Page 8 of Filthy Little Games
Carmine chuckles. “You’re actually worse than an STD. A quick death is a whole lot scarier than an itchy dick rash. Nobody wants to make the mistake of getting too close and insulting you in your own club.”
“I’ve never killed anyone for brushing up against me or making me wait for a drink.”
“By now, you should be used to the downside of being themost-feared man in the city of eight million. I don’t envy you. It’s bad enough that we look so much alike I’m constantly getting mistaken for you.”
“How about we just trade places for a day? Hell, I’d be happy with one night.”
“No fucking way.”
The truth is, it’s me who is envious of Carmine. My younger brother has never had to feel the weight of responsibility for our people onhisshoulders.
And his bed isn’t nearly as lonely as mine.
“Do you think I should take Emilio up on his offer?” I ask him, since now seems as good a time as any while we wait for our twenty-five-year-old, single malt bottle of whisky.
Carmine blinks at me silently for several long seconds. “You’re not seriously considering that shit, are you?”
“I told him no…but maybe I should give it more thought. It’s what our father wanted — an alliance with the Rovinas.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Nope.”
“You really want to try and wrangle that vicious viper? You two would probably kill each other before your first anniversary!”
“I’m almost forty and not getting any younger,” I remind him. “And it’s not like I have any prospects lining up for a ring.”
“You’re thirty-six! That’s not ‘almost forty.’”
“Close enough. Our father wanted us to both marry strong, Italian woman and have a few heirs — a Ferraro-Rovina heir specifically.”
“I don’t know, Creed. Do you really want to get into bed with Emilio Rovina? He’s a greedy man who is always going to want more. And that more is getting his hands on a piece of our empire.”
“He was our father’s best friend. They rebuilt entire neighborhoods together.”
“Our father is dead. Let his plans for us die too. You can dobetter than trying to survive a marriage with Stella Rovina.” Carmine shakes his head. “Where the hell is that bartender? Changing his pants you made him piss?”
My brother doesn’t get it. My lack of prospective lovers isn’t my choice. I’m not going through a drought. It’s a full-blown famine between my sheets. It’s been at least a year, hell, maybe longer, since I last had sex.
To run the city and oversee all the bosses, I have to be feared, making me the nightmare mothers and fathers caution their children about. The boys they tell to steer clear to avoid becoming indoctrinated as one of my foot soldiers, and the girls, well they warn girls to stay away from me and my brother because we’ll take their innocence, or even worse, they’ll be the next victim of the Ferraro family curse.
The truth is, there are plenty of men in this city who would do absolutely anything to become a member of the Ferraro family, so we’ve never had to recruit.
And more importantly, I don’t get off on being feared by women.
I glance around the bar, trying to meet the eye of at least one brave woman, but there’s no such luck tonight.
While I don’t have any problem with other men paying willing women or men for sex, it’s just not for me. I want to fuck someone who wants me without the payday or without me hiding who I am, even if that shit happens rarer than a monsoon in the desert.
As the mafia king of New York City, I’m looking for a fearsome queen, not a doe-eyed, twenty-something gold-digger who bolts at the first gunshot. But no respectable woman in the Family wants to risk their lives by being chained to me. No amount of money can bring someone back from the dead.
Occasionally, I will go home with a willing woman. The sex will be decent, but the next morning, she’ll see the invisible bloodon my hands, remember that I’m a man who isn’t worth the risk, and never be seen or heard from again.
While Stella Rovina may be willing to stick around as my wife, it sure as shit won’t be for love. No, the marriage will be more of a business arrangement. Ahostilebusiness merger that I may not survive.
“You’re right,” I tell my brother. “I don’t want to deal with all the strings that come with Emilio and Stella Rovina.”
“Thank fuck,” he mutters. “She would only make you even more miserable. And there’s no reason to give up on marrying for love just yet. In fact, it looks like you actually have a daring admirer tonight.”