The Depraved Pt 01

INTRODUCTION

A Dark Sicilian Comedy of Terrors told from the point of view of a modern Italian 22 year old woman of pleasure for adult entertainment purposes only.

*** indicates a break in the the story.

SCHEME.

The Don's major-bozo put the second fluted glass of lemonade and ice cubes on the worn little table between me and my boy friend's father and then the geezer creep beat a hasty retreat, leaving us on the veranda over-looking the bay of Palermo in the dawn's early light.

Franky's been fucking me for a year and he's never once taken me to his father's villa. Still hasn't done it. I'm here because the Don sent me yesterday a beautifully hand-written note inviting me--without Franky--for morning lemonade. He has superb penmanship.

I picked up the sweaty flute of lemonade and tried my best to take a demure sip. It was tart. The way I like it.

"Will Donna Volpone be joining us soon?" I could barely contain my nervousness. I had met the Don in passing in the Club a few times, but I'd never met Franky's mother. He had a photo of her next to his bed. She had auburn hair, same as me. Though my hair color doesn't come out of a bottle. She married Franky's father father when she was eighteen; she still looked good for a woman in her late 30s, if your into that MILF thing.

"She's gone to your hometown with her entourage for a few days Assunta." The Don's deep voice got a certain tone when he said the word "entourage" and it softened when he said my name.

"Milan?"

"Yes."

"How'd you know I'm Milanese?"

"Your accent, your...modernity and my son told me," the Don smiled self-deprecatingly. His face was a better version of Franky's. Franky was lean. His father was huskier with broad shoulders. They both were clean-shaven, with thick, black hair and blue eyes. The Don was twice as old as me, old enough to be my father. But there's no way the Don is a useless cuck like my father.

In a moment of carelessness I had blurted out to Franky that I was born and raised in Milan. I recovered my wits fast enough to lie that my parents were dead. He got clingy after I said that. Gross.

I had dressed as modestly as my wardroom allowed: black dress to my ankles, black sleeves to my wrists, pearl studs in my ear lobes, no other jewellery, plain low heels. Their was nothing modest about my red lingerie though. I enjoyed the feel of them. They were a gift from Franky.

I didn't deliberately wear a tight blouse--it's not my fault I've got big melons. I did keep my long, thick hair down and uncovered on purpose. I hope that doesn't offend the Don--Franky said his father is a stickler for tradition.

"When were you in Milan last?"

My voice trembled for a moment: "Four--four years ago."

"When will you return?"

"Never."

The Don was always sharply dressed and impeccably groomed. The few times I'd met him before he was wearing Armani suits that had a sheen like fish scales in a sun beam. This morning he worn a white polo shirt and loose cotton pants with bare feet. Unlike a lot of Italian men he didn't go crazy with cologne. He smelled good.

The Don took a sip of lemonade.

"What has my first born told you about my family's business?" asked the Don with a warm smile.

I couldn't help flinching. Everybody on the island of Sicily knew the Volpone business. I had to be careful.

"Franky never, never talks about the details of your family's business, never!" Not knowingly. But when Franky is drunk or high he's a real blabbermouth.

The Don made a reassuring gesture with his left hand and smiled warmly.

"Has Francesco ever mentioned the Incorruptible?"

"Never but everybody knows about the Incorruptible!"

"Who do 'they' say he is?" the Don wryly asked gazing at the bay of Palermo.

"He's a pig, from Rome, a real asshole from the State Police, a real pain in the ass to the...honored families!" I'd seen him on news clips on TikToc on my smart phone. He led the investigations that arrested the heads of three families. And he's survived multiple assassination attempts, including a car bombing that killed twenty people. It was all anyone could talk about for weeks.

"My family needs a favor," the Don stated tonelessly as he looked me in the eyes.

"From the Incorruptible?" I asked, baffled, not looking away.

"From you bella," he laughed gently.

I was stunned.

"The Incorruptible is a bastard, a lucky bastard, he will soon be turning his dark eyes on my family's business, which it is my duty to protect; the other families were vulgarians, crude, reckless and reaped what they sowed; the Incorruptible cannot be bribed, he seemingly can't be killed, he has...radar." The Don's speech was said with serene amusement; I didn't dare interrupt him.

"The Volpone are not Colombians, our methods are traditional...subtle, but perhaps for the good of my family tradition could be...suspended; if the Incorruptible was subdued, in a relaxed state, he could be...ambushed," the Don smiled in my face with a knowing look.

I bit my tongue. I started to pant a little bit. Does he think I'm a some kind of whore?

"You want me to--seduce--that cop!?" I intensely whispered.

"You're a clever girl, sharp--my family needs you to get his guard down and then..." the Don made his right hand form a pistol and silently "fired" two bullets.

"You want me to kill him?" I gasped hoarsely.

"You've killed before," he said emotionlessly without taking his eyes off mine.

If it's possible for a woman with whipped cream colored skin to get three shades paler I did as I stared wordlessly, my mouth hanging open like a goof, at my boyfriend's father who smiled warmly at me.

The machismo of mafia forbids women to be assassins and the honored families out of self-interest don't permit unsanctioned killing. My mouth went dry, my throat tightened, my panting sped up. I was struck dumb.

The Don made tut-tut soothing sounds and patted the back of my left hand which clutched the collar of my blouse with white knuckles.

"Do not fret bella, though he is the same age as you, 22, my son is still a boy, a fickle one--he should have never disrespected such a passionate woman; he told me it was self-defence."

Franky is a rat bastard, he snitched on me! I thought I'd sealed his lips when he buried our secret! I'll never give him another blow job!

***

Two months ago I came home to his apartment and he was in the shower. He'd left his clothes on top of the washing machine. The mamma's boy expected me to do his laundry. With a scowl I grabbed them and the scent of some whore wafted off his pants. Without batting an eyelash I threw the fucker's rags into the washer and then stomped into the kitchen and made penne with puttanesca sauce.

He was jolted to see me when he came out of the bathroom, naked, toweling his hair. I told him I wanted to surprise him with his favorite pasta for dinner.

The next day wearing big sunglasses--with all my hair tucked under a black scarf--and the black baggy dress of an average dumpy Sicilian house wife, I went out and bought a silencer and started stalking my cheating boyfriend. I already had a pistol, a.22.

It took a grand total of three days to find the other woman. The SOB wasn't discrete. They were sitting at a small round table outside a cafe in the early evening. The bitch had long black hair, dark eyes, looked my age, well put together--she looked Spanish. She giggled when Franky slapped her ass as they walked down the street into the nearby doorway of a run down cheap hostel.

When they returned to the hostel near midnight three days later I entered its lobby about five minutes behind them and silently gave the concierge more than enough lira to leave his desk and not return until morning. I snuck up the narrow staircase careful not to touch the wall or the bannister. I slunk down the badly lit grimy narrow hallway and put my ear up against any door that had light shining out from underneath it. I was still wearing my house wife disguise, except the sunglasses of course.

I heard Franky's annoying laugh behind the third door I checked, the only red one in the hallway. The sound of Franky's laughter filled me with rage. I kicked the door open.

They were both on the narrow bed which faced the doorway, naked. Franky was on top of the white sheet beside his whore, who was sitting up beside him covered by the sheet from the waist down.

One sight of my silencer and Franky jumped up out of the bed like a jack-in-a-box. Wild-eyed, panicking, whip lashing her head looking at me, then Franky, then...the flustered stupid bitch made it easy for me by pulling up the sheet up with her right hand to her collar bone to hide her shame at the same time that she reached with her left hand for Franky's revolver on the shabby night table on opposite side of the bed as her.

I shot her twice and little red starfish burst out on the sheet. She fell back in slow-mo sighing on to her back, her eyes closed then opened wide then closed, her head to one side, like a silly actress fainting in those old-fashioned black and white silent movies on YouTube.

I turned my pistol towards Franky who was cowering with back to the nearest wall, his hard-on gone sadly limp.

"I forgive you darling."

The whore let out another sigh, her chest heaving spasmodically. I fired two more slugs of hot lead into her chest. That finished her off. More starfish blossomed. Frank gnawed on the back of his right hand like a blubbering senile old biddy locked in her house during a thunderstorm.

"Wrap her up in the blankets, we'll carry her to the marina."

Freddy was dazed and confused. "Marina?"

"We'll use your boat's extra anchor to send her to the bottom of the Mediterranean."

"I have an extra anchor?"

"I made sure of it; now get dressed."

***

"Please forgive me Don Calagero!" I knelt in front of the paterfamilias of the Volpone, my head bowed, my hands in prayer like the nuns had taught me.

"Bella, I told you not to fret, it is not a question of forgiveness; in these perilous times my family needs all the help it can get; you have shown yourself to be decisive; will you grant us this one favor?" the Don's deep voice was soothing like tiramisu.

When Cosa Nostra asks you for a favor they won't take no for an answer. Especially with a killing hanging over my head.

I looked up into the Don's Mediterranean blue eyes and in my breathy-est voice purred, "Yes."

His eyes locked on mine, he asked seriously, "Your pistol?"

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I replied, "It's at the bottom of the Mediterranean."

"You Milanese are so efficient." The Don smiled. "Your new pistol will be under the bed in your hotel room."

"What hotel?" I asked quietly, a gentle breeze shimmering my hair.

"We've had the good fortune to discover that the Incorruptible doesn't sleep in Palermo--he has a hideaway just south of here on the coast in an ancient village; hidden in plain sight." I hope I hid my confusion from the Don over that last phrase.

"You have a reservation in the only hotel of the village under the name Gina Benussi." The Don looked impressed that this information didn't faze me.

"The Incorruptible's room will be close to mine."

"No--he doesn't stay in the hotel, he has a hideaway somewhere in the village, which is a labyrinth of narrow lane ways and alleys, it doesn't even have street signs, the village itself has no name; we have no idea where he sleeps in the village! But he enjoys breakfast in the hotel; you check in there tomorrow night and take your breakfast in the dining room the next morning, you will be there before he arrives...persuade him to take you back to his place, make him overexert himself and when he's decanted wack him."

"You want me to wack him off." I deadpanned.

The heat was rising. The breeze swayed my long hair. I stayed on my knees.

"The village is only accessible from the sea; there is a small motor boat tied next to Francesco's in the marina named the Kharon--it doesn't look like much but it will get to where you're going; there will be a map."

The Don's growing hard-on along his right thigh caught my eye. I pursed my lips and asked, "Don Calagero, may I show my gratitude to you for the great honor you have bestowed on me."

Before he could reply I started unzipping his white cotton pants. I pulled his dick out of his boxers. It wasn't the biggest dick I'd ever seen but the Father is definitely bigger than the son. I bowed my head and sucked the plum.

"All is permitted," the Don sighed as he began caressing my head with his big hands. I made him moan deeply. He whispered something in a language I didn't understand.

***

After I finished smoking the Don's uncircumcised cigar I stood proudly before him (all 5 feet 3 inches of me) and raised my glass of lemonade (the ice had melted) in toast to him and washed down the Holy Ghost in my mouth.

I rubbed my belly slowly with my left hand while purring, "Your seed will give me courage; it will make me strong."

The Don looked me over from underneath hooded eyelids, slouched back on his wicker chair, smiling wanly, subdued.

When I picked my pink purse up off the floor and extracted my big sunglasses from its depths I smiled saucily at my boyfriend's father and teased: "Your plot may be flawed."

The Don slowly raised his eyebrows.

"What if the Incorruptible is a faggot?" The policeman was famously a bachelor.

The Don roared in laughter, clapping his hands in glee, his eye lighting up.

"Bravo bella, bravo--one look at your...mane, your hazel eyes, that face and your full figure" --the Don was suddenly a street corner cat-calling jabroni making curvy motions in the air, grinning like a jackal, guffawing like a fool-- "and you will inspire him to return to the Church!"

I put on my big sunglasses.

"My major-domo will show you out."

"I'll let myself out."

"When we meet next we will celebrate your assassination."

As I strolled down the hill to the outskirts of Palermo I pondered: A man as traditional as Don Volpone would never divorce he wife, but if something tragic happened to her surely he would find consolation in the arms of a much younger new wife.