Page 9 of Sexting the Don

Enzo

This is Enzo Martelli. How do you think I can help you?

I’m seated on the leather chair in my study, a glass of bourbon in one hand and my phone in the other.

The text on the screen is blunt and to the point. Maybe a little colder than I need to be for a woman like the one on the other end.

All the same, I need more information. I need to know if she’s pulling something, maybe on behalf of her father. Jimmy Charles’ reputation isn’t a good one, and it wouldn’t be a surprise to learn that he was trying something shady.

I sip my bourbon, thinking it over. I’m not a family man by any means, but the mere notion of a father using his daughter in that way is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

I push those thoughts aside for the time being.

My mind keeps drifting back to Mandy. Her curvaceous figure and the way her black server outfit clung to it was seductive. Seeing her at the restaurant gave me an unexpected thrill in aplace where I typically focus on business.

I catch myself thinking about the way her eyes looked at me, filled with a mixture of hope and anxiety. The memory sends a rush of excitement through me, a rare feeling for someone who's usually so pragmatic.

I realize I wanted her from the moment I laid eyes on her.

But just as quickly as my thoughts begin to wander, I snap out of it when I see the three dots of an incoming text message appear on my screen.

Hi, Mr. Martelli. Thank you for reaching out. I appreciate your time.

I want to gather as much information as possible without revealing too much of my hand, so I decide to keep the conversation straightforward.

Hello, Mandy. Tell me more about your situation, I reply, keeping my message brief and to the point.

I wait, my eyes fixed on the screen as I think about her. I imagine her sitting somewhere in her undoubtedly small apartment, anxiously waiting for my response.

My father got into trouble with some loan sharks. We’re about to lose our home because of his gambling debts. I don’t know where else to turn.

Her words are honest and desperate. I already know that Jimmy is her father, but I need to know what she plans to do if I decide to help her. I type my response carefully, not wanting to give away too many of my own intentions.

What do you plan to do if I agree to assist you? I ask, curious about her next steps. I lean back, pondering what she might offer in return for my help.

Mandy’s reply comes after a brief pause.

I’d like to move out with my mother. I just want to get away from him and start over, she writes.

It’s a straightforward and sincere response. But what I really want to know is what she’s willing to do for me if I help her. I’m not looking to do anything untoward in exchange for the money, but I’d like to see how serious she is and make sure she’s not merely looking for a handout.

I decide to probe a bit further.

And what can you offer me in return for my assistance? I text back.

I watch as the three dots appear again on my screen, my anticipation building. I’ve seen women in desperate situations before, but something about Mandy feels different.

I wait for her response, keeping my phone close at hand.

I don't have much, Mr. Martelli, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to repay your kindness. I’m a hard worker, and I'll find a way.

Her response feels genuine, and while her offer is vague, it leaves the door open for negotiation. I decide to push the conversation forward carefully, maintaining the appearance of a businessman exploring an opportunity.

That's a good start,I text back. But I need specifics. How would you handle repaying your debt to me?

There's a pause, and I can almost imagine her weighing her words carefully before responding.

I have some savings, and I can work for you. I’m willing to negotiate the terms.

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