Mafia Aphrodite

  MAFIA APHRODITE

  An erotic novel

  O’NEIL DE NOUX

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2010

  ISBN 9781907726934

  Copyright © O’Neil de Noux 2010

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  For Lydia

  Chapter 1

  Wine or Something Stronger

  STANDING BEHIND HER FATHER’S massive cherry-wood desk, twelve feet by four feet with a marble top imported from northern Italy, Lucy Incanto closed her eyes and tried to think of anything, except her problem. Anything.

  She tried focusing her senses on the open window behind her, smelling the salt water, listening to the sound of the waves outside, the rhythmic roll of the warm gulf water as it lapped against the shore. The sound was gradually overcome by the thundering of her heart, echoing in her ears. The pure sexual excitement rising inside drowned out everything. Her chest rose and fell with each breath as she contemplated what she was about to start.

  Can I do this?

  Her eyes snapped open and she moved closer to the large bay window to look down at the beach, at the people sunning in the sand and playing in the water. Lucy inhaled a deep breath. She’s always loved the smell of salty air and wet sand, scents so familiar they were almost reassuring. She remembered her papa explaining why the water of the Gulf of Mexico at Pass Christian was brown, instead of the pretty blues and greens of the Florida waters.

  She could almost hear his raspy voice, ‘It’s Mississippi River water mixing with salt water in the gulf. This is actually called the Mississippi Sound.’ That was one of the many lessons her papa taught Lucy. She’d stood with her papa on the very beach below, as he waved his arm in a wide circle, explaining how the Incanto family purchased a great deal of this land right after Hurricane Camille ravaged the coast in ’69. Another lesson from Papa.

  Today would be another, one final lesson. From his oxygen tent at Singing River Hospital, Luca “Big Luke” Incanto had issued his last order before slipping into a coma. He’d told his only child, Lucy, and the family consigliere, John “The Guag” Guagliardo, that it was time. As her papa so indelicately put it – she needed a man, someone to head the family business. The family needed a man at the top, even if he was just a figurehead. As she’d left her papa’s hospital room, The Guag gently, but firmly, informed her they’d selected a group of “candidates”.

  Lucy turned from the window to the full-length mirror outside the door of the private bathroom and studied herself again. She’d exchanged her tortoise-shell glasses for contacts, her luxurious dark brown hair hung in waves to her shoulders, pinned up at the temples with barrettes. She leaned closer to check her deep red lipstick and charcoal eyeliner accentuating her dark, Mediterranean-brown eyes. Lucy had classic Italian looks with her mother’s fair, almost pale-white skin. Her full lips, which she disliked as a child, were probably her best feature, perfectly sculptured, her top lip rising to a slight point in the centre.

  The trim, tan business suit, white blouse beneath the jacket, gave her a professional look, too professional for the business she intended this day, so she reached down and began unbuttoning the buttons running up the front of the fitted skirt. She stopped at the button just below her crotch. When she turned, the top of her thigh-high stockings could be seen. Excellent.

  A petite five-three, Lucy didn’t have her mother’s full figure. She was slim, sleek. Over the years, several photographers suggested she go into modelling, a couple hinting she could make a lot of money if she wasn’t afraid to show her body. The photographers quickly apologized after learning her father was Big Luke, saying they were mistaken. One even left town, voluntarily.

  At 23, Lucy wished she was more experienced with men. The desire was there, no doubt, but men were such … dolts. She would have had more experience, if the men who’d dated her hadn’t found out her identity. Even at Dartmouth, especially at Dartmouth, as soon as they found out who she was, she was treated like a porcelain doll.

  ‘Can’t put it off any longer,’ she said as she moved back to the desk, sitting in the captain’s chair. A deep breath later, she leaned forward and pushed the intercom button and said, ‘Send in Mr Perito.’

  There. I’ve done it.

  Leaning back, she tried too keep from squeezing the chair’s arms as the carved, oak door popped open. With a confident stride, Joseph “Little Joe” Perito stepped in, wearing a dark blue Armani suit, black hair slicked back, face freshly-shaved. Although six-three, he was Little Joe because his father, who topped off at five-five had been “Big Joe” since he’d taken over the family after the sudden demise of the former Don, a good five years before Little Joe was born.

  Stopping in front of the desk, Joe planted his fists against his sides as if posing to show off his linebacker physique. He smiled, narrowing his green eyes and said, ‘We met at your ninth birthday party. You sprayed me with Silly String and I accidentally tore your dress.’ The smile warmed and he lost the cockiness, letting his arms fall by his side. ‘Glad you invited me.’

  Lucy tried to keep her face expressionless, even with her heart pounding in her ears, and stared back into Joe’s green eyes.

  ‘Invited you? To my ninth birthday or here today?’

  ‘Both.’ He was smooth all right, charming and damned good looking. He knew it too.

  Lucy pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Joe sat, leaning back, his gaze still fixed on Lucy. The smile faded and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I have to tell you, Lucy. You are truly beautiful.’ Shrugging, he looked away. ‘Guess all the men tell you that.’

  Lucy waited for him to turn back before asking in a voice husky with emotion, ‘Mr Perito. What is your offer?’

  ‘You come right to the point, don’t you?’ Joe straightened his blood-red tie. ‘Actually, I was hoping we could spend some time getting to know one another.’ The smile was back, but it wasn’t too wide, wasn’t overly confident. Maybe it was the wide eyes.

  Joe Perito was a logical choice, being from so close-by, the son of Giuseppe “Big Joe” Perito, Boss of the New Orleans La Cosa Nostra family. But that wasn’t why Lucy felt goose bumps on her arms as she stared at his green eyes. So damn handsome, but was the shrug, the wide eyes an act? Actually Lucy liked his confidence. If only she had some. She hoped he couldn’t see her nervousness.

  ‘This is a business arrangement, Mr Perito. You’ve flexed your muscles and showed me your smile.’ Lucy put her elbows on the desk, her hands on her cheeks. ‘What business acumen do you bring to your offer?’

  ‘I might be only twenty-seven, but I’ve been a capo for six years. I’m running our interests in tourism – restaurants, hotels, bed-and-breakfasts, and some of our more lucrative operations in … well you know what I mean by lucrative.’

  Lucy’s legs felt rubbery when she suddenly stood and walked around the desk. She moved in front of him and leaned back against the desktop, her ankles crossed so Joe could give her a good look up-and-down. He took in a deeper breath as his gaze moved up her legs, lingering on the tops of her stockings a moment before slowly returning to her eyes.

  Up close, she smelled his cologne, a sweet scent. She waited to see how he’d re-start the conversation. His eyes softened and he
gave her a boyish shrug. ‘You know how to take a boy’s breath away.’

  Lucy Incanto sat up on the desk, still facing him. Even with her knees together, he was certain to get a good view of her lacy white panties. Her heart trembled as his eyes roamed over her, like tiny fingertip dancing across her body.

  ‘I don’t want to be crude,’ he said in a deeper tone. ‘But you’ll never want for ...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m a very, verygood lover.’ The cockiness was back but only for an instant, followed by an adorable half-smile. ‘Can’t believe I just said that.’ He stood and began to pace nervously and Lucy knew it was the power of the panty. She’d learned that years ago. A flash of panty was more than enough to disarm most men, or at least grab their undivided attention.

  Her heart stammering, she decided to go for it, reaching down and pulling up her stockings, one at a time, lifting each knee, pulling the elastic-top stocking all the way up to her panties which were sheer enough to give more than a hint of her bush.

  ‘These stocking tend to slip down.’ She looked at Joe who was staring right at her crotch.

  ‘So,’ she said in a voice surprisingly smooth. ‘How does dinner tonight sound?’

  Joe’s wide smile was back, along with a knowing look in those green eyes.

  As Joe Perito stepped out of the office, The Guag came in. Lucy was at the mirror, buttoning her skirt. In his late fifties, balding and portly, John Guagliardo was a first cousin, on Lucy’s mother’s side. Dapper in a blue double-breasted, out-of-style suit, white shirt and blue tie, the family’s consigliere did a double take as he saw Lucy buttoning her skirt, as if he’d blundered into the middle of something.

  ‘Well,’ he said, taking a seat in the chair Joe had used. ‘What did you think of him?’

  ‘We’re having dinner tonight.’ Lucy returned to the captain’s chair. ‘He seems nice.’

  The Guag smiled. ‘Excellent. I’ll notify the twins. Where are you going?’

  ‘Haven’t decided.’ She had, actually, but The Guag’d find out soon enough. She’d decided she’d bring Mr Joseph Perito to the yacht after dinner, which made her heart race again.

  Someone on the beach screeched. A woman. Sounded like she was being tickled to death.

  The Guag said, ‘We’ll need to go through allthe candidates. Even if you like Perito right off.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We can’t un-invite these men.’

  ‘I know,’ her voice a little deeper.

  The Guag pulled a notepad from a coat pocket. ‘Day after tomorrow we have another Joe. Joseph Cavalcare from Miami.’ He started to get up, sat back down and said, ‘You know how important this is.’

  Lucy did and nodded but she was thinking about what she’d wear, or not wear, that evening.

  ‘You know under your papa’s leadership we’re 90 per cent legitimate. We own enough land, enough business interests, to sit back and let it all collect. Only we can’t. Sit back, that is. We have to keep building or the other families will overpower us. Nature of this Sicilian beast of ours. That’s why we need a business brain at the top of the family. Also, someone people will respect and fear a little.’

  Yeah. Not a woman. Right, I know.

  ‘Your Uncle Leo is a good underboss and he’ll keep things together, but he’s the reason we’re not a 100 per cent legit.’ Leo was also 15 years older than her papa and not in the best of health.

  Lucy couldn’t concentrate on what her cousin was saying. She’d heard it all before, from her papa. Uncle Leo was from the old school, still dabbling in loan-sharking, union control and his favourite … prostitution. High class call girls, primarily, but Lucy knew the family ran several hot sheet establishments along Highway 90. She kept thinking about the way Joe Perito’s eyes lit up when she’d flashed him. Her heart was really stammering.

  The Guag finished his speech, slipping the notebook back into his pocket as he stood. ‘I’m going to see your papa now. Want to ride along?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I’ll go later.’

  The Guag gave her a thumbs-up on his way out. Lucy exhaled loudly and looked at the door as it shut. Beyond it were her day-time bodyguards: The Guag’s men, Louie Something and the short one, Eddie “Big Nose”. Sicilians, both were made men, very reliable.

  She reached for the phone, but hesitated. She needed to call the twins, her night-time bodyguards, but wanted to be sure what to say. The only African-Americans on the payroll, Earl and Cal Duta were Lucy’s age, had attended grammar school with Lucy at St. Rita’s, before she was sent to board at Sacred Heart Academy in New Orleans. Quiet and serious, big for their age, actually huge, no one picked on the Dutas, especially when they were together, which was most of the time. Lucy was the only white girl who talked to them at St. Rita’s. She hadn’t realised that until she grew up and they started working for her papa and told her.

  For men who weren’t made men, and never could be, not being Sicilian, the Dutas were completely trustworthy and took guarding Lucy Incanto with a fierce intensity. At six-four, both were three hundred pounds of mostly muscle.

  She pulled her hand away from the phone and stood. No need to call them. She’d talk to them when they relieved her day guards at six p.m. That would be plenty time before her date with Joe at seven to let them know what to expect tonight. She might get a rise out of them, maybe even an eye-brow lifted.

  Lucy moved back to the window and looked out at the dark gulf. A shrimp boat passed in the distance, nets lifted high as it returned for the day. Two boys on parasails were closer in-shore, with a motor boat puttering beyond them, but closer in than the shrimp boat. She couldn’t identify the woman who’d screeched, but the beach had a couple of dozen people lying on the sand or walking in the surf, some kids in the shallow water of the mid-summer afternoon.

  She narrowed her eyes and tried to envision the sea from her recurring dream, a dream repeated last night. That beach had silver-white sand, so brilliant it hurt her eyes. It was the Aegean Sea, turquoise water lapping to shore, the sea streaked in aquamarine and dark green. She stood naked on the beach, a warm breeze blowing through her long hair, which was blonde in the dream. It wasn’t her and yet it was her. The Aegean and the sand between her toes were from an idyllic Greek isle.

  She said the name aloud, ‘Aphrodite.’ It was the name her papa wanted to call Lucy. He took one look at his infant daughter and wanted to call her Aphrodite. Her mother would have no part of that and Lucy was the compromise name. Surely, her Sicilian papa could not have seen into her soul as an infant. Yet maybe he had.

  Shivering suddenly, Lucy felt, knew, deep down there was a connection. She was very much like Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, goddess of love and desire. Aphrodite’s only thoughts were of love. It had taken all these years to realise the goddess of desire meant Lucy’sdesire, more than the desire of mortal men for a goddess of beauty. And tonight Lucy would face that desire in all its naked glory.

  Lucy read the Aphrodite myths many times. How Zeus brought her to Olympus and Hera demanded she be married off immediately for she was too beautiful and the gods would fight over her. How suitors came offering gifts. Lucy remembered Aphrodite’s solution to the problem. It was as if, at this moment in her life, she felt the feathery touch of that ancient Greek goddess deep in her heart.

  Lucy didn’t believe in heavenly possession, didn’t believe in heavenly interference, but maybe, just maybe, Aphrodite’s answer to her suitors could be Lucy’s. The Incanto family had drawn suitors to their Mount Olympus, the gulf coast of the great state of Mississippi.

  She laughed at herself.

  Joseph Anthony Perito finished shaving and stared into the mirror for a long moment before telling his clean-shaven face, ‘I still don’t believe I’m about to fuck Lucy Incanto.’

  He’d spent the hours since their meeting going over every detail, every inflection of her voice, every nuance of her expressions. Those lips, those eyes, those sleek legs and her pa
nties. She’d played him like a yo-yo. Hopefully she’d spin him like a top, pick him up and spin him again.

  His big brother called and asked how the meeting went. He couldn’t even tell Louie, the family’s underboss, he just might be fucking Lucy Incanto tonight. This was serious business. The joining of two families. Can’t let on his possible future wife may be a fucking hussy. He felt surprisingly nervous. Women had never been a problem for him. Since he was a kid, women doted on him, girls picked on him in kindergarten because they liked him, he knew that now. And when the hormones kicked it, they were drawn to him like moths to a brilliant light.

  Lucy was stone-fucking-gorgeous. And this was her show.

  He climbed into a pair of loose-fitting, off-white linen pants, readjusting his dick in his jockeys so that it pointed straight up for the inevitable erections. The pants were loose enough so it wouldn’t show. An open-collar sea-foam green cotton shirt would accentuate his eyes. A slim gold Bulova with an alligator skin band that perfectly matched his shoes, were the finishing touches. Joe wore no jewellery. Too many of the family back in New Orleans wore thick gold bracelets, rings on too many fingers, earrings in the left ear only because in the right was a signal they were gay, and the gaudy gold necklaces with their name cut out in lacy filament. His brother wore a gold nugget chain with “Louie” around his neck like a fucking dog collar.

  Slipping on his black, wrap-round Ray Ban sunglasses, he called to have his car brought around and took the elevator down to the casino, taking his time walking through, automatically checking out the women and some of the men in a well-rehearsed defensive mode. He’d thought the Incantos were silent partners in the Bleu Marine Casino, before accepting his “candidacy” for Lucy Incanto. Recently he learned the Incantos owned none of the Mississippi Casinos, who were completely legitimate, with squeaky-clean owners as a matter of fact. The Incantos owned the land all of the floating Mississippi Casinos rested against. They leased the land through holding companies, made a killing off the leases not only on the casinos, but a great deal of legitimate businesses from Pass Christian to Pascagoula.