‘Oh God, yes, yes,’ she moaned, half-crying, and that was it, that was enough.
Kit came, the exquisite sensation of orgasm shaking his entire body. Bianca wrapped her arms tight around his neck, muffling her scream of delight against his throat.
Oh Jesus what was that? Kit wondered, coming back down to earth. His breathing slowed, steadied.
No Durex. I bloody forgot to use a Durex. What the hell…?
He didn’t care. Maybe she was on the Pill, anyway. He felt euphoric. Nothing on earth had ever felt as good as this. Still lodged inside her, he carried her over to the bed and sank down on it with her wrapped tight in his arms. Slowly he kicked off his shoes and socks, slid off his trousers and pants, moved away from her to get rid of his shirt, tie and jacket.
Naked, his hands now steady enough to do it, he unzipped her dress and Bianca knelt up and wriggled out of it.
‘No, let me,’ he said, when she reached back to unclasp her white lacy bra.
Her hands fell and Kit reached behind her, undid the bra, pulling it off and down her arms.
‘Christ,’ he murmured, staring at her. She was so beautiful – full-breasted but with tiny nipples of the softest shell-pink. He cupped one breast in his hand, feeling the weight and coolness of it, and the contrast between his dark skin and hers, so white, was starkly erotic. She moaned at his touch and he felt her nipple harden.
He felt himself harden too, so quickly. Kit pushed her back, opened her legs and entered her again. This was heaven on earth. Which was kind of funny, when you considered where they were, in a club called Dante’s, all painted red and black like an inferno – like hell.
But this wasn’t hell. This was bliss. He felt he’d die of it, just before he came again, emptying himself into her carelessly, without thought, without a single solitary qualm.
37
Fabio’s break into big-time drug dealing came when a Jamaican business acquaintance approached him and said he’d been stitched up.
‘In what way?’ asked Fabio, all ears. This boy was a big dealer in the Camden Lock area, well respected; Fab couldn’t imagine anyone trying to go toe-to-toe with him. Cross him and he’d be at you with a ruddy great machete, splice your head wide open and use it for a cup to drink out of.
‘Guy stole a kilo of coke off me.’
‘That’s bad,’ said Fabio. ‘Disrespectful.’
‘It is. And I want it back.’
‘So why you coming to me?’
‘He’s one of your lot.’ Meaning an Italian immigrant, like Fab and his family, someone who lived in the Italian quarter around Clerkenwell Road or Farringdon or Rosebery Avenue.
‘What’s his name?’
The Jamaican told him the man’s name. Fab knew the family; most of the people from the old country knew each other; Italians were warm, generous people, community-orientated. Seeing a chance to do himself a favour and make a profit, Fab took some of his boys round to the house where the man’s mother lived. Politely, Fabio announced himself and said that he had come to see Georgio.
The woman made an exasperated gesture, a puffing-out of the cheeks. ‘He’s in there,’ she waved them through, calling after them: ‘Not that you’ll get any sense out of him.’
Mama was right. Georgio had been busy snorting what should have been the Jamaican’s profits. He was out of it on the sofa, the TV bellowing out canned laughter while four idiots in Doctor on the Go played at being medics. Fabio thought that this cunt was going to need a doctor for real, very soon. He turned it off. Georgio’s eyes flickered open. Fabio looked at the boy in disgust. Fabio prided himself on keeping fit, on maintaining his perfect physique, but this wreck was pot-bellied, wearing a mouldy old tracksuit, his hair uncombed, a two-day stubble on his unwashed chin.
‘I was… watching that…’ said Georgio, looking around in bemusement at the men staring down at him.
Fabio got straight to the point.
‘You’ve thieved off an acquaintance of mine. I’m not happy. What, you sniffed all the stash up your stupid nose?’
‘No, I-’
Two of the boys lifted him off the sofa. He let out a squawk as they jammed him up against the wall, rattling the brass crucifix hanging there. It fell off the wall and hit the carpet with a thud.
‘Don’t!’ he shouted. ‘I still got most of it.’
‘Where is it?’ asked Fab.
Georgio indicated the sideboard. Fabio threw open the door and sure enough, there it was, all packaged up. Fabio grabbed it and weighed it in his hand. Georgio hadn’t done it too much damage. He thought there was maybe still around thirty-seven ounces left.
Mama, alerted by her baby’s shout, was now standing in the open doorway into the hall, a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with fear. Fabio glanced at her, nodded to his boys. They dropped Georgio, and he sat down hard on the floor beside the crucifix and started crying.
‘I’m taking this now and be grateful I don’t have them rip a chunk out of your arse too,’ Fabio told him. Then he slipped the stash into a bag he’d brought along for the purpose, nodded respectfully to Mama, and led the way outside.
Back at home, he called his Jamaican friend and told him he had the drugs in his possession.
‘That’s great. There’ll be a reward for you, of course.’
‘Too right there will,’ said Fabio. ‘I’m keeping half the stash in payment for its collection.’
There was stunned silence from the other end.
‘You what?’ yelled the Jamaican. ‘Man, don’t you mess with me. I was going to give you ten thou for fetching it back.’
‘That’s not good enough. I take half. That’s the deal.’
Fabio had already worked out that a full kilo of the stuff was worth a thousand per ounce. The maths was simple: he had thirty-seven thousand pounds’ worth of goods in his hands.
‘Look, be grateful. You get half your stuff back instead of none,’ said Fab.
‘You thieving spic!’ said the Jamaican.
‘Hey! It’s business, my melanzana pal. No offence. And you came to me, remember – I didn’t ask for the job. Going there to get it, handling the goods – I took all sorts of risks for you.’
The Jamaican was quieter now.
‘A quarter,’ he offered.
‘No. I’m keeping half. My boys will bring your share back to you today.’
Fabio put the phone down, feeling the adrenaline buzzing through him. There was a big grin on his face. He could shift the stuff easily in the Danieri clubs. Everything was coming together for him at last. He went home, got washed up, then went and met Maria in the secret place they’d agreed. So much for Mama’s ‘good old days’! These new ones were pretty fucking good, too.
38
Naples, 1947
The satisfaction of Astorre’s final revenge on Corvetto was short-lived. When word filtered back to Astorre that the deed was done, he contacted Tito, his eldest son, who was holding Luisa in safety until Lattarullo did as Astorre commanded.
‘You can free the girl now. God knows she’s got a world of pain coming to her, the loss of her father.’ Astorre gave an extravagant shrug. ‘But what could I do? Twenty years I’ve waited to make Corvetto pay for what he did. At last he’s in hell where he…’
Instead of celebrating with his father, Tito was acting strangely, not meeting his father’s eyes.
Astorre stiffened as he looked at his son’s face. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘The girl…’ said Tito. He spread his palms.