Page 10 of Sexting the Don

Her innocence shines through, and I find myself wanting to help her out of genuine concern. Still, I want to see how far she's willing to go, so I decide to gently push the envelope.

I admire your dedication, Mandy,I reply. But I'm looking for someone who can meet my needs in various ways. Are you prepared to go beyond just working for me?

I make sure to phrase the innuendo in such a way that it allows for plausible deniability. If she's not interested, I can easily dismiss it as a professional query. However, if she’s receptive, it opens the door for more intimate negotiations.

The response time grows, and I wonder if she’s second-guessing her decision to reach out. Eventually, her response comes through.

I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Martelli,she writes, clearly cautious but not dismissive.

I smile, appreciating her careful approach. She’s innocent but not naive. I decide to be a bit clearer.

I'm talking about a mutually beneficial relationship, Mandy. One where we both get what we want. If that interests you, let’s meet to discuss the details.

I wait for her reply, my mind lingering on the potential this conversation holds.

But nothing. No dots. I finish my drink and step over to make another, the alcohol is starting to work its magic.

Once the drink is in hand, I step over to the window of my study. The view is one that never gets old, the glittering city sweeping before me from my Hollywood Hills home.

As I wait for Mandy's reply I shift my focus back to my computer, ensuring my accountants’ work is up to par. I’ve learned the hard way to never fully trust anyone with my money. That lesson has been crucial in safeguarding my interests.

I open my financial software, scrolling through the spreadsheets and accounts with a sharp eye. The numbers are neat and orderly, just how I like them. I scrutinize each expense and revenue entry, cross-checking them against my internal records. My eyes swiftly scan through the data, pinpointing any inconsistencies with the precision of a seasoned strategist.

Spotting a minor discrepancy in one of the expense accounts, I make a mental note to address it. I can't afford to let even the smallest error slip through, knowing full well how minor issues can escalate into larger problems if left unchecked.

I turn my attention to my investments. Diversification is key, and I ensure my assets are strategically spread across various sectors. It’s a delicate balancing act, but one I handle with precision.

Satisfied with my review, I close the financial reports and lean back in my chair, my thoughts drifting once again to Mandy. Even in business, I maintain my flexibility, shifting from one priority to another without losing focus.

A memory unfolds in my mind, taking me back to when I first took over the family business. I remember the day vividly, theday one of my trusted friends, Tony Russo, betrayed me. He had been with the family for years, but greed clouded his judgment, and he stole thousands from me.

I had called Tony into my office, my gaze steely and uncompromising as I sat behind my large wooden desk.

Tony shifted nervously in his seat; his usual confidence replaced by a thinly veiled panic. I leaned forward, my fingers steepled as I watched him squirm.

“Tony, you’ve been with the family a long time,” I said, my voice cold. “So maybe you can tell me why there’s money missing from the accounts?”

Tony’s face went pale, and he avoided eye contact. “Enzo, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered. “There must be some mistake.”

I raised an eyebrow, my patience thin. “A mistake? Tony, the only mistake is thinking you could steal from me and get away with it.” My voice was firm and filled with the authority I had earned as the new head of the family.

He hesitated, his hands trembling. “I swear, Enzo, I didn’t plan for this to happen. I just needed the money. My debts—”

I cut him off, slamming my hand on the desk. “Your debts? You betrayed your real family for a few bucks? How much did you take, Tony?”

His eyes filled with tears as he broke down, unable to maintain his façade any longer. “I took $50,000, but I was going to pay it back, Enzo, I swear. Please, give me another chance.”

I shook my head, my expression unyielding. “You should have come to me, Tony. You should have trusted me to help you out.Instead, you stole from me. You know what that means in our business.”

Tony’s pleading eyes met mine and I could see the fear in them. “Please, don’t do this. I made a mistake. I’m begging you.”

But it was too late. The betrayal was too deep, and in our business, loyalty is everything. I stood up, looking down at him with a mixture of disappointment and resolve.

“You made your choice,” I said, my tone final. “Now you’ll face the consequences.”

That was the last conversation we had. Tony’s betrayal was a harsh lesson, but it taught me the value of vigilance. His fate serves as a warning to anyone else who dares to cross me.

The memory fades, and I return to the present.

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