Page 10 of Gardener for the Mafia

“I’m happy for you, boss,” Matteo mutters. “I didn’t know you’d found someone.”

I nod. “See to the repairs. Post extra guards on our other businesses. I’ve got something I need to take care of.”

“Of course,” Matteo says.

I stride out into the sunlight and head towards my Ferrari, which I drove here instead of taking one of the chauffeured sedans. It’s a deep orange, almost red, like rusty blood dried to concrete, a color that reminds me of what it took to get to where I am today.

A color that Diego needs to remember if he ever thinks about crossing me again.

I unlock the car and the doors swing up like an eagle swooping down on its prey.

Climbing into the seat, I grip the steering wheel and let my thoughts return to Lena.

Now that I know there’s no more imminent danger to the bars, I can let Matteo take care of the more admin type jobs. A general leads from the front, it’s true, but only when there’s a battle to be fought.

I need to see Lena and tell her how I feel about her virginity, about the sweet gift inside of her just waiting for me to burst through it with my rock hard cock.

I can’t believe she’d ever think it would make me want her less.

My manhood is solid as a rocket in my pants, my balls the fuel that make it try to surge between the zipper and tear the fabric of my underwear.

I have to see her.

Now.

I’ll explode if I don’t.

Chapter Six

Lena

I sit cross legged on the bathroom floor with my laptop balanced on the closed toilet lid. My thoughts are a battleground of Lorenzo and the way his face contorted when I told him I was a virgin.

I tried to read the message glinting in his deep brown eyes.

Anger?

Disgust?

Repulsion?

Hate?

But then that man interrupted us and he had to leave on business.

He said he was going to see me later, but I know that that could’ve just been his politeness seeping into his words. Perhaps he’ll send somebody to tell me that everything he said, all that talk about us belonging together that sent a frickin’ orchestra of warmth through my soul, was just a big cruel joke.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the present moment, sitting in my damp smelling bathroom because it’s the smallest room in the house with the least background noise.

Music has always been my refuge and this evening it’s no different. With my cheap laptop, cheap microphone, cheap headset, recording a song is difficult, but even so I want to lose myself in the process.

I try to sing but constantly the city interrupts me.

People roar at each other in the adjacent apartments and somewhere a poor doggie yaps into the dusk, begging his or her owner to come and feed them.

Eventually, the dog stops barking, but only because a louder, probably bigger dog starts howling into the air.

I try and focus on the chords of the song through my tinny headphones, but they’re too quiet, the things are basically busted, and sounds penetrate nonetheless.

Eventually, I stand up and pace into the living room, glancing at the couch that came with the apartment. The realtor flashed me a big beaming grin when he told me the place came furnished, and it didn’t even falter when I laid eyes on just how flea bitten and time worn the couch was.

“It’s the only thing you can afford,” he reminded me. I swear the short, balding, sweaty man was enjoying himself.

I’d managed to save up a small amount of cash during high school, but even so, rent is so frickin’ expensive and this falling apart hellhole is all I can afford.

I drop onto the couch, the only place I can sit, and let my head fall back and close my eyes. My heart hammers in my throat as I relive the moment Lorenzo left me in the library, stopping briefly at the door and looking over his shoulder like a giant alpha wolf who’s just heard a twig snapping in the underbrush.

His eyes moved over me, his jaw tight, and then he left, and all I could do was stare after him and wonder just what the heck was going on in his head.

I leap off the couch when the apartment buzzer cuts through my thoughts, way too frickin’ loud like it always is.

I go to the intercom panel, wondering if it’s going to be a local drug fiend trying some scam. When I first moved in here, somebody pounded my apartment buzzer like they were trying to break it, and when I answered they said they had brand new TVs for sale. I peeked out the front window and saw two hooded men lurking on either side of the door … with no TVs in sight.

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