Page 53 of Caesar DeLuca
But is it too much to ask for my wife to be both attractive and smart? For her to be both interesting and engaging?
Transactional though it may be, I’d still prefer to be able to hold a conversation with her. Divorce would never be an option for us—we’d be stuck together ’til we’re old and wrinkled, which makes conversation even more important.
And as a man of strategy and analytical tendencies, I’m attracted to intelligence. I want my wife to have some brains about her.
Ariana happened to be the first woman in a very long time that checked many, if not all, of my boxes.
I couldn’t keep my hands off her. The urge to touch her everywhere, kiss her everywhere was too powerful. My dick had slid right into her soaking wet pussy, and I’d never felt so much pleasure.
I hadn’t wanted to get out of bed. I had an even stronger attraction to her once we were done and she snuggled up against me.
But I knew I had to do what I had to do—my stay under her roof was temporary.
It was coming to an end.
Ever since, all I’ve wanted was to see her again.
Every moment of every day I’m tempted to be reckless enough to seek her out.
“Mr. DeLuca,” says a member of my security. “Mr. Carisi is on the phone and the delivery has arrived.”
“Perfect. I’ll head upstairs.”
I abandon the ringing slot machines and din of laughter and busy chatter and walk off the casino floor. A private elevator awaits me down a side corridor that’s for casino personnel only. Two members of security join me on the ride up. One of them walks ahead on the path toward my office so that he can push open the doors for me.
They fall open to reveal the scene has already been set.
As I requested, my men have brought the delivery up and placed it on the area rug in front of my desk.
I stroll across the room, admiring his sniveling lip and swollen face. He’s sporting a huge gash on his head where blood mats his dirty-blond hair. He’s on his knees, his arms bound behind his back. I click my tongue, shaking my head at him.
“Look at you, Rocky,” I say. “Can you say you’re really surprised it’s come to this?”
“Cae… Caesar. Pl-please.”
“What happens when you speak out of turn?” I ask, then I motion my head at one of my men.
The guy on the left, Vasco, steps forward and handles it—he slams the butt of his pistol upside Rocky’s head to shut him up.
Punishment for speaking to me without permission.
Another one of my men passes over the handset to my desk phone, signaling Alfredo is on the line. I bring the receiver up to my ear.
“Alfredo,” I say, “it’s been a while. Matter of fact, I believe the last time I did see you, you were trying to murder me. Isn’t that correct?”
“You bore me, Caesar. Am I supposed to be upset you survived? Cockroaches always do. But let me tell you that I’ve got plenty of Raid. I’ll get you eventually.”
“There you go believing you can outmaneuver me. Your family has failed time and time again. Despite your best efforts, you’ve kept up that family tradition. Instead of taking me out, I’m dominating Atlantic City. The territory you claim is yours. Isn’t that funny how things shake out?”
I can hear him seething on the other end. He draws in a tight breath and his teeth scrape together. “If this phone call is only to gloat about how you’re still among the living, I’m not interested.”
This isn’t the first time we’ve spoken since Alfredo’s assassination attempt.
Once I returned to civilization and healed up some more, I returned like it was business as usual. Those in the local criminal world who thought they had eliminated me were shocked. No one more shocked—and disappointed—than Alfredo Carisi himself.
Caesar DeLuca had risen from the dead.
The Crown opened its doors to record profits. The territory was mine. The city was run by the DeLucas once more.
