Chapter 1 April: The Game begins

Authors' Note: You could enjoy this book better if you read Possession of the Mafia Don and Owning the Mafia Don as well. But this can be treated as a standalone too,

April

The phone pinged as a message landed and I picked it up, scanning it.

it was not Gaston; these days he was not returning my calls, so calling me was out of the question., I thought bitterly

Could it be one of my children, I thought absently as I opened it and froze.

An image appeared that made me freeze although my palms were sweating.

Gaston.

With a woman. A tall, thin woman with short blonde hair, older than me, closer to his age. Wearing a fire engine red bikini and nothing else.

And she was smiling as she stood, her body pressed to my husband while he was staring at someone across the room, his large hand splayed across her hip. Her hand was on his waistband, a familiar lover-like gesture.

I felt my head begin to pound.

The background was the Town House swimming pool, the place where Gaston was staying at currently. Gaston was in his formal clothes but his jacket had been discarded and the shirt he wore was open to the waist, a habit he had, whenever he was working or relaxing. His hirsute chest with the flat abs and powerful muscles, all of it was revealed clearly.

I felt as though someone had plunged a knife into my stomach and was twisting it slowly. The hurt, the rejection, threatened to make me sick.

*

Was my husband tiring of me, I thought, my breath coming faster as I felt myself plummeting down in a panic attack.

I was curvaceous, not a size zero like this woman, and short, reaching up to his shoulders. I had to stand on my toes to kiss him. While Gaston swore that my ’rack’ was the largest and the firmest he had ever seen, I knew that my rounded hips were also not something that was the rage. But then, it was what Nature had gifted me.

The woman in the photograph had a slim, reed-like figure; the kind of woman my husband had had in his bed earlier…before we came together…

Driven by rage and fear, anxiety and a sense of overwhelming loss, I acted on impulse as I tapped the glass partition and spoke to the bodyguard accompanying me, a heavy-set man named Bosco.

I had not directly informed Gaston of my visit to the doctor; had just sent a message, asking him to allow me to visit the city. These days he never answered my calls. The Head of Security at our estate, Tony Beston had gotten back to me and said that the Boss had agreed to me leaving the grounds.

My littlest kids, all of twelve, were away on a hiking trip and would be back the following week.

I was for all practical purposes, on my own.

*

Now I said,

“Stop at the Town House, please.’

Bosco looked unnerved and the driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

‘Uh..huh…’ began Bosco but I had had enough. The way he was stalling made me even more determined. And suspicious.

“Just do it, Bosco!’ I snapped and he stiffened. I had never raised my voice at them and it was a first. Silently, he nodded to the driver who changed gears and we were soon speeding up to the house that stood along with similar, imposing-looking houses on a discreet street. When the car drew up, I stepped out quickly and marched over to the door.

*

A very flustered-looking Latino woman opened the door and made to stop me from entering. She was a new hand with a hard face, I realized with a shock that she did not know me.

“I am here to see Gaston St Claire,” I snapped through gritted teeth and pushed my way inside, shoving her when she tried to pull me back. I had already seen his car parked outside, along with the vehicles that always accompanied him. My husband was here, alright.

I stepped into the passageway, stopping short at the sound of raised voices.

*

‘Listen, Dad, you need to …’ came a young man’s voice, slightly nasal and unfamiliar and I slowed in shock.

Dad?

Had I come to the wrong house?

Then I headed a familiar gruff voice replying and I almost sagged in shock.

It was Gaston, speaking, in a tired voice, as though he was weary of arguing.

‘Son, you …” he was saying.

Gaston and a young man?

Son?

Dad?

What was going on?

A third voice interrupted him.

‘Darling, …’

A woman. Speaking in a seductive way.

*

I had had enough.

My insides clenched. But I had come to find out what was happening and I was not going to head back.

Pushing aside the housekeeper who seemed determined to prevent me from stepping forward and was trying to block my way, scowling, I marched ahead.

*

I entered the room on the right, the drawing room and stopped short. Gaston was sitting on the sofa, scowling, a bottle of alcohol before him, a tumbler in his hand. The bottle was already half empty though it was only mid-day, I noted, heart sinking. His bodyguards had stepped forward, stopping awkwardly as they saw me.

A blonde woman in a short dress, was beside him, her hand on his thigh in a familiar manner. And standing before him was a young man with blonde hair in a ponytail, who turned when I entered.

“I am sorry, I could not stop her,’ said the housekeeper who had pushed past me roughly and now appeared beside me as I stood, shell shocked.

*

Dimly, I was aware of the woman rising, her red dress tight around her small waist and flat chest. I felt like an elephant in my casual yellow outfit.

“Don’t worry, Maria,’ she said soothingly and again, I flinched as I felt like an outsider.

Gaston had surged to his feet, his face like thunder, eyes bloodshot, swaying, and glaring at me. He looked as though he wanted to kill me.

All the while the thin, tall blonde rose, smiling slyly, a hand on his arm in a proprietary manner.

‘Darling,’ she purred, stroking his chest and I stared at him, bile rising in my mouth.

My husband looked fatigued and weary but the anger, the fury was very real. And it was directed at me.

*

“THE F*CK ARE YOU DOING HERE, WOMAN?’ roared Gaston, his face contorted in a mask of fury, fists clenched.

‘ HAVEN’T I TOLD YOU NEVER TO COME HERE?’

This can’t be happening …No, no…” said a voice inside me as I staggered and leant against the door, afraid that my shaking legs would not support me.

‘Well, Dad,’ sneered the youth, with an ugly smirk,’ Don’t you think it is time I was introduced to my lovely young stepmother?’

*Step Mother?’

The words seemed to go round and round in my head as I sagged against the wall, staring at him and then my eyes went to Gaston’s

He was grey faced, looking old and haggard as he looked at me, eyes hooded.

“No,…I whispered.

I shook my head, the fierce pain in my chest as though a giant fist had closed around my heart.

Gaston had a son. A boy who was almost as old as Claude.

So he had been unfaithful to me…

Again.