I don’t know how long she’s been standing there…
All I know is that I like what I see.
I picked this office, high up on the fifth floor of the club, for the opulent floor to ceiling windows that boasts a great view of the powerful Chicago skyline.
Today it graced me with the view of this beauty.
I’ve been gazing at her through the window for the last ten minutes and I definitely like what I see.
The beautiful woman outside my club looks like an angel with her delicate features and ethereal beauty. Or, like she belongs on a shelf display of porcelain dolls.
Her physical presence is exactly that. Angelic and doll-like.
That works perfectly because I’m the devil. People think because I do the books I’m not as ruthless as some of the others in the business. Like I wouldn’t hesitate to pop a bullet between some poor bastard’s eyes.
I’m the devil and I like this beauty who’s been distracting the hell out of me.
Maybe it was the angel’s magical call that lured me to look in the first place and get sucked into the distraction of her.
Although distraction is the last thing I should be thinking about, distraction is exactly what I need right now. It’s food for the soul.
It is food for my soul given my current situation and this angel compels me to take a break from the shit.
Her presence feels like a refuge. Temptation, and as the devil, I’m not known for resisting sin.
Besides, devil or not, who could resist the lure of a beautiful woman? And, fuck damn, one that looks like her.
I can’t imagine any other man would disagree with me if they took a look at the platinum-haired beauty who’d decided it was a good idea to cross paths with me today.
She’s just standing there.
That is all she’s doing.
Standing by the steps leading up to the club’s entrance wearing a black blazer over a little navy summer dress that hugs her perfect frame and accentuates her curves.
It looks like she intended on wearing the blazer to carry a more professional look. I’m not sure if she realizes though that no man with eyes would give a flying fuck as to what she was wearing.
A woman like that could wear a garbage bag and still draw attention to her body for the simple reason that it was made for sin.
Serious sinning. Just the thought hardens my cock.
Why is she just standing there though?
Is she waiting for someone?
I don’t know. Mostly, I’m not sure I care about the why?
What I want is for her to come inside.
Come inside so I can get a better look. Take a good look at those piercing eyes set above her high, exotic cheekbones.
I want to take a better look at her body, and get up close and personal to see if those tits of hers are real. I think they are. I’m usually good at knowing right off the bat but she needs to come closer.
In a club like this you become a quick study with anything like that.
If she comes in here I don’t care who she belongs to. I won’t care if she belongs to Pa himself, with his host of sluts at his beck and call while Ma pretends she’s fucking okay with it. Why? Because Pa’s the boss of the Giordano family and the boss can do whatever he wants.
Not this trip.
I wouldn’t care who this woman belonged to.
She looks completely out of place standing there.
I don’t think she’s been here before. I would remember her and if she was coming here for pleasure, I doubt she’d just be standing there watching. We don’t open for another couple of hours and even then the crowd tends to roll in around nine or ten.
So…I don’t know what would bring her to The Dark Odyssey, but her visit would be most welcome.
A smile inches across my face and I must look like the joker, or some kind of psychotic mad man. Maybe I have finally lost my mind.
Maybe this is it. I’m standing at the window watching a woman I don’t know. I’m planning all the ways I want to devour her, and I’m smiling to myself.
All opposites of what I should be feeling.
I hate that word with a vengeance because it intends to dictate logic and principles. I hate anything like that. It’s against me.
On this occasion though… in my current situation, I’ll let it slide.
What I should be feeling now is fear, and I hate that emotion more than anything.
Two weeks ago Tommy got gunned down at his home. His wife and new born son were upstairs when it happened. He’s my best friend and as close to me as my brothers are.
I think I must have experienced every emotion under the sun as my guys and I searched for the son of a bitch who thought they could get away with doing that.
Anger, sadness, grief, helplessness, the thirst for revenge. All of it took me, as we searched the streets and came up with nothing.
Impossible given who we are and fear is right there in the back of my mind because I could lose Tommy. It actually seems like I might.
He’s been in a coma, and it isn’t looking good. The doctors couldn’t even manage our expectations, other than telling us he could go at any time.
I might just do the books in the business because my brothers and I are good with numbers but saying I want revenge is an understatement.
What I want is blood and heads to roll.
Tommy was the best of us. I’ve known him since we were boys. At five years old we met. Went to school together and worked together. I don’t have a single memory that doesn’t involve him. Since our families are close too, he was always like a brother to me.
His father worked for Pa and handled the alliance between the Rossi family so we could have access to the docks for our shipping company. We take care of it now with Claudius Morientz, the new boss.
The shipping company is where we all work now. The day job. When I’m not at the club. While my brothers and I do the accounts, moving numbers around to make everything look legit, Tommy does the same work his father did in arranging the exports, imports and liaison with our alliances.
He’s a guy you can trust.
He’s the kind of guy you could trust with your money and your life. I don’t know what kind of shit he got into but it wasn’t good. Looked like someone hired a hit on him, just like what happened to Frankie.
That Tommy never told me he might have been in trouble boils my blood. He has a wife and a child who could have gotten caught up in the shit. I’m not a family man. No way. I respect it though. I did with him.
Somehow this feels worse and I’m ashamed to say it gets to me more than when Frankie was killed. Frankie was my eldest brother so I should feel worse for him.
This feels bad because I don’t know who fucking did it.
There are several assholes who want to mess with us but don’t. No run of the mill guy simply messes with a Giordano and those associated with us. The name says it all, for the name and the alliances we have.
Anyone who has the balls it would take to do it is no mere person and that’s a whole worry on its own.
In Frankie’s case, he made the first strike when he killed Stephanou Portello’s wife. We expected the hit on him even though Stephanou’s wife’s death was an accident.
In my world that word doesn’t exist. Accident…
Accidents happen, but when you belong to the world of La Cosa Nostra, accidents are the ink that signs your death certificate.
What happened to Tommy was no damn accident. It was not at all and revenge will be sweet to me.
I’m a Giordano after all.
We deal with things differently.
Revenge courses through me, sweet and irresistible like the lust I feel for this woman outside.
Lust is the counterbalance that equalizes my rage. Maybe it’s strange. It’s how I work though. Probably linked to that same thing that made me set up this club.
Lust makes me want to dirty this angel up with every sin in the book.
Imagine it, the angel and the devil. The angel tied to my bed or on her knees all night.
I hope she comes inside.