TODAY WE HAVE THE PLEASURE OF HOSTING, GUEST AUTHOR, GLENDA HORSFALL, WHO IS SHARING WITH US THE OPENING CHAPTER OF HER NOVEL 'ANGELO'
- Eva Bielby
- Jul 5
- 11 min read
Angelo
I’m more than a little pissed off tonight as I stand at my office window looking down over the dance floor. Don Ottavio Russo head of the Famiglia, and my father to boot, has deemed it is time for me to marry. I throw back my glass of scotch in one, not savouring the drink as I would normally, and resist the urge to throw the crystal glass across the room.
I don’t want to get married, but my father wants to retire. He’s not going to hand over the reins until he sees me settled. I know he’s wanted to step back for a while, he wants to visit the old country and enjoy what’s left of his life. If I’m honest, he’s getting too old for this game, but no-one would ever dare tell him that. I’m lucky that he’s let me continue my playboy lifestyle until now, but now it’s time to pay the piper.
I especially don’t want to marry the kind of virgin sacrifice he expects me to take as my wife. But, as heir apparent, I’m already taking on more than my fair share of responsibility for this family, and I need to step up to the plate. I need to produce my own heir or heirs to succeed me down the line. At thirty three I’ve managed to dodge the marriage bullet for longer than most of my friends, and I resent having to give up my freedom. Truthfully, men in my field of work tend not to live to old age and I need to secure an heir if the family is to succeed.
I adore women. I love great sex and plenty of it; but I want the woman under me or at my feet to know what the hell she is doing. I like my sex hard and fast; I’m always in control. I don’t think a virgin is going to be able to cope with me and my appetites, and the thought of having to train an unwelcome bride has the acid in my stomach rolling.
Fuck knows how I’m going to manage to stay loyal to one woman when I’ve been used to a smorgasbord. Once married I know there will be no more playing around. I need to impregnate my bride as soon as possible; once we’ve got a couple of kids for her to worry about, I’ll have time to take care of my own needs. No one wants to go into a marriage looking to be unfaithful, but for all the killing & maiming we do, we are still a strict Catholic family. Bloody joke, right. There will be no divorce further down the line; the only hope of reprieve is that it’s acceptable for a man of my standing to take a mistress a few years down the line, once I’ve got the heirs I need and as long as I’m discreet. That won’t be a problem, it’s not like I’ll be setting up some whore in her own little apartment for me to visit. There’s always plenty of pussy on tap at the club, one way or another.
I’ve never been short of female company. I know I’m good looking, but most of the women who fall at my feet do so because my wealth turns them on. I don’t fool myself that they are falling in love. I’m a realist, and I know my family name, my power and my wealth are the biggest pull. Women can be so stupid sometime.
I never see the same woman more than a couple of times; I wouldn’t want them getting ideas that we were forming a relationship. Thank fuck our club ensures I never go short of willing candidates to scratch my itch, and if there’s no-one around that I fancy I can always call on one of our whores to service my needs. That’s all sex is after all, a release valve for all the tension my day job brings.
It’s Friday night and the dance floor is packed. Capri, our club, is the place to visit at the moment and the queues to gain entry get longer every week. The ticket price is high and people expect the best, which is just what we give them. All our furnishings and fittings are high end; no expense has been spared to draw in the moneyed crowds.
The building covers four storeys, and we cater for everything in house. We have a high stakes gaming room at the back of the club, invitation only I’m afraid.
Down below in the bowels of the building we run our own sex club, where anything goes as long as you can afford the membership fees. And, on the top floor above our offices, we house our own whores. The girls are there of their own accord and all are well looked after. I insist on weekly medicals for each of the girls; got to make sure they are kept clean. They have security to ensure their well-being; I won’t stand for any arsehole mistreating my girls. Those that do are quickly sorry and never again gain entry to the club. The girls are high price hookers; in return for my protection and a safe place to ply their trade, I take fifty percent of their earnings. If you met any of them on the street, you would never guess what they do for a living. They dress like royalty, no sign of the sluts they become when they enter the rooms upstairs. Most drive nice cars, wear good jewellery and designer clothes. There’s obviously good money to be made laying on your back.
We attract the high rollers and stressed executive types; we cater to them all. If they want a game, it’s on tap. If they want pussy, it’s just an elevator ride away and if they want to get high, well we can supply their drug of choice for a price. We keep the drugs away from the club, don’t want the Feds busting our asses for something that could be avoided. But if you know who to ask, the right prescription can be delivered to you wherever.
I’ve hidden out in my office long enough. My brothers are waiting for me down on the club floor; tonight, we intend to party. They are celebrating my upcoming marriage, as it means they are off the hook for now, even though my bride to be has yet to be chosen. I know she’ll be Italian, connected and a virgin. Until the Don introduces us, I’m in the dark and not even curious. I’m out to get drunk. I need to forget, if only for one night, that my fate is about to catch up with me.
I slam my glass down on my desk, grab my jacket from the back of the chair and stride purposely out of the room. I don’t bother to lock the door, only my brothers and I have access to this floor via our private lift, access to which is by thumb print.
I don’t have to announce my presence; the crowds automatically part as I walk through the club to the VIP section. I have a reputation for being ruthless and everyone knows who I am. Waiters and waitresses scuttle out of my way as I stride towards my brothers in a large circular booth. They’ve been drinking for an hour or two, letting their hair down.
“Angelo!” Ciro cries out, a large beam on his face, “I thought you were going to abandon us for the night.” He slips his arm around the buxom girl on his lap and caresses her breasts with his hands as she giggles in his ear. Her high pitch grates on my ears.
“What and let you lot have all the fun. Not my style.” I click my fingers and a waitress comes running over to take my order. “Bring me a Macallan over ice.”
One wasn’t going to be enough to get me through tonight. I grab her wrist as she goes to walk away, “Bring me the bottle.” If I was going down, I was going down in style. The Macallan scotch they kept behind the bar for me was special, a 38 years old single malt at $20,000 per bottle. “Please.”
As she shimmied back to the bar, swinging her hips to get my attention, I cast my gaze around the room. There are plenty of security men stood around on the periphery of the VIP section, part and parcel of the job, we never go anywhere without our bodyguards. Not that we were incapable of taking care of ourselves, my brother Ciro was my dad’s enforcer. He took care of all the wet work and was feared by our enemies. No-one wanted to cross Ciro or come to his attention. He looked like a walking mountain, but I knew he had a heart of gold. Just the threat of Ciro paying a visit had most people paying their debts on time.
My brothers have already picked up women, and by the look of them are well on their way to being inebriated. I’m not in the mood to join their party and make my excuses.
“I’m going to have a wander around the dance floor and see if I can find myself a little company,” I talk to the assembled group around the table. “Enjoy yourself, and behave.” I give my brothers a pointed look.
“It won’t take you long,” Enzo called out “women seem to fall at your feet.”
“Well, if you’ve got it, you’ve got it.” I grinned.
“Bastard! Don’t know what it is you do to them, but the rest of us don’t get a look in when you’re around.”
“It’s my charm.”
“Yes, right,” Massimo calls out “More likely they’ve heard you’ve got a big dick.”
“I plead the 5th” laughing, I walked away from the booth, snagging the glass and bottle of scotch smoothly and without stopping from the waitress on her return.
I do a slow walk around the VIP dance floor, there’s mainly girls dancing with just the odd couple. A few give me the eye and flutter their lashes, as their hips bump and grind to the music, but I can’t raise any interest. Nope, not in the mood tonight.
I’m going to return to my office with my trusted Macallan and drown my sorrows. Mind made up, I stride to the corridor at the back of the club and make my way to my private elevator. Tonight, is not going to be a good night.
I’m so damn tense, I can’t sit still. I pace the floor of my office drink in hand as I keep an eye on the security cameras covering the various sections of the club.
All is quite on the floors above, I note the odd John come and go, but nothing to worry about. There’s a public scene taking place in the sex club in the basement rooms. Patrons are sat around half dressed taking in the menage on the dais in front of them, but again that’s fairly norm for a weekend night and there is nothing there to concern me.
My eyes flit back to the dance floor and I’m drawn to a girl dancing alone. Her movements are uninhibited and sensual. I scan the area surrounding her and notice that she has gathered quite an audience, mainly males, but as yet no-one has approached her. I can see the look in their eyes, they’ve scented fresh prey and will soon close in. I pick up the radio on my desk and address my security team.
“Brunette on the dance floor near the main bar, dressed in red. No-one to touch her.” For some reason I’m feeling territorial; not a feeling I’m used to when it comes to women.
I watch as several of my men hold their hands to their ears, listening in to their earpiece.
“Understood.” Stefano, head of club security briefly answers my order and I watch as he signals a couple of men to stand off to the side of the dance floor. They’ll ensure no-one gets near to her.
I sit down in my wing back leather chair, rest my feet on my desk and nurse my scotch as I continue to watch her dance.
She’s the most stunning woman I’ve seen in years. She has a perfect hour glass figure, legs that go on forever, and brunette hair which hangs straight to her waist. The skin tight red dress she is wearing leaves nothing to the imagination, yet shows very little skin. A contradiction. It’s short sleeved, has a gentle round neckline which doesn’t show enough for my curiosity, and the hemline ends just above her knee. There’s nothing about her that screams sex, yet she draws me to her like a moth to a flame and as I watch her hips sway, and her hair swing around her shoulders my dick starts to harden. I can imagine grabbing her hips and pounding into her from behind as I wrap her beautiful hair around my fist.
A slow song comes on and I thought she would leave the dance floor but she stays right where she is. She starts to gyrate her fuckable hips, running her hands up and down her sides as though she’s caressing herself. She throws her head back and her arms into the air as she moves more and more sensually to the music. Her eyes are closed and she’s lost herself to the rhythm. I watch my men warn off more than a few trying to make their way to her. I could watch her all night.
My intuition is telling me that something is ‘off’. It’s not normal for a woman to let herself go in public to the extent she is doing and it’s not safe. I have to wonder if she is drunk or on drugs. Maybe someone spiked her drink. I’ll fucking kill them if they did that in my club. Maybe she took the drugs herself. I will get my answers.
Eyes on her, I grab the radio to call security, but as I press the call button she turns, opens her eyes and stares straight at the camera. She’s looking straight at it as if she can feel me watching her; she smiles slowly and then she winks. I throw the radio down, jump up and stride across to the door. Game on. I’ll deal with her myself.
I reach the floor and head straight for where I last spotted her, but she’s not there. I search the walls until I find Stefano and mouth “Where is she?”
He points towards the cocktail bar at the back of the dance floor. I want answers to the questions going round in my head and I don’t intend to be fobbed off.
She’s sat on a bar stool sipping what looks like a martini. As I approach from behind her eyes meet and hold my gaze in the mirror behind the bar, she doesn’t look away and I can feel her pull even as I make my way through the crowded room.
A business acquaintance grabs and shakes my hand congratulating me on the success of the club and momentarily distracts me from my goal. After a brief exchange, I excuse myself and carry on towards the bar, but she’s no longer there. Where the hell did she go now?
I don’t chase pussy; it normally chases me. I turn away from the bar, pissed off with myself for letting her get to me, pissed off with her for vanishing and then I spotted her at the mouth of the corridor leading to the ladies. As if she could feel my eyes on her, she looks over her shoulder and zoomed straight in on me; she paused and leaned against the wall as if waiting for me to catch up and I needed no second invitation.
I took no prisoners as I made my way across the floor to where she stood; I let no one distract me as I zeroed in on my target.
I was within 10 feet of her when she pushed herself off the wall, turned and vanished down the corridor.
The hunter within roared and I increase my speed to catch her before she disappears. Imagine my surprise when I turned the corner and find her propped against the fire exit at the far end of the corridor.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled; something was definitely off. Was she a trap to lure me out of the building? What game was she playing? This certainly wasn’t the normal doll trying to come on to me, she had a different agenda I just hadn’t figured it out yet.
I pat the gun tucked into the back of my pants. My brothers and I always carried a weapon, there were too many sharks out there just looking to take us down. I have no intention of going anywhere with her, or let’s say I have no intention of leaving the building with her, but I fully intend that she will answer my questions.
**********
COMING SOON: On Monday 7th July, we introduce you to our new team member, author and publisher, Jane Murray, who is sharing her short story, 'Lily'.
Comments