Fight Me Little Pearl

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

VALENTINO

“ H ere’s your guy,” Vance says, slapping the file on the desk in front of me. “Thomas Dwight. A twenty-seven-year-old bleeding heart, social justice warrior.”

I steeple my fingers in front of me, staring at the small-eared, pasty-faced ridiculous man in the photo before me. Unbelievable! A creature like him has Francesca Barbieri’s heart. Just unbelievable. The longer I look at him, the more my blood boils.

“He attended the same public college that Signora Barone did,” Vance briefs me. “They met on their way to English literature class. He graduated top of his class four years ago, and even though Signora Barone dropped out, they continued to see each other.”

They continued to see each other.

The more Vance talked, the more I hated this Thomas cock-sucking mongrel idiot.

“It looks like they never dated formally,” Vance says, like he can read my thoughts. “He was too afraid of her family to do more than just speak to her in the cafeteria.”

“So, a coward, then?”

“A spineless coward,” Vance agrees.

“What the fuck does a man like him do?”

“He works for a small independent magazine that mostly peddles far-left, Marxist talking points, you know, the free food, housing and education for all fake utopia. But here’s the interesting thing. He’s been secretly sending job applications to many mainstream media publications. Side note; they’ve all rejected him. It seems he desperately wants to work for a mainstream publication, but he’s been lying to all his friends by claiming he would never work for any mainstream publications as they are all corrupt capitalist organizations.”

I smiled.

In the old days, his end would have been swift, but now I have learned to give people rope, enough of it and they will hang themselves right before your eyes. Francesca will find out that good and evil are subjective amorphous things. She hates me because she thinks I’m the devil himself, but her angel of love and light is about to get some rope.

“Do you want me to take him out, Boss?” Vance asks, glancing at his watch. “It’s 10 am here, which means it’s 04:00 pm in New York. Dwight is getting ready to end his afternoon shift. Say the word, and we’ll take him out.”

“Where is my wife?” I look around the living room. I couldn’t sleep after she left, not after all the damn things she said to me, so I’ve been sitting around for the last two hours and she still isn’t back from her outing.

“She went to Mass.”

I look up. “Church?”

“Yes, Sir. There’s a Roman Catholic Church a few minutes from the hotel.”

Good. I like the idea of having a wife who can stay on her knees for long periods. “I want eyes on her at all times.”

“Yes, Boss. Two of our best men are on the job.” Vance nods towards the file, his lips are pressed into a thin line. “Want us to take Dwight out?”

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

I glance at the photo of Thomas again. He’s nothing but a speck of dust in the scheme of things. That’s how inconsequential he is. If I give Vance the word, he’ll be snuffed out like a candle, and no one will miss him.

Well, except my wife. The thought causes the embers of my rage to burst into flames again. I hate being in Paris; there are not enough things to do to let off steam. Usually, I spend my time in Paris gambling or buried between the thighs of beautiful women, but neither thought excites me anymore.

I want Francesca with a passion that surpasses anything I’ve ever felt in my life. My hand slips into the pocket of my pants to touch the gold bracelet. It’s cool to the touch. It’s always cool to the touch, reminding me that this is the only piece of Francesca that is truly mine.

Her heart, like she said, belongs to someone else.

Her body, which should be rightfully mine to fuck as I please, doesn’t belong to me… yet. She’s holding back, and I’m playing a waiting game. I will not touch her until she comes to me, but until then, my body wants no one else’s. How long can I stay this way?

The phone rings, and Vance glances at it before looking back at me. “It’s Marlboro.”

Marlboro is the nickname of the man in charge of my Paris operations. “Ask him what he wants.”

Vance takes the call. “What’s the problem?”

I don’t hear what is said on the other end of the line, but shortly after Vance covers the mouthpiece and addresses me.

“One of Boga’s men got caught in Marlboro’s territory. They’ve taken him in. Since you’re here he is wondering if you want to be around for the interrogation.”

“Tell that pussy I’m on my honeymoon,” I answer with irritation.

To start with, Burim Boga is not a worthy contender for my attention. He is an upstart, a criminal of Turkish-Albanian ancestry who runs a band of low-life thugs. They call themselves The Morettis as if they are Italian, but everyone knows there isn’t a drop of Italian blood in any of them. Boga has no honor amongst the real Italian Mafia families, and the man in Marlboro’s custody is unlikely to be of high rank in the hierarchy of the gang. Men like him will fold like a cheap deckchair after two minutes, and the information he will cough out will be of little use. An interaction like that would leave me disgusted and depressed.

Second, I have no thirst to see men bleed. I never did. But in this business, unmatched violence is the only route to power. There is no other way. It is the only currency understood by all. Only the most violent will snatch the throne. I just did what I had to do to get where I wanted to be. At the very top.

As Vance hangs up, the door swings open, and my bride walks into the suite. My cock instantly swells to attention and I cuss under my breath. She’s wearing a demure high-collared dress that gently hugs her curves and stops at her ankles. Very decent outfit, but she looks like sin in it.

She eyes me haughtily for a fleeting moment before walking into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind her. The rejection is unmistakable.

“Redial Marlboro,” I tell Vance. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

Vance disappears from the room, leaving me alone. I stare at the door Francesca just disappeared into. I pride myself on my razor-sharp focus and control, but it seems as if everything goes to shit the moment Francesca walks into the room. I’m tempted to storm my way into the bedroom I paid for and have my way with her. But only for one second.

No.

She will come to me or I will not have her. I walk out the door and meet Vance and Dutch in the vehicle.