Branded : The Mafia Don

Authors' Note: You could enjoy this book better if you read Possession of the Mafia Don and Owning the Mafia Don as well. But this can be treated as a standalone too,

April

The phone pinged as a message landed and I picked it up, scanning it.

it was not Gaston; these days he was not returning my calls, so calling me was out of the question., I thought bitterly

Could it be one of my children, I thought absently as I opened it and froze.

An image appeared that made me freeze although my palms were sweating.

Gaston.

With a woman. A tall, thin woman with short blonde hair, older than me, closer to his age. Wearing a fire engine red bikini and nothing else.

And she was smiling as she stood, her body pressed to my husband while he was staring at someone across the room, his large hand splayed across her hip. Her hand was on his waistband, a familiar lover-like gesture.

I felt my head begin to pound.

The background was the Town House swimming pool, the place where Gaston was staying at currently. Gaston was in his formal clothes but his jacket had been discarded and the shirt he wore was open to the waist, a habit he had, whenever he was working or relaxing. His hirsute chest with the flat abs and powerful muscles, all of it was revealed clearly.

I felt as though someone had plunged a knife into my stomach and was twisting it slowly. The hurt, the rejection, threatened to make me sick.

*

Was my husband tiring of me, I thought, my breath coming faster as I felt myself plummeting down in a panic attack.

I was curvaceous, not a size zero like this woman, and short, reaching up to his shoulders. I had to stand on my toes to kiss him. While Gaston swore that my 'rack' was the largest and the firmest he had ever seen, I knew that my rounded hips were also not something that was the rage. But then, it was what Nature had gifted me.

The woman in the photograph had a slim, reed-like figure; the kind of woman my husband had had in his bed earlier...before we came together...

Driven by rage and fear, anxiety and a sense of overwhelming loss, I acted on impulse as I tapped the glass partition and spoke to the bodyguard accompanying me, a heavy-set man named Bosco.

I had not directly informed Gaston of my visit to the doctor; had just sent a message, asking him to allow me to visit the city. These days he never answered my calls. The Head of Security at our estate, Tony Beston had gotten back to me and said that the Boss had agreed to me leaving the grounds.

My littlest kids, all of twelve, were away on a hiking trip and would be back the following week.

I was for all practical purposes, on my own.

*

Now I said,

"Stop at the Town House, please.'

Bosco looked unnerved and the driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

'Uh..huh...' began Bosco but I had had enough. The way he was stalling made me even more determined. And suspicious.

"Just do it, Bosco!' I snapped and he stiffened. I had never raised my voice at them and it was a first. Silently, he nodded to the driver who changed gears and we were soon speeding up to the house that stood along with similar, imposing-looking houses on a discreet street. When the car drew up, I stepped out quickly and marched over to the door.

*

A very flustered-looking Latino woman opened the door and made to stop me from entering. She was a new hand with a hard face, I realized with a shock that she did not know me.

"I am here to see Gaston St Claire," I snapped through gritted teeth and pushed my way inside, shoving her when she tried to pull me back. I had already seen his car parked outside, along with the vehicles that always accompanied him. My husband was here, alright.

I stepped into the passageway, stopping short at the sound of raised voices.

*

'Listen, Dad, you need to ...' came a young man's voice, slightly nasal and unfamiliar and I slowed in shock.

Dad?

Had I come to the wrong house?

Then I headed a familiar gruff voice replying and I almost sagged in shock.

It was Gaston, speaking, in a tired voice, as though he was weary of arguing.

'Son, you ..." he was saying.

Gaston and a young man?

Son?

Dad?

What was going on?

A third voice interrupted him.

'Darling, ...'

A woman. Speaking in a seductive way.

*

I had had enough.

My insides clenched. But I had come to find out what was happening and I was not going to head back.

Pushing aside the housekeeper who seemed determined to prevent me from stepping forward and was trying to block my way, scowling, I marched ahead.

*

I entered the room on the right, the drawing room and stopped short. Gaston was sitting on the sofa, scowling, a bottle of alcohol before him, a tumbler in his hand. The bottle was already half empty though it was only mid-day, I noted, heart sinking. His bodyguards had stepped forward, stopping awkwardly as they saw me.

A blonde woman in a short dress, was beside him, her hand on his thigh in a familiar manner. And standing before him was a young man with blonde hair in a ponytail, who turned when I entered.

"I am sorry, I could not stop her,' said the housekeeper who had pushed past me roughly and now appeared beside me as I stood, shell shocked.

*

Dimly, I was aware of the woman rising, her red dress tight around her small waist and flat chest. I felt like an elephant in my casual yellow outfit.

"Don't worry, Maria,' she said soothingly and again, I flinched as I felt like an outsider.

Gaston had surged to his feet, his face like thunder, eyes bloodshot, swaying, and glaring at me. He looked as though he wanted to kill me.

All the while the thin, tall blonde rose, smiling slyly, a hand on his arm in a proprietary manner.

'Darling,' she purred, stroking his chest and I stared at him, bile rising in my mouth.

My husband looked fatigued and weary but the anger, the fury was very real. And it was directed at me.

*

"THE F*CK ARE YOU DOING HERE, WOMAN?' roared Gaston, his face contorted in a mask of fury, fists clenched.

' HAVEN'T I TOLD YOU NEVER TO COME HERE?'

This can't be happening ...No, no..." said a voice inside me as I staggered and leant against the door, afraid that my shaking legs would not support me.

'Well, Dad,' sneered the youth, with an ugly smirk,' Don't you think it is time I was introduced to my lovely young stepmother?'

*Step Mother?'

The words seemed to go round and round in my head as I sagged against the wall, staring at him and then my eyes went to Gaston's

He was grey faced, looking old and haggard as he looked at me, eyes hooded.

"No,...I whispered.

I shook my head, the fierce pain in my chest as though a giant fist had closed around my heart.

Gaston had a son. A boy who was almost as old as Claude.

So he had been unfaithful to me...

Again.

Earlier

Somewhere in the USA

Paval Rudenko looked at this nephew, Dusak, the One-Eyed as they referred to him behind his back.

He was a formidable fighter and his anger, his aggressiveness, was unmatched. Of course, the driving force behind his anger was to claim the life of Gaston St. Claire, the man who had blinded him and killed his beloved uncle, Dmitri Rudenko, before his eyes.

But the monk was a man of the steely reserve.

"Not yet,' he cautioned the hot-blooded youth.

Handing a photograph of Ria St. Claire, the eldest daughter of the Mafia Don, he said,

'Look at this girl, my son.' he said in his soft tones, the wheedling voice he used when he wanted something from someone, 'Look at her. For when you finally get her, you should know what to do with this beautiful creation of God.'

And the youth calmed down as he traced a finger over the picture and he waited.

*

Mexico

Cole whirled around as he heard the woman who said she was his aunt, leave the house.

His fists curled and he steadied his breathing with difficulty.

Finally, finally, they were going to meet the man who had fathered him.

This was the day he had been waiting for ever since his aunt and uncle had told him that they were going to the US to meet his father.

To claim his rights.

He was excited. His mother had passed away a few months ago, hit by a car as she lurched across the road, drunk, seeking customers, an ageing, ugly wh*re, he thought in disgust. Seeking customers to satisfy her fix.

The young man grimaced. She had been a wh*re and as desperate a one as ever to keep her habit intact.

He studied himself in the mirror. Long mousey brown hair which he fastened in a ponytail , and cold blue eyes that deepened to grey when he was angry. Not too tall, but broad. He went gymming regularly. he was also in one of the gangs in the seedy part of the town they lived in and kept his knuckles in good shape, he thought with a smile that was more of a scowl.

"Daddy O,' he thought coldly, 'I am coming to meet you and he picked up the photograph. Once Britney, his aunt, had told him of his parentage, he had gone scouring the internet till he found information about the man.

Avidly, he kept reading and re-reading articles on the dreaded Mafia Don who reigned over the American arms market with an iron fist. Eagerly, he had clasped his hands and whistled. Yes, he would also get a fair share of what was HIS entitlement. His eyes narrowed as he studied the sparse pictures of the family of six, yes, SIX children the Don had sired.

So he had a whole brood of siblings to contend with, eh?

His eyes wandered further down and he studied the face of the woman who was reputed to have brought the Don to his knees. The man who had had a formidable reputation for being a sex crazed maniac, had changed, become a man devoted to his wife.

Well, that was one bubble that was about to burst, he thought as his eyes skimmed the photograph greedily and he looked at the woman who was dimpling up at the Don, her eyes shining with love.

Cole was curious to meet the lovely woman who was his wife, almost two decades younger than him. He felt a strange desire as he studied her photograph. The young man smiled, a cold, hard smile.

'I am coming to meet you, Step-Mommie and my beloved siblings,' he thought, rubbing his large hands in glee.

Cole Brant, the name his mother had given him, was a dealer. He dealt in drugs but knowing full well the damage they could do to a person, he studiously refrained from using them himself. Yes, he permitted himself a sniff here, a shot there, but all under control.

*

Cole dreamt big.

He wanted to become rich. Fast.

He smiled thinly as he stared at the grainy picture he had downloaded from the internet, showing Gaston St Claire glowering at the camera. The man who was in the photograph was around fifty, thickset and dangerous looking.

My Daddy, the Mafia Don, he thought with a smile.

Right now, Cole was an angry young man. He had been denied his true rights because his wh*re of a mother had scurried away after the Don had knocked her up. That was what his aunt Britney had told him, her thin, manicured hands steady as she smoked, perfect rings of smoke as her gaze held fast to his eyes.

*

Aunt Britney had appeared a few days after his mother died, and he had been taken aback at kept her appearance.

Where she had been all these days, he shouted.

She had smiled a cold, thin smile that had frightened his seedy heart.

"But why?' he had demanded as he paced the room, furious.

'Why did she run away?'

Why had she robbed him of a chance to live a luxurious life? That had been his unspoken question.

His aunt had shrugged her thin shoulders. Strange, he thought, except for the basic facial resemblance, his aunt was totally unlike his mother. The stringy blonde hair his mother had had, was like a coiffured crown on this woman's head. The eyes were the same, he thought, cold, hard and grey.

*

He had not had any inkling that his mother had any family.

She had always been the ugly fat c*w slinking about the house, dead drunk or wandering on the streets, selling her fat, ageing body to satisfy her fix.

But had she ever mentioned Gaston St.Claire?

Never, he concluded, furiously slamming the wall with his fist.

The evil bi*ch.

No matter, he thought, throwing his head back and giving a shout of laughter.

You are going to make me become a rich man, Daddy O, he thought and threw his head back and roared in laughter.

The photograph of Gaston St. Claire stared back at him, stonily.

*

The Present Day

April

I settled back on the soft leather upholstery of the car and sighed. It still bore the slight scent of my husband, his cologne, spicy with a dash of citrus.

*

Shutting my eyes, I went over what the doctor had just told me.

Old Dr Shah was the same doctor who had examined me when I was carrying Claude. He had studied me keenly.

'Mrs St. Claire,' he said without any preamble,' "you know that you are pregnant?' I had sat down, the fluttering in my stomach making me feel weak.

He went on, avoiding my eyes,

'You are now...?' he raised his brows and studied me as I nodded weakly as he pursed his lips and tapped the pad on his desk thoughtfully,

'Mid-thirties, I assume?'

"Congratulations, my dear,' he said, a genuine smile on his face,

'No need to look so worried. You are healthy and strong. You already have...ahem...six children?'

I nodded again, my mind abuzz with so many thoughts.

How would Gaston react when I told him that I was expecting our seventh child? My husband was in his mid-fifties now. Would he be furious?

*

I had been eighteen when I first turned up at Gaston St. Claire's Club, the infamous Lounge, a gentleman's Club. It was notorious for the sexual dalliances that took place within the sprawling building but at eighteen.

I had been young, foolish and for once, impetuous. I had gone there to confront a young man who had been very rude. He had not expressed the slightest interest in me; he had actually dismissed me as being gauche and not his type. Burdened with the knowledge that I was an unwanted child, I had been stung and dressing up in my roommates' flashy clothes, and aware that with my round hips and full breasts, which were perfectly visible in the tight-fitting dress, I had stormed over in a fit of bravado, determined to make the fellow eat his words...

But instead, I had run into Gaston St. Claire, the Mafia Don who owned the Club. Cold and cruel, with his rugged face and flint-like eyes. The man whose touch had made me fall in love with him, instantaneously.

The only man who had ever claimed my body.

*

The encounter between us had been rash and passionate.

There had been no gentleness, no Love as such when we ended up in each other's arms, more like a flame, a spark that had reached unexpectedly epic proportions. He had seemed as taken aback as I was by the ferocity of our lovemaking if it could be called that. He had been a man in his late thirties well versed in claiming and dominating women in bed while I was still an inexperienced teenager, naïve and raw.

But my innocence, my willingness to submit to him, had seemed to strike a chord in him; we had spent a night of frenzied passion, that very first night and I had been branded forever by Gaston St Claire, without even knowing who he was , how dangerous an individual he was...

I had only had a rather lame experience of making love. A quick fumble in the seat of a truck with a boy around my age who had disappeared from my life after that awkward rendezvous that was all I knew of lovemaking.

This physical encounter, when he overpowered my senses with his rough hands and his mouth, his large, thick manhood, all of it had left me staggered.

And craving for more, so much more.

But his cynical dismissal of me at the end of what was for me, a lifetime experience, had made me run away in humiliation that night.

*

Yet I had not been able to forget him. My heart ached for him, my body pined for his possession. The stranger who had taught me what lovemaking between a man and a woman was all about.

After fleeing from him in the wee hours of the dawn, ashamed of his cold, almost contemptuous dismissal of me, I had spent the following days I a fugue of misery, unable to forget the stranger who had possessed me so completely.

*

Later, I had met him again, when I had gone to attend a party at the urging of my roommates. I had not been able to get over him, the lover who had brought my body alive, made me aware of what passion was...

To my shock, horror and a multitude of emotions I could not name, I had seen him again; for he had been the millionaire magnate and underworld Don who was hosting the party at his mansion.

Even though I tried to hide, he had spotted me straight away.

And that had been it.

Gaston St. Claire wanted me and when he wanted something, he got it.

I was like clay in his hands, helpless to resist.

He had branded his possession on me that night, all night long, as we made mindless love and he taught me the nuances of lovemaking....

Fascinated by me, my innocence, he had taken me for himself and I had willingly surrendered to him.

*

There had been no looking back. He had claimed me for himself that night, a long night of erotic passion, when he had shown me what it was to be pleasured and how to pleasure him. He was a good teacher, well-versed and adept.

And I?

A willing, obedient and eager pupil.

So I became Gaston St. Claire's mistress. He was almost twenty years older than me but I loved him, adored him, and worshipped him. And like every foolish girl, I imagined that I would be the one to change him.

Poor fool that I was.

*

In my defense, I thought wretchedly, as I sat in the car on the drive back after meeting the gynecologist, I had been on the pill, diligently.

After having been through events that sounded straight out of a thriller, we were still together, my Mafia Don and I.

And the passion that sizzled between us was as blinding, as powerful as before.

Even more potent, I had thought as he made me shudder in ecstasy as he pulverized my body with his large, thick manhood, his fist in my hair, growling into my ear,

'You belong to me, woman. Only ever mine.'

And he seemed to pound the very walls of my womb, my G-spot, as I cried out his name and surrendered to him as he sank his teeth into my neck, biting as he exploded in me.

We had returned from a holiday in Portugal, just my husband and I, three months back. And at some time during those torrid nights and days of making love and rediscovering each other, away from our large brood of seven children, I had been impregnated by him.

*

That had been three months ago but something had gradually altered in our lives Busy as I was, I had not really comprehended. Like a simple fool, I had put down Gaston's growing coolness towards me to his growing responsibilities because of his expanding work interests.

Those nights as we lay in each other's arms, as he nipped my neck and his fingers cleverly made me scream his name as he teased my swollen clit, those nights of passion seemed so distant.

Today, I sat alone and feeling wretched in the comfortable back seat of the sedan as it glided through the streets, it felt as though it had happened a life time ago...