Part Thirty One
by sarAdora ~~~~~~~~~~
Francesca rode her fear in silence, bits and pieces of it startling her unexpectedly as she moved through the days and weeks that followed. Giancarlo tightened the security around her and went to great lengths to keep that security as unobtrusive as possible. She didn't object, said little about the incident and with a great deal of loving attention from him, slowly grew back out of the shell she had erected around herself. As wife of the Godfather, she had many advantages and as she had discovered, a few disadvantages as well.
Mama Batali and Angelina went out of their way to continue their daily activities in their normal fashion, drawing Francesca into their lives the way it had always been. Her girlfriends, both in and out of the familia communities, were aware that Francesca had endured a bad case of food poisoning and if they knew more than that, they were wise enough to keep the matter private. One girlfriend thought she knew more and whispered to her boyfriend of her suspicions.
Francesca wondered why that girlfriend had suddenly chosen to move back to her native Italy. Her boyfriend, a trusted capo in Giancarlo's organization, had no explanation to offer.
"Dinner in a dark corner of an small intimate bistro, bambina, or nudo naked in our bedroom?" Giancarlo asked when Francesca arrived home from a day working at the shelter.
Sal, her bodyguard heard the Godfather's question as did Mama Batali who had just returned home. Francesca flushed crimson red making all of them laugh.
"Gianni!" she hissed.
"Che cosa, bambina? What, baby?" he chuckled, grabbing her up into his arms and marching upstairs. "Everyone knows how much I love you so they must know how much I love making love to you."
"You shame me," his embarrassed wife mumbled, burying her face in his neck.
"No, bambina. I would never shame you. I teased you in front of familia; there is no shame in declaring my love in front of familia."
She chose the small intimate bistro as he knew she would and called in advance to order her favorite foods. Francesca went out of her way to wear a dress he especially liked and Giancarlo wooed her as if he were courting her for the first time.
Their conversation was quiet, intimate and loving, each attentive to the other, both only aware of each other. Waiters smiled when they saw the tenderness between the couple and quietly served their meal without interruption. Bodyguards remained in the shadows, ever watchful but unobtrusive. When Giancarlo asked if she wanted gelato alla vaniglia con vino vanilla ice cream with wine and she nodded her head in agreement, he was pleased; Francesca's appetite had returned.
She offered him the first bite, spooning the sweet confection between his lips and when a drop fell to his chin, she reached over and licked it. Giancarlo inhaled sharply; her warm tongue sent shivers through him and suddenly, he wanted her to quickly finish the meal so they could leave.
"Mangi, innamorata Eat, sweetheart," he whispered, cupping her cheek. "We need to leave soon."
She laughed. "I thought you were going to dance with me. Isn't that why we're eating here, in a supper club?"
"I *do* want to dance with you," he grinned. "In bed."
"You are a demanding husband, Gianni," she blushed.
"And...?" he demanded, his lips brushing her temple as he murmured his need for her, proving her right.
"And... I am glad that you are... but I want to dance."
"One," he groaned. "One dance and we go home."
When they finally embraced on the dance floor, the bandleader was so pleased to see the Godfather and his wife, he lifted his wand instructing the band to play a continuous set of slow dance music. It was rumored that Giancarlo Ruggiero Batali loved to dance; the bandleader would give the Godfather every opportunity to do so.
Four songs into the dance... Francesca was ensconced in her husband's arms enjoying the soft romantic melodies, the intimacy of their touching bodies, and smiling at the almost inaudible groans her husband emitted each time she rubbed against him and she purposely rubbed against him.
Six songs into the dance... Giancarlo muttered a brief litany in Italian that loosely translated placed the leader of the band and all of the musicians deep in the center of a planet infested with lice.
"We are leaving, bambina," he told her as he ushered her off the dance floor before she could utter a protest.
Francesca laughed, waved to the bandleader and like a good wife, dutifully allowed herself to be led to their waiting limousine.
Giancarlo's driver couldn't stop grinning. The feisty ragazza girl had the Godfather wrapped around her little finger. "Forse Maybe," he mumbled softly. "Until she goes wild again." He laughed aloud at his thoughts; it was only a matter of time before Francesca would do something outrageous and il spongenza his boss would blister her butt.
"What amuses you?" Giancarlo asked when he heard his driver laugh.
"Niente i importe, sporgenza Nothing of importance, boss," the man answered. "I'll have you home as fast as I can."
Giancarlo nodded and turned his attention back to Francesca. She sat quietly next to him, not teasing him with her hands, acting the lady and yet... there was an aura of sexuality about her... If they didn't get home soon, he would make love to her in the backseat like a high school boy with raging hormones. Any moment now, he was going to tell his driver to get them home as if they were fleeing from an unseen ambush.
And maybe they were...
Bodyguards were in the car in front of them and in the car following them. All were licensed to carry weapons; all cars, including the limousine were armor plated with bulletproof glass. Ever since John Gotti's arrest and subsequent attacks on known members of Mafia communities, all of the leading families had upped their personal security. It was both paranoia as well as common sense. If they were going to be attacked, they weren't going to make it easy.
Little did Giancarlo know that an ambush wasn't what should have worried him... but a personal assault... on his own turf... within the compound... in his own home... from someone close to him... very close.
Familiar eyes watched him as he escorted Francesca to their front door. A familiar pair of arms hurried to open that door, always courteous to the Godfather. And when the couple passed through the doors, those eyes turned dark with anger and the urgent need to revenge his papÓ.
Soon, he consoled himself. Soon. I've waited this long... a little longer won't make any difference.
Little Petey Petrale stood in the shadows and arched a brow. The bodyguard who had rushed to open the Godfather's door had always bothered him. He couldn't say why... it was just a gut feeling and Petey Petrale's gut had never steered him wrong. The little man and his wife and children owed much to the Godfather and he was particularly fond of the Godfather's wife, the woman who was responsible for his good fortune. They lived better now that the Godfather had invited Petey into his familia. He would keep a careful eye on this bodyguard, this man with the aura of evil.
"I should spank you," Giancarlo murmured as he pulled Francesca's clothes off, dropping them on the floor as he made his way to their bed. "You are a wicked woman."
"Wicked?" she giggled. "Is that a good thing?"
"A very good thing," he laughed, yanking his own clothes off after he dropped her on the bed. "And wicked women should be spanked until they beg forgiveness," he chuckled as he flipped her over his lap and landed a firm swat on her ivory cheeks.
"Gianni!" she protested.
"Mia amore," he replied, his arm tucking her close to his body, a hand slipping under her to tease her while his other hand spanked with just enough sting to cause her hips to arch.
"Per piacere... Please..." she moaned.
"Che cosa? What?"
"Love me," she begged, her voice husky as her ardor rose with each stroke of his hand beneath her, the heat on her bottom cheeks an added sensation.
"Not yet, bambina. You haven't suffered enough," he chuckled as he stroked... spanked... stroked... until she was gasping for breath. "You teased me mercilessly on the dance floor and now you must pay."
"Ora! Now!" she ordered, making him laugh but he turned her over and grinned at her demand. She was rosy from head to toe and her petals were wet and swollen with need.
He couldn't resist her and gave her everything she demanded... everything she wanted... and then some... and gifted himself as well.
"Ti amo cosi tanto, I love you so much," he murmured as he poured his seed into her, and as he said the words, he knew it was true.