Shadows of the Past (SEAL Brotherhood: Shadow Team #1)

Chapter Fourteen

M oira worked on his makeup carefully, meticulously inserting enough eyeliner and shadow, just enough to give him a less-than-Navy-SEAL look. He nearly stopped her at several points, objecting to how much detail she was doing.

“I trust you, Moira. If I don’t like it, I’m going to wash it all off, and you’ll have to just deal.”

“Don’t be silly. It will help. We may have visitors at the gathering.”

“Visitors? Like who?”

She shrugged. “There are always spies. People who just want to know who has a vested interest in our family or the family’s business. Impossible to say.”

“Does anyone there but your family speak fluent English?”

“Oh, I think there will be several. We travel all over the world. You’d be surprised.”

“So what business is it they have here? We know about Francone’s group. Be honest. I need to know.”

“Shipping. They control the ports. They are paid to look the other way sometimes, I think, to help out or make deals. The Don owns merchant ships that sail all throughout the Mediterranean. Not so much elsewhere. They are a relatively small enterprise. But they have a solid hold on Capri.”

“So the big commercial operations will be done from the coast then, Naples, other port cities,” he surmised.

“Yes, that’s right. Those are where the drugs and the human trafficking are done. But they exert some control. The family doesn’t want one of their ships seized, for instance, or held hostage. That used to happen, my mother tells me.”

“But Francone is a cousin of your mother’s?”

She shrugged. “Who knows that story. It was never anything we talked about. But it’s just one of those facts that are known. Everyone in the family knows it.”

She finished, examined him, and smiled. Then she leaned forward and gave him a luscious kiss, purring, “You are so hot, Dimitri. I’m going to be lusting after you all during the party. So unfair,” she said between nibbles.

He brought her over his lap, peeling back the silk robe slowly. The sight of her bare breasts would be what he would be thinking all during the gathering. And what he was going to thoroughly enjoy when he could get all the makeup off.

“Do we have just a little time?” he asked.

She held his head between her cool palms, spreading her thumbs across his cheeks, then fingering his lips. Barely touching hers to his hungry mouth, she said, “Better we crave each other for a few hours. I don’t want to be late. I don’t want to travel at night. Want to get there before and have a few private moments with my family.”

He pinched her nipple.

“Ahh, not fair, my love.”

“Just a little. I’ll just put it in a little.”

She giggled, throwing her head back with that little carefree laugh of hers. Their interludes and lightness of being together softened the tension and the sense of danger all around them. As a way to go, he had to admit, it wasn’t all that bad.

“I don’t want to spoil your makeup, Dimitri.”

“I have an idea.”

He picked her up, carrying her to the bed, where he deposited her. Turning her onto her knees and hands, his eyes roamed her sweet derriere right in front of him. He slipped aside the robe and saw the glory of her body again, and he was overcome.

He climbed up behind her, whispering in her ear how he couldn’t get enough of her. She arched her back, pressing the side of her cheek against him as he spoke dirty things he knew she loved to hear.

And very slowly, he entered her from behind, tiny bits at a time, his shaft engorged and getting more so.

They were so perfect for each other in every way he’d ever dreamed, as if they were each special ordered to match the other. The common and familiar became thrilling. They anticipated every moan and move, every touch, sometimes changing it up to something new and exciting, but in the end, as always, it culminated in their orgasms, carefully curated to come at once, completely satisfied, no matter how long their lovemaking session.

They quickly dressed and left for the party.

Dimitri didn’t look at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t bring himself to.

The gathering was held on a large outdoor patio adjacent to a boutique hotel the family owned at the top of the town. The sweeping view, even better than the one they had at their apartment, showed the whole sea, islands beyond, ships and ferries coming back and forth, and the Italian coastline in the distance.

He was introduced to cousins, one by one. Very little English was spoken.

“Come, come meet Moira’s fellow,” said her mother, introducing him to her sisters, who giggled behind lace fans. The children giggled, one even pointing out his rainbow hair dye, which he deferred to Moira to explain in Italian.

“California men sometimes wear makeup, as you know,” she said to a younger couple in English, who looked at him askance.

“I like this change in him. It makes him more manly,” she said to someone else.

Dimitri’s job was just to look non-threatening, try not to show his internal reactions as she said these things. Her father took her aside, and they had their private conversation as her sisters peppered him with questions he couldn’t understand, thankfully.

She came back at his side and whispered, “It’s all arranged. They know. They’ll be ready.”

“Good work,” he whispered back and kissed her ear. His show of affection was noted by most the party guests.

A long table was spread on the patio, adorned with fresh flowers and carafes of wine and ice water with lemon slices. At the side was an array of other wines, limoncello, and sweet liquors laid out on a table with tiny shot glasses available for use in sampling. Every household, he was told, had their own separate recipe for limoncello, a great source of pride in the family.

Moira’s sister was the second most beautiful woman at the gathering, a ten-year younger version of Moira’s classic beauty, though her eyes were not quite so dark and her skin tone more olive. Her hair was curly, unlike Moira’s long straight strands. Her tight figure was less voluptuous, thin, and she was shorter. She had the attention of several young men around her. Moira’s brother was slightly stand-offish, apparently holding off evaluation until later. But he was polite, nonetheless.

A great cheer and clapping ensued when the Don was introduced. Dimitri could see the wizened old man, probably close to eighty by the look of him, carefully study the whole crowd, accompanied by two guards who made no shame of the fact that they wore M3’s strapped to their torso, as probably was customary.

Moira’s eyes widened with surprise.

“You weren’t expecting this?” he whispered to her back. She’d been leaning in his arms, standing so close her rear end was brushing against his hardness.

“No, it’s an honor. Unexpected honor. He usually does not go unless invited, and I doubt my mother did.”

“Is it a bad sign?” he asked, smoothing two fingers down her arm from her shoulder to her elbow.

“We’ll have to wait to see.”

Just then, before he greeted everyone, the dinner was called to order.

The family gathered around the long table. A secondary table was set up for the children to sit at, since there were more people than expected.

Moira’s father gave up his position at the head of the table to the Don, the notorious head of the Gambini crime family, Sergio Gambini. He brought with him several of his grandsons, all handsome boys in their twenties and above, garnering much attention by the young women of their family. He knew this had significance, though Moira said nothing.

When they were positioned close to the Don, Moira leaned over and introduced him to Dimitri.

The old man squinted. “You dress like a faggot. Are you a faggot?” he said as he winced.

“No, sir—”

Before he could finish, Moira interrupted. “He was noting how colorful some people here look. I just asked him if he wanted to look more like a local is all.”

The Don peered across at her.

“You know how I feel about this.”

“I mean you no disrespect, Don Gambini. Had I known you’d be here, I wouldn’t have done it. But I think he looks sexy.”

“So you are not a faggot?” the Don insisted, turning his attention to Dimitri.

“No sir, I assure you. And to be perfectly honest, I only did it for Moira. I don’t really like it much. My preference is to go without makeup.”

“Ah, good.” It seemed to satisfy him, but then he added, “As I’m sure you’re aware, I am the benefactor, the protector of this family. We are careful of who becomes a part of it.”

It was a clear threat.

“If you would prefer, perhaps I should leave,” Dimitri said, starting to stand up.

A gasp developed like a huge wave crashing over the festivities, someone even letting out a small scream of panic.

Moira’s hand firmly gripped Dimitri’s forearm, yanking him to sit down. But the Don had the last comment.

“You,” he said, pointing his fork in Dimitri’s direction, “sit. You have not asked permission, and I will tell you when it is time to leave, but I warn you. I don’t like people who don’t know our customs. Do you understand?”

“Indeed. I apologize. I did not know.”

Dimitri’s heart was pounding. He looked at the ashen faces of Moira’s father and mother and realized the complexity of their predicament. He’d just stepped into an arena he knew nothing about. He wondered why Moira would make him up and risk the ire of the Don. She must have known his feelings.

Perhaps it was a risk she thought worth taking, or she didn’t think. All the more reason to get this train moving, getting this family out of this environment.

Like a male in heat, the Don’s attention was quickly distracted and landed on Moira’s sister, Lauren. He leaned into Moira’s dad but spoke in perfect English so loud everyone on the patio could hear. Behind him, the two henchmen stood to attention, as if they couldn’t.

“You know, your lovely daughter is not getting any younger. With no husband, no boyfriend, she will soon be called a spinster, like her older sister here. Do you not know how to provide for your girls, your women?”

It was an obvious insult, but not one her father would be able to deflect. So he took it straight on.

“My Don, begging your pardon, but as you know, my household has fallen into difficult times.”

“But you have my protection here. You are safe here.” He turned his gaze to Moira. “Or are there other plans?”

“No, my Don. Your generosity is boundless,” he said.

“Not boundless. Never boundless. And I have much patience, but if your Don wishes to take care of you, make a few recommendations here or there, you would not mind, yes?”

“No, my Don.”

“I think you should consider marrying your lovely daughter here to one of my grandsons.” He shouted, “Stand please, all of you.”

Four handsome young men stood immediately to attention, smiling at the shocked Lauren, her wide eyes looking for an answer from her older sister.

“You could do far worse. She appears to be of good child-bearing stock. She could marry into the family, and I could give them a nice estate to raise their many children. It isn’t an opportunity anyone would turn down, yes?”

“Nor would we, my Don.”

“Good. Then it is settled.” He smiled sweetly and nodded in Lauren’s direction. “You, of course, can choose. It is up to the woman, after all.”

The family burst out in respectful titters. It sounded to Dimitri like they were relieved the conversation would soon change.

After the multi-course meal where Dimitri couldn’t remember when he’d felt so stuffed, the men and women separated. Moira gave him a whisper.

“Don’t let him talk to you. Stay away.”

She took Lauren, and the ladies went inside along with her father and another elderly gentleman while the rest of the men passed around aperitifs and Cuban cigars. Dimitri hadn’t had one for over ten years, and he savored his.

He moved behind people and struck up conversations with those who spoke English, telling people he worked in construction in California, which he thought was the only appropriate and non-controversial career he could think of. Each time he moved, he tried to keep one or two people between the Don and him, hoping to outlast his repeated attempts to join him in conversation.

Finally, the Don shouted, “Dimitri. Your family is from Greece?”

The whole patio opened up into a circle of smoking men. The Don was on one side, and Dimitri was on the other, with no protection.

“On my father’s side, yes. They come from a long line of patriots.”

“There are no living Greek patriots,” the Don said. His insult was intentional, but then, everyone probably knew his opinion of Greeks on the island. He’d heard this before. “Always fighting lost causes,” he said finally, shaking his head.

“Ah, but it’s like a book. The last chapter hasn’t been written. Perhaps there will come a day when our ancestors can hold hands through the newer generations.”

Several in the group agreed. There was verbal acknowledgement, although careful.

“You mean peace? Only good kind of peace is between families. War is good for countries. It sloughs off the weak.”

Dimitri didn’t respond. He tried to act neutral. The Don was obviously trying to get a rise out of him with his little barbs and insults.

“War is good, no?” the Don repeated again.

“War is good for some,” he began. “Not so good for those who perish. I prefer a more orderly way,” he said and peered directly into the Don’s eyes.

He’d come to the point, like he always did when he was confronted by a bully, to finally stand up to the Don, but Dimitri give him an exit strategy. Of course loss of life was a wasted exercise and it was wiser to avoid it. He was hoping the man saw this opportunity.

The Don didn’t flinch from his gaze. He lowered his cigar and studied him again. Dimitri figured he’d underestimated him, and so the Don was now paying attention.

Close attention.

Was this a mistake? He was going to be silent until the next move. But he noted where the henchmen were, observed that they had their finger on the triggers of their weapons. The safeties appeared turned to the off position, and they stood with legs out wide, warrior stance.

Though unarmed, one step away was the cart with the leftover meat and a large six-inch carving knife he could throw before anyone would see it coming. If he needed to.

No one said a word. They didn’t move, not even taking a puff.

The Don’s eyes began to narrow, becoming slits, the creases at the sides becoming deeper. His lips moved up on his cheekbones, and he began to laugh.

The others, of course, did the same, nervously.

Dimitri did not. But he softened his jaw and noted the henchmen slowly stepped away from the Don, taking their fingers off the firing mechanism.

No one else would have observed this.

He knew he’d doublethink this action for hours afterwards. But it was important that the Don treat him with respect, and that’s what he got. There was no chance, though, this man could ever be trusted to ask a favor of. It would be committing himself and Moira’s entire family to an eternity of servitude. Their chance of moving back to the U.S. would be out of the question.

Always easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

His father had said that over and over again while he was growing up. And he was right. He wouldn’t be asking for permission to take them to the States. Dimitri and the team had to take them away from the Don.

Before he felt he owned them. If Moira’s father agreed to any kind of a marriage between Lauren and any of the Don’s grandsons, it would doom them all.

That was out of his control.

The only thing in his control was time. If they got it done soon and quick, it might work.

It had to.