Leashed by Luxury: Daddy’s Mob Dream for Me

VIII. King of Clubs

"No... Not that," Angel says, spinning his finger to get me to twirl in my mirror, model another slutty outfit. "What about Joles' doily-ish corset dress?"

"Uh, no, because I have t**s and she doesn't. I couldn't get one boob in that thing."

"Then something red, to make your lips pop? Something hip-y." He cinches his waist, like saying that's my best asset. "But classy."

"What's Joles got you watching Queer Eye? Are you sure you don't have a crush on Ra, you wanna doll me up so bad for--"

"Did you forget the first and last time he saw you, you were puking up candy and Disaronno?"

"...Fair." I unzip out of a latex skirt suit, sweating. Love buying clothes, hate trying them on. I pull an off-the-shoulder mini from the hanger. Don't have too much left here since moving out, but this was Old Reliable. Pair it with a cherry choker and diamond drop earrings. Elegance emitting Jessica Rabbit's can't-carry-a-key but coquette cute cousin.

"Bellissima," Daddy says.

"Perfect for partying as a Don's arm candy?" I ask, spritzing some firecracker perfume.

He mimes the motion of laughing though hardly a sound comes out. "Just remember who you belong to and to behave."

# # #

We pull up to Il Vespro, my pearlescent Lexus still valeted under gigantic olive trees.

"So if I do good, will you take the metaphorical boot off my car?" I tease Daddy.

"Sure, but why would you want to leave your old man?"

"Well, if you're as good as your bet, for once, I'll follow you home. For now."

"Deal, mia monella." He spends an inordinate amount of time parking between the lines even though nobody's on our side of the lot.

"What, you got enemies here who wanna key you?" I ask once he waves away the valet boys in silly little fez hats like organ grinder monkeys. "What happened to 'the perks of being a partner'?"

"Ah, but if we're in public so soon, I won't have time to do this." He casually reaches over to slip a hand down my sweetheart neckline.

"Checking the merchandise?" I roll my eyes, saying, "Haven't popped one yet. I assure you, they're fine."

He begs me not to ever get them done, and I "yeah" and "uh-huh" him, half looking at my phone, until he opens my side of the Cadillac. Walking toward what looks like a snooty country club in satin heels, I check my messages. My limbs are still heavy, hung over, from last night. Shoulders tight, temples faintly throbbing. I suppose my tolerance is about to get a lot higher if I hang around Daddy more.

Seemingly sensing my curiosity and lethargy, Giovanni phones.

I pick up immediately, which pulls Daddy's brows down. "Gee-y, how are you?"

"Better now that I'm out of meetings with the in-laws or regular law types. And you're on the line. You've been quiet, Narie. Something wrong?"

"Uh, no. Just had my phone on silent 'cause, uh, I been with Daddy... You know, for Father's Day."

"Really? But I thought you were gonna let him rot with Joles. That basta--"

"You're on speaker!" Not really, but loud enough I have to double-tap the volume down.

Daddy scowls at me, gesturing toward my bag like, Away. Now.

"Um, I'm actually... We're actually... He's showing me his place or whatever and I hav'ta--"

Daddy steals the phone from me and shouts "Ciao!" before pressing the end button.

"That was rude," I say, scrunching my brows as I slide the li'l brick back in my bag.

"So was calling me names," he huffs like a toddler.

"I can't control what other people think of you," I slit through my teeth as we walk past the valets, hopefully snickering about something else.

"You can control the company you keep, Naria." He sneers, sliding a passkey to enter a side door.

"UM, you forget who introduced us?"

"Not for that."

"It's okay for him to pearl necklace me but not check in on me, pump and dump but not chit-chat? He pays for my penthouse, Daddy!" I remind. "I have to be on call somewhat."

"Don't get too personal with your pocketbook," he advises, like holding my elbow isn't the same as shaking his piggy bank.

"Even after years? You're impossible, Daddy. I'd never have any friends if it was up to you."

"You have Joles. And me. And that cat we feed when it's rain--"

"Like I said, I'd never--"

He swings open another door ushering cool blasts in, saying, "Then allow me to introduce you to a bunch, bambina."

We step into an atrium that seems to go on forever. All gleaming gray-white clover tile makes the modern orange chairs pop extra hard. Shell chairs and modern booths as shiny and vibrant as Starbursts. It'd make a St. Bernard or blitzed b***h totally wanna chew 'em. Thankfully, it seems neither are allowed.

All the way at the other end from the terraced restaurant, Ra sits at a table on the left corner of the balcony. The view reminds me of when Angel and I rented a stilted cabin in the Georgia Blue Ridge Mountains. Though that was much more private an affair than this—I presume, even in the backrooms.

"How're you doing?" Ra bellows as we near, his head tilting up as he leans back, away from his business mates. Other old-school Armani types, though there's also a blonde girl by his side, sitting with impeccable posture in an aquamarine bikini with swirls like Slave Leia.

"So-so," Angel says softly, while I brightly return how it's "Nice to be out of the house, the city when it's somewhere actually scenic." Our house can constrict like a ghost ship, a morgue, a back-in-the-day brothel... Yet my new change of pace doesn't feel so liberating under this heavy awning and ogling: I'm stuck in a stuck-up country club for Gesù Cristo knows for how long or for what.

I can feel Ra appraising me, like a pawn shop man with one of those magnifying monocles. "Betty Boop," he dubs me, and I swallow a comment about calling him The Count with a widow's peak combed back like subtle devil horns.

Even if I find his elder vampire aura a bit...enchanting, it doesn't sound so cute or kindly among strangers. I twirl, swishing up my scalloped skirt.

"Ah, feeling better today, are we? Bubbly?"

I raise his glass of grigio bubbly to cheers, tennis bracelet tinkling, as I say, "Sì."

His associates point their pinto at me, murmuring, "Grazie, cin cin" or "Gorgeous."

Ra and Daddy nod stiffly, like it's perfunctory to give a girl her due.

"You already got a pretty girl though," I say to Ra, setting his glass back unsipped. Leaning unnecessarily low to center cleavage, but winking at Goldilocks. Good will's important with (working?) women. These places could be called cat houses for a reason. I'm trying to do my part by ignoring Angel's focus on her slick C cups.

"Yes, of course." Ra strokes her perfectly straight hair like an Afghan hound. "But Angel's been hyping you up for a millennium. It's nice to see you...more in your element."

The edge of my smile flickers. He loves bringing up my blunder, huh? How trashed did I look yesterday? Then again, he should be used to train wrecks if he's friends with Daddy. I straighten up. "Well, Daddy mentioned to me that you have some sort of opening you want me to fill?" Merda. That's not a hot phrasing, roles all reversed. Unless he likes pegging. Which I so don't, so...

"Ah, yes. Angel tells me you...have many talents. A go with the flow girl. Discretion is your specialty." His tone lowers. Cold but not cruelly sarcastic. Like I'm sitting on an ice block on a summer day: a bit of bite, but I'll take it. "I have a project in mind for you."

I adjust a bracelet, looking over his peers (underlings?), wondering if it's something he really wants to broadcast. "What kind of project, Mr. Raffaele?"

He smiles without warmth."A...showcase. We have a private performance stage. Very exclusive. Burlesque, yes, but elevated. Artistic." He studies my face for hesitation. "Your father mentioned you have...dabbled in...exhibitionism. Hosting shows for a digital audience?" He says it casually, but his eyes are dissecting like I'm a butterfly under his thumb pins. "Are you comfortable on a stage, Naria? Or is your elegance strictly...private?"

"That depends on what you mean." How rude, how many people is 'private'?

"Well, the stage demands a certain...presence. Someone who understands discretion, direction, knows how to manage delicate egos. Angel says you do that everywhere. This is just...higher stakes."

"Higher stakes? Is it off with my head if I can't unlace my corset quick enough? Trip over a ballerina heel?"

"We'll only cut up your check if you flub so spectacularly. But I believe that's behind you."

My brow twitches. "I'll show you." I'll show Angel. This idiocy is easy. I'll be in and out. Count the coins like I've got some to spare the wishing well. My want: No more melodrama. Just lewd amusements, easy fun. For once. Healthy cash and blood flow.