From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) (22 page)

Her private education showing in the cut-glass accent of her speech, I duck my head to hide a slight smile.  Juliet in battle mode is a sight to behold.

“Signora, my apologies.  I did not realize you were Signor Rustin’s daughter.”

“And why is that of any importance?  I’m going to ask you again, what does this matter have to do with you?”

Gianni’s mouth tightens and for a moment, I can tell he’s stuck for words.  Taking advantage of his silence, I pull out my chair and take a seat, and then decide to take pity on him, because Juliet might not know, but I do.  This guy has fallen head over heels for Monica; I recognized that the minute I first laid eyes on the pair of them, that day in the police station.  That’s why he’s concerned and because I’d be the same way if Juliet was involved, I tell him, “If and when I hear from her, then I’ll let you know.  I’m not hiding anything from you; like I said, I had a funny feeling about Brigida and I asked Monica to have someone look into it.”

For a moment, the strain of Monica’s silence and absence is apparent on Gianni’s face.  The lines at his eyes appear more prominent and the wrinkles bracketing his mouth are deeper.  But he nods, apparently accepting my words at face value. 

“What is wrong with this Brigida?”

“I don’t trust her.”

“And you have every person you don’t trust investigated?” he asks in a cynical tone. 

“No. Only when there’s a secret drug lord peddling his wares via my company’s first European asset.” About to say more, I stop when the phone rings. Without begging his pardon, because I couldn’t give a shit whether the guy thinks I’m rude or not, I pick it up and bite out, “Steel, here.”

“Joe,
It’s Monica.”

Even I’m astounded at this turn up in events. “Well, talk of the devil.  Guess who’s here asking after you.” I shoot Gianni a look and nod at the alert expression overwriting his features.

While I can’t see her face, I know she’s grimacing the instant she says, “Gianni.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Monica?” Gianni bursts in so loudly that Monica’s words are drowned out.  Before I even have a chance to nod, he grabs the receiver from me and in voluble Italian, begins to yell down the line. 

I watch him for a good minute or so, then boredom sets in and I turn to Juliet.  “What the hell’s he on about?”

Switching her attention from the phone conversation to me, Juliet’s brow puckers. “Monica seems to know who killed that policeman.”

Stunned, I rock back in my chair. 

Well done, Monica.

If she’d been here, I might just have given her a kiss for that. 

It would seem my instincts were correct.  Brigida is up to her neck in this sorry situation.

Why am I not surprised? 

I have to give Juliet credit where credit is due.  She might be a miracle on two legs; managing to keep her virginity for such a protracted length of time when she looks the way she does, but she certainly isn’t timid. 

Case in point this exact moment in time. 

Where are we?  

Actually, we’re out on the terrace.  Marco and his horse-dung aftershave are nowhere about, Brigida is doing whatever Brigida does- be it arranging to have someone’s head chopped off, or should that be a horse’s?  Or making the best Italian food I’ve ever tasted. – and Cass is at the factory.  For once. 

Juliet and I decided to play hooky after I accidentally bumped into her in the office...  Yeah, right!  Accidentally on purpose, more like.  But she doesn’t have to know that, does she? 

She gave me the eye and the rest as they say is history.  

Now, she’s on her knees, in the middle of the day, knelt between my thighs. 

I, on the other hand, am sat rather comfortably in an outside lounge chair, my eyes on the view directly in front of me.  And I’m not talking about the river. 

“Are you sure this isn’t your first blowjob?” I ask my voice a little hoarse. 

Her eyes twinkle up at me, her mouth filled with my cock and she rolls her shoulders a little.  That’s no answer and I guess it would be too much to ask that her mouth was as virginal as her
pussy.  I shouldn’t be jealous of the spotty teenagers who’ve felt the bliss of this woman’s mouth but hey, call me stupid, I am.

She cups my balls in one hand and gently begins to play with them and I immediately shake my head, knowing that the path ahead indicated a quick climax and I don’t want that. 

“Pull up your skirt,” I order and with her mouth still filled with my dick, she wiggles around on her knees and does as bade.  “Pull down your panties.” My hands come up to press against her head; silently telling her not to let go of my cock. 

I watch as she wriggles to obey the difficult order and I release my grip on her hair as soon as they’re halfway down her thighs. 

“Spread your legs and play with your pussy.”

If I’m honest, speaking to Juliet in such a way, doesn’t really sit right.  Even though I know she isn’t the innocent, the virginal creature she once was, it’s like talking dirty to a nun.  But every time I order her about or use a dirty word, her eyes dilate as though she’s just shot up a load of coke and her body literally hums with her pleasure. 

In truth, it’s a turn on for me and I find myself bossing her about, making sexual demands and verbal orders whenever the fancy takes me. 

Yesterday, I fucked her on the balcony of my room.  With her looking out on to the river, this time at twilight, and me fucking her from behind. 

The memory has my cock pulsing into the wet warmth of her mouth.  And almost as though she knows what I’m thinking, her eyes sparkle with mischief.  Curving upwards so that my back no longer rests against the seat, I have a bird’s eye view of her pussy.  The lips are wet with arousal, I can see the slick juices flooding her sex and it shoots my own arousal to soaring. 

It’s a battle of will to stop myself from
cumming then and there.  But it’s too much of a delight to watch her touch herself, her fingers sliding through those juices that I can almost taste, to cum now. 

I hold out for about five minutes longer.  But it’s near torture to watch her fuck herself with her fingers, her moans and breathy grunts all poured out on to my sensitive shaft.  I cum, when she hums her pleasure at something.  Her mouth almost vibrating around me.  My head shoots back as pleasure arches my spine and my hands bite into the arm rests of my seat. 

In the background, I hear the high-pitched squeak of Juliet’s own peak and wince a little as her teeth nibble down on my shaft with the force of her satisfaction.  In its own way, it has my balls tightening a little more but the piece de resistance is watching her swallow my cum almost without realizing it; her focus totally centred inwards and on her own pleasure. 

I tug free from her hold, replacing my cock into my pants as I watch a few beads of semen dot her lips.  Leaning forward, I rim her lips with my tongue and her eyes flicker open at the gesture. 

Her chest is still panting; her hips still twitching with the force of her arousal slowly seeping out of her and her cheeks are as flushed as though she’s just gone for her jog. 

The sexiest thing is the almost-dazed look to her eyes.  Heavy-lidded, slumberous.  Fucking delicious. 

“Did you enjoy that?” I ask, knowing she’ll nod and when she does, a slight hiccup of a laugh escapes her. 

She raises a fist to her mouth and presses down, before letting her head shift from side to side. “I can’t believe we just did that.  Out here too.  There’s always a lot of traffic out here on the river.”

“We’re exploring your sexuality,” I tell her in my primmest tone of voice. 

Her lips twitching, she raises a brow.  “I’m sure.  We probably broke a hundred laws.”

Grabbing her chin, I stare into her eyes and whisper, “Tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I can’t.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?”

She licks her lips, lips now plump from her nibbling down on them. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Exactly.  We didn’t get caught.  Nobody saw us, what’s the problem?”

Juliet opened her mouth to answer, but her words were mangled as the sound of the door opening broke into our attention.  She didn’t even have a chance to cover herself before Monica of all people stood there. 

“
Madre di Dio
, Joe, Juliet, I’m so sorry.” Monica turns her back and Juliet, now as red as a beetroot, glares at me and sorts herself out. 

Feeling guilty, I shout
out, “What the hell did you think you were doing?  You could have knocked, Monica!  What did you do?  Just barge into the house?”

Monica’s voice was small. “Brigida let me in.”

Juliet cleared her throat. “It’s our own fault; this isn’t a private area of the villa.  Monica wasn’t to know.”  She shot another glare at me and the message was clear; this is your fault. 

Fuck.  No more outdoor escapades for the remainder of our stay here. 

Could Monica’s timing be any worse? 

I’m too pissed off to piece together that this is the first time I’ve seen her in a fortnight. 

“I’m sorry, you’ve no idea how much,” Monica mumbles. “I called in at the factory; I wanted to talk to you before Gianni calls me in for questioning on what I found out.”

Shit.  It couldn’t have waited.  My timing was in the wrong; not her. 

“You can turn around now, Monica.  I’m decent.”

Juliet was still flushed, but she managed to compose herself on the seat opposite mine.  And Monica spun around and took one of the two remaining seats; directly in front of mine.  I’m surprised at her discomfort; she’d always portrayed a rather woman-of-the-world kind of attitude.  I would have expected a more laissez-faire reaction.  Perhaps a coy smile, a mocking laugh.  Not this mortified embarrassment. 

I guess for Juliet’s benefit, I’m grateful she’s reacting this way.  Had Juliet been mocked by Monica, then I’d be on the floor beside the bed tonight.  Because I sure wouldn’t broadcast it to Cass that we’ve had a falling out. 

She says she’s not in touch with Bernard; has even gone as far to say that she hates the old man’s guts.  But for my part, I think the lady doth protest too much. 

“Are you alright, Monica?  You’ve got a lot of bruises.”

“Shit, you do!” I immediately feel guilty for only just recognizing the fact that Monica’s face is looking the worse for wear.  How could I have noticed the blush but not the black eyes, the nasty bruise on her cheek, the grazes on her chin and forehead and the large bump on her temple.   “Are you okay?” I ask, helplessly repeating Juliet’s question. 

“Yes, I’m fine.  Battered and a bit bruised, but not broken.  You would not believe the story I have to tell you, but it is better that we do not talk here.  The walls have ears and what I have to say must not be overheard. Do you understand me?”

Juliet and I both nod like matching bookends. 

“Where do you want to go?”

“If we drive to the police station, I can inform you of everything that has happened in the car.”

“Of course, we’ll go now.”

She coughs. “You do not wish to get changed?  Or to clean up?”

“I’d prefer it,” Juliet murmurs, her voice honest. “But if this is as important as it seems and what your own appearance implies, then I don’t think we can waste even a moment.”

Even though she was the one to make the suggestion, I can tell Monica is relieved.  She wants to share her burden as soon as possible and that tells me the shit’s about to hit the fan. 

I’m not sure whether
I’m
relieved or not about that.  We’ve all been muddling along, the goodies and the baddies, for the last month or so.  To tip the scales might cause our ruination.  And I can’t afford for that to happen.

I stand and silently guide the two women out of the house and to the car.  Opening the doors for the pair of them, I round the car, climb in and start the ignition. 

As soon as the tyres screech against the gravel path, Monica blurts out, “Brigida is at the head of this crime family.  It seems impossible to believe, but the old woman I was talking to; she remembers when Brigida first came here.  She was pregnant and calling herself a widow.  She was wealthy; had cash to spend and she lived in the house you’re now staying in.  I pulled in a few favours and discovered that she actually owns the property.”

“She owns it and she’s the boss but she’s working as a housekeeper?”

“It’s a front.  And a good one at that.  Everyone thinks that Angelo is calling the shots.  But that isn’t so. He’s her…”

“Son.  Yeah, we know.  We listened to them argue when you’d gone searching for evidence,” I tell her and wave a hand, urging her to continue. 

“I’m not sure why, but over the years, less and less people knew they were related.  I think she went out of her way to hide the relationship and I think I found out why when I went to Sicily.  Angelo’s birth certificate lists the father as coming from there.  A simple fisherman according to the papers.  I found Vito Giordanni in Sicily, but he’s no fisherman.  He’s the head of a crime syndicate there.  I did some digging around in the local archives and down at the local town hall.” She shakes her head and swallows. "That’s where he got me.  But he was too late, because I’d already found everything out.  Or at least, I’ve pieced together a picture.  Whether it’s right or not, I can’t say.”

“When you say, ‘
Got you!
’ what do you mean?” Juliet asks, turning around to stare at the woman in the backseat. 

“A man appeared in the archives
room; he grabbed me, pressed a gun to my back and ordered me to walk out of the town hall without alerting any attention to our situation.  If I didn’t comply, he said he’d shoot me.”

In the rear-view mirror, I spot the glistening brightness of Monica’s eyes and quickly look away.  She’s a proud woman and probably wouldn’t appreciate anyone seeing her weep. 

“I-I did as I was told and he threw me into the back of a truck.  He tied me up and knocked me out.  The next I knew, we were on a ferry back to the mainland. I only managed to escape, because he stopped for petrol and I made such a racket of noise that someone opened the door.  He’s in police custody now and they brought me up here, but Gianni wasn’t at the station so I snuck out to come and see you.”

“Monica, you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty on this one. I don’t know how we can ever repay you for what you’ve done, but I’ll do my best to think of something.  Bernard, Juliet’s father, would be just as grateful if he were here.”

“Thank you, Joe.  I must admit, I didn’t expect to be abducted and threatened with death, when I went off to research Brigida.  But I must tell you her tale.  Gianni might forbid me to talk to anyone and you need to know.

“Brigida was Vito Giordanni’s mistress.  He was and still is childless and when she fell pregnant with his child, she fled to the mainland.  Probably because she knew that he’d take the child from her.  Especially if it was a boy.  That information I managed to piece together from time lines and the local paper as well as a visit to the geriatric ward.” She chuckles a little, but it’s a sour laugh and she turns her head to the side to stare out of the window. “She must have stolen something from him, either that, or she hoarded everything he ever gave her and sold it to come and live here with her son.

“I have no proof, but I think she must have listened and learned from Giordanni, because the money must have run out and she turned to the path she already knew.  Either that or she was bored or she simply wanted more.  I do not know.  For whatever reason, she branched off and started to courier drugs.  I’ve two signatures to confirm this; one for the signature on the deeds of the villa, there’s a copy on file at Brigida’s lawyer over in Milan.”

“And how did you find that out?”

“I hacked into his database and saw the copy.”

“You naughty girl,” I mutter and laugh at her ingenuity. “I thought hacking was for pimply boys, not beautiful lawyers.”