian. I mean, Brain Gaulle…’

Before she could go on, he rumbled,

‘The Frenchman from Bhutan who wanted to f*ck you.’ His eyes moved to her face as her expression altered.

She turned pink as she said,

“Lucien, do not…’

Brian Gaulle had come forward.

Stepping closer, he spoke easily, stretching his hand,

“I am Brian Gaulle, an old friend of Proserpina’s.’

With a smile, he went on,’ We knew each other in Bhutan.’

Lucien nodded tersely but he kept his woman’s body pinned to his although he felt her try, ever so gently, to wriggle free.

Gripping the other man’s hand, Lucien shook his hand and then said in his raspy voice,

“I know.’

Brian smiled a faint smile. There was an awkward pause and then he said, in a gentle voice, dipping his head slightly, his eyes smiling as he murmured,

“I think I shall leave.’

As Proserpina began to protest, he said softly,

“Mon Ange, I have to meet someone ‘.

Lucien tensed at the word of endearment.

Brian nodded his head towards Lucien and said, with a smile again,

“Goodbye.’

Looking at Proserpina, he said,

“I will be in touch.’

He bend down and spoke to Piers and Ria, who had crowded around him,

“Take care of your parents, mon petit chou’

Lucien scowled. Chou meant cabbage; he knew that and to hear the familiarity in the man’s endearments was making him livid.

Proserpina shrugged out of her husband’s possessive grip and moving forward, she took Brian’s hands in hers.

“Take care, my dear friend,’ she said softly.

“You too, mon chaton,’ he replied, kissing her cheek gently as he stepped away, a look of regret on his face.

Ria giggled and said in a loud whisper to her father,

‘Unca Brian always called Mumma his kitten.’

She did not see the flash of rage on her father’s face.

Brian continued softly,

“Until we meet next time.’

With a final wave, he moved off and headed back to where his car was parked. Soon, he had disappeared down the drive.

Lucien was standing, his hands on his hips, his eyes on his wife as she turned, a look of sadness on her face.

She brightened as she looked at him and stepping forward, she began,

“Lucien, I…’

But her husband gripped her upper arms. and rumbled,

‘Sad to see him go, eh?’