Chapter 4 In His Presence

“Heard you picked up Piccolo’s sister?” A man asked, arching a dark brow. Van Dyke’s hard grey eyes shifted to Snake. Drake ‘Snake’ Collins was a man who had once saved Va Dyke’s life. It had been during one of his early days here in Don Bellini’s mob and Nico had sent an assassin to kill Van Dyke. Luckily, Snake had got the man and had shot him before he could harm Van Dyke. “Dante thought he was bringing me, Martina Piccolo,” grunted Van Dyke as a girl returned to sit on his lap and he sipped his rum. Snake looked at him curiously as Van Dyke tossed his head back and drank up the remaining liquid, he directed his question at his boss. “So, who did he get?” Snake asked interestedly. Van Dyke turned to his cameras which immediately appeared on the huge screen on the wall. “This girl,” he growled in irritation. The three of them looked at young Roxanne. She was lying huddled on the floor, in what looked like a bundle of rags. Lola’s lips twisted as she climbed back onto Van Dyle’s lap, her small, unrestrained breasts swinging, but Snake said, “Better get her into some clothes, dude. She looks like a kid.” Van Dyke scowled and without taking his eyes off the figure on the screen, he explained what had happened. Grinning devilishly, Snake came up with an idea. “She’s still a Piccolo, right?” he said thoughtfully, running his tongue across his teeth. And strolling to stare at the camera feed once again, he went on. “So maybe she can still be used as a pawn? If we sent out feelers to old Piccolo?” The old Don was not keeping well and had moved to an island in the Caribbean for all practical purposes But maybe, the thought of his only bastard daughter in the hands of Van Dyle could stir things up? “Bring her up,” bellowed Van Dye as he continued to stare at the pathetic little figure. He did not feel sorry for her, but he now recollected a girl who had been at the receiving end of Martina’s cruel jokes and her mother’s callousness. He wanted to decide her fate and he wanted to have Snake beside him for a second opinion. And another thought came to his head, unbidden: Was the girl as innocent as her brother had said? “Get up! Boss wants to meet you.” Two men appeared in the doorway, muscular and scary-looking and Roxanne shrank. What did that giant with the cold eyes want with her? The man holding her arm yanked her into the room, tossing her forward and she collapsed in a heap on the floor, unable to move when she saw the people around the large oak table, watching her. She saw the dark-skinned man with a sneer on his face, his black eyes taking her in, and finding her lacking as he came around the table and perched on the edge of the massive table, his eyes roving over her. Instinctively, she huddled closer into her clothes. There was also a woman with cold hard green eyes, narrowed and appraising her unkindly. Slim to the point of being brittle, she was sitting comfortably on the lap of the giant Alexander Van Dyke, her small breasts free and almost in the big man’s face. But it was Van Dyke himself who frightened her the most; he of the cold grey eyes, hard and unflinching as he watched her, seeming to strip away of meager clothes and her defenses… The girl broke the sudden silence. “E*…What’s that smell? Is she the Stinky in the room?” “Shut the f*ck up, Lola” he snarled. He pushed her off roughly and growled, “Get to the other room, c*nt, wait for me to come and f*ck you again. Then you may leave.” Snake walked forward and something about the man made her defenses go on high alert. The way she felt when Nico was around. She shuddered as he stepped to her, a long thin finger reaching out to tilt her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. She shrank as she saw the open lust in his eyes. She was terrified of Van Dyke, but this was different. This was a primal fear that made her skin crawl. Van Dyke had been observing her reactions. She had instinctively edged away from Snake, he noticed. ‘We can use her first,” said Snake suggestively, moving to stand behind her and boldly lifting one of her heavy breasts in his hand, pinching her thick nipple. She screamed and tried to wriggle out of his hands with a piteous sob, her eyes moving to Van Dyle in mute appeal. The Mafia Don sat unmoved, watching through narrowed eyes and then he rasped in his gravelly baritone, ‘Leave the c*nt, Snake. We can send her back to her brother. She’s of no…” He got no further. With a strangled scream, she broke free of her captors and rushed to him, She was around his desk and kneeling at his feet before he knew it. Lifting her face, she said in a throaty voice, ‘Anything but that, my lord. Please, do what you want with me, but for the love of God, don’t send me back to…” Here, she stuttered and went on, her eyes overflowing as she clutched his feet in supplication, “Don’t send me back to Nico Piccolo!”