Chapter 26

"Lola, you were the one who suggested this!" he groans.
Sure the documentary on the modern day food industry is interesting enough, now at least. Before starting it though, he'd suggested they skip the boring video and make some memories of their own, with a special feature from their bed and perhaps a guest star of the bedroom wall and floor.
Of course, she insisted on the video she's been wanting to see for ages but now growing nearer the end she's gotten so squirmy. He's not that clueless about women he doesn't know what that means.

"Well we did what I wanted for a while. It's only fair we do what you want for a while now," whispers Lola nipping his earlobe after.

He angles his head away allowing her more access to his jaw line whilst assisting in her manoeuvre over his lap.
"I suppose fair is fair," he mumbles back as she deliciously slides her hands down his chest in a manner more aggressive than a gentle caress.
That action, he finds, is so incredibly sexy. Sex with Lola, has always been good. Amazingly, incredibly, mind-blowingly good. But these past few days in the aftermath of their 'talk', she's become more receptive towards him. Although, he argues that may be his acceptance of her. He can't fight it any longer. She does make him happy and trying to pathetically and despairingly keep an emotional distance from her was a doomed, catastrophe of a plan anyway. There's no way he can do that. Especially when his distance causes her pain and that in turn makes him miserable. At least this way whatever temporary happiness they have will be their forever, even if it may only be in memory.
He's never been a live-in-the-moment kind of guy and probably never will be truly; however for her, he'll try his hardest.

Her giggles strike him out of his musings. Silver eyes refocus on the beautiful nymph seated on him, smiling wickedly.
"See good things come to those who wait," she states pecking his lips in a kiss far too short.
Carlos grins. Okay, if the little vixen wants to be playful then he better play along too.
"Careful piccola, I wouldn't want you to have to eat those words of yours later."
She tips her head back, a laugh bursting through before those curls toss back around her.
"You're right. The sooner the better then," she corrects and then with a low sultry voice adds, "oh and harder, faster too."

His fingertips dig into her thick thighs in response as he sharply draws in a breath. Jesus. How can he possibly still have this same reaction even when he's got every inch of her silky skin ingrained into his mind?

"Here or bedroom?" he grunts most of those eloquent words he has in his vocabulary drying up immediately.

"Right now here. But maybe we can forge a path to the bedroom later on."
Holy shit. This woman.
His hand curves around to her ass, dragging her forwards and before she can giggle again he has her mouth ceased.

Lola's quick to gain her bearings, kissing him back with equal passion as she slides a hand under his shirt while the other one remains at his jaw. His own hands gently explore the sliver of skin exposed by her t-shirt. The gentle flirtation of his fingertips on that innocent piece of skin drives her crazy, more so than if he'd just ripped off her clothes and started groping her chest. With his resolution to her, to try earning her forgiveness, it's like one of the many barriers between them has toppled. She feels it in his touch, in his words, in his presence. He's far more relaxed around her, more assured and that in turn has her questioning how long this 'honeymoon' period can last. Despite his seemingly determined nature, she's still waiting to see the follow through. Will he stick to his morals when his father comes calling again? Or will he crumple to his knees in front of the old man?
In the meantime though...she's enjoying the sex. The mind blowing, pain numbing, good sex.

The foreplay is too much far too soon for Lola and with a groan of dissatisfaction she presses him further into the couch, grinding down as she starts unbuttoning his shirt.

The obvious cue is not missed by Carlos. His slithers down the couch slightly creating a flatter plane for their two hips to join through the restrictive material of their clothes. His own trousers are uncomfortably tight at the present and he can almost feel the heat from radiating from the junction of her legs through the thin material of the pyjama bottoms and her cotton panties. He loves how full her figure is supplying him with more than enough taut flesh to grip onto in the throes of their passion. He doesn't have to worry too much about being delicate with her and when she gives as good as she gets, it drives him crazy.
"Lola," he groans as nimble quick fingers make short work of the opening of his trousers and slither inside to draw out his most sensitive organ presently.
It weeps for her and she drags the salty tears over the responsive head.
He stifles the low moans of his pleasure while the need to retort the incredible sensations spikes.


 Lola's absorbed by his expression carved into his beautiful, handsome face. Her lips tilt into a grin when she rubs a particular spot on the underside and he inhales sharply in pleasure. Those grey eyes are like lightening bolts that strike her before he groans and they cloud over with lust again. It's one of those things that can never get tiring and is never the same each time. So absorbed in noticing him, she barely registers his thigh fingers gliding into her clothes until she does. Those rough digits barely touch the feminine heat but it's more than enough to have her breath staccato.
She leans forwards to kiss him entranced by the creature lying under her. When she first met him he was the devil; a handsome one at that but still a demon sent to spiral her life into misery and loneliness. Then he became her saviour, revealing those secrets and showing her that noble heart under all those layers of granite. Though he makes mistakes, plenty in fact and his actions a lot of the time make her furious or upset or a usually a combination of both and then he'll say something or do something so unexpected that steals her breath away that she has no choice but to soften her perspective. So maybe he's not the devil or her knight in shining armour, maybe he's just...human; simply a complicated, sometimes wrong, sometimes infuriating but gentle man. A man she loves.

The realisation is not the same freight train of emotion that she's expecting. It's not a tidal wave but rather a soft lapping emanating from the centre to the edges of her heart. Perhaps she's known it long ago. She's not sure how long ago exactly but it's a pointless question. All she knows is that she does. She loves him. Lola Beaumont loves Carlos Castellano. A man who can be argued, stole her away, killed her father, has done countless other unspeakable acts but...he's also a man who has protected her and cared for her. He's a man who's willing to make changes for her and that itself is phenomenal.
So all that remains is does she tell him? Does she reveal the new knowledge that has come to the light and brave herself for whatever his reaction may be or does she wait?


 Her breath catches as he traces the hood of her clít sending all thoughts from her mind momentarily. With the sensible part of her brain being pushed aside that primal region is free to rule. It ceases her motor-neurone movement, causing her to grind down on the delicious hard trunk of his thigh as her hand rotates and tugs at the organ pulsating in her hand. The grinding. The grinding is certainly not enough. It's good even with his fingers teasing her but her pússy craves its food-a thick, juicy cóck.
"Carlos...Need you inside," she pleads, eyes half cast.

Her answer is a ringing noise. One she faintly hears through the cloud of lust circling them. In this basic state they imagine no technology existing but of course, illusions eventually shatter and as the ringing persists, Carlos shifts.

Lola's eyes snap open, her gaze feral as she glares warningly at him.
"Don't you dare," she hisses.
It's a fierce desperation he shares but there are only momentary pauses between the ringing and it's evident that someone is very determined to get a hold of him, and at the worst possible time right now.
It won't quit and no matter his current desires and no matter how close he is, he needs to shut it off and maybe...take this to their more spacious bed.

"It won't stop," he growls back with that same tone as he thrusts his free hand that's not engulfed in her heat to dig out the slim object from the depths of his pocket.
His top lip tugs into a snarl as he snorts at the caller ID. Of course it's his mom. She always did have impeccable timing like that and of course that tenacity to keep hammering at him until she gets through.

"Mamma I will call you-"

"What in God's name are you doing that you can't even answer a call from your mother?!" she spits in rapid Italian.
He recoils from her tone. The words, not so much but her tone although it has composure to it that he knows very well from his mother there's an underlying element of...fear. No, that can't be right. His mother is a formidable force, a mountain that's remote, cold and unmoving. Nothing bothers her.
"I apologise," he states in a small voice, his hand slipping from Lola and blindly reaching for the tissues on the coffee table behind her.

Lola's spark of fury at him ending their session very prematurely, dims as she notes the stiffness in his posture. She wordlessly clambers off him, dropping on the couch beside him as she observes the conversation she understands little of.

"Carlos, you need to come immediately to the hospital."
His spine straightens instantly, "what? Mamma, what is it?"
"Your father has been hospitalised. The doctor's have no diagnosis as of yet."
"What happened? How is he? When will they-"
"Carlos! Stop clucking like a mother hen and be a man. Come at once. The matter is urgent-it pertains your father."
"On my way," grits out Carlos despite the insult to his manhood.

He leaps to his feet. Righting his clothes and placing away the now most definitely flaccid organ.

"What's going on?" asks a quiet voice, one he'd almost forgotten.

Wild grey eyes filled with panic meet her calmer chocolate orbs.
Guilt and conflict spread across his expression as he gazes down at her and remembers his promise. No more following the commands of his family he'd said. But right now...they need him.
"I...My father's been hospitalised," he states another wave of guilt crashing against him as he realises he's speaking about his father in front of her, when he was the one who killed her father.
That wound must still be raw and he's continuing to poke at it. Jeez. Talk about a catch-22.

He struggles to form the words, to try explain his actions, "Lola...I have to go. He...my mother...they-"
"Need you," she finishes for him evenly, "go. Go be with them."
She rises to her feet, hands extending and pulling him into a brief embrace of only comfort.
Easing back, she smooths her clean hand over the place of his heart and states, "you're not breaking your promise to me. You said you would stand up for yourself but this is your family needing you. For your comfort. You should be there for them for that, no matter what. Everything you've done is for your father but not to be there at his hospital bedside would be a justified regret. Don't worry about me, okay?"

His powerful shoulders slump in relief. At least that's one thing he doesn't have to concern himself about.
"Thank you," he sighs, placing a chaste kiss to her forehead before he races around the apartment to gather his things.

It's only a few minutes later, Lola hears the front door slam close in the wake of his exit. She exhales deeply, slumping back into the couch. As much as she despises Alberto Castellano on principal alone, Carlos doesn't deserve that sort of loss, no matter his relationship with the awful man.

Carlos drives as fast as he dares to the hospital. After all, his mother doesn't need her son joining her husband in an adjacent hospital bed. Navigating his way through the crowds he arrives at the private room of his father's. There are two guards posted against the doors and when one of them steps in his path, Carlos raises that scared eyebrow, unimpressed.
The other one, more seasoned, he's guessing, pushes his comrade aside murmuring an apology to him as he's allowed through.

It's a sterile room as expected. His mother is seated in cushioned chair beside his father who lies in a simple hospital gown in that non-descript bed. Her posture is the same regal one it always is. Her hair crisply pulled back into her signature low chignon and her clothes as pristine as the rest of her.
"Mamma," he calls softly making his way to her first.
It is his mother he owes more to anyway. No one else will make sure she's okay, no matter her lack of reciprocating emotions.

"Carlos...Darling, thank you for coming so promptly," she says smiling tightly as he lowers and presses a whisper of a kiss to her cheek.
She gives his simply caress, the closest she has ever come to a hug.
Carlos notes the weariness in her eyes, the darkness underneath that she cannot disguise with make-up. He will speak to her about that later. But first...his father.

Even resting the old man is marred deeply with frown lines and wrinkles. Harsh and hard has always been Carlos assessment of his father's appearance but that jagged nature runs deep within him. That invincibility in his outer demeanour is something that Carlos always thought ran to his very body. An old, undying force. A storm Carlos never imagined would be coming to an end and as it does, the very thing he's hoping for is the very thing that pains him.
No. No, his father won't die. Can't die. Alberto Castellano does not bow down to anyone or anything, even death. Whilst inevitable he faces it on his terms, by his choice, not anyone else's.

 "What has Dr. Hunt said?" exhales Carlos taking a step back from his father's bedside whilst retaining his gaze disbelieving on the unmoving man.
Dr. Stephen Hunt is the only doctor his father would see or Stephen's father retired father Brian. Brian was the first mob 'doctor'. The only one his father trusted enough to allow for that and it's a trust the man never broke, even going so far as to effectively turn his son over to them too. Carlos never had an opinion about it but now he's certainly relieved for it.

"They took a blood sample for analysis. He said he would be back as soon as he gets the results. They-he-suspects it may be...poison," Caterina replays.
Carlos swings his disbelief over to his mother, his legs suddenly feeling a whole lot less sturdy. He has to sway over to the chair beside his mom before finally able to slump into it's cushioning.
"Poison? How?"
With the power he lawlessly attained, Alberto is a paranoid man. At home, meals are prepared by his mother. If he eats at restaurants or anywhere else, he makes sure to have one of the many goons accompanying him taste the food first for any traces of poison. And he's guarded practically all the time. How on earth did anyone manage to slip his poison without him knowing? And more importantly why? Who would be the question his father would demand from him. Who did it? And how slowly, painfully can you kill them?

"They are not sure yet," answers his mom, irritant.
His narrows his eyes at her wondering the unthinkable, "you didn't..."
"No! Of course not!" cries Caterina before composing herself and testily spitting out to her son, "he is my husband, Carlos. One who has-by the standards of many of the women of my household-been good to me. He honoured his vows of protection, of providing and of reproducing. If I so wished to be rid of him, I simply would have ended my life not his."

Carlos doesn't bother to try understand those ingrained ideologies of his mother. Those strange, twisted views are simply a reflection of her archaic upbringing where women are subservient to their husbands. And regardless of this, they must also be cunning, manipulative, cruel enough too to survive.
His mother is the constant reminder that things could be far worse. He could be in Italy with his maternal grandparents running a far worse cartel and being trained to be even more ruthless. At least that's one thing the old man did right-take them away from those beasts.

It's only after a quarter of an hour of waiting later, Carlos is gathered enough to realise that his brother is not joining in on this reunion.
"When is Marco coming?"
"Oh there's no need to bother the boy."
Carlos frowns. His mom always has been tougher on his brother than him, a reversal of the first child syndrome. And Carlos has always believed that to be due to the care-free nature of Marco. How he takes what he wants and behaves as he wishes. But this is too far. To hold distain for his brother at this sort of time is ridiculous.
"Mother," he warns her, "Father is lying in a bed having been poisoned and you think his youngest son should not be bothered?"
With a sneer towards him, she concedes having seen the logic and flips out her phone.


The call is short and his mother gave Marco the same vague description of Alberto's status and he was given.

It's not long before Marco arrives. As he does Carlos studies the way he sweeps first over their father before redirecting to their mother and him. His brother's expression is closed off, impassive and Carlos is uncertain as to whether his brother shares the same distress or even a small of part of it, with him.

"He was poisoned. The results are not back yet," relays Carlos.
Marco curtly nods, shocking him with his next question, "and if he finally dies then I suppose that means I answer to you now."
He hadn't thought of that. Of course, death was a possibility but he hadn't been thinking of what then. With his father ceasing to exist on this plane, he could very well do as he pleased. His mother would challenge him about it but she would not do anything. He could leave it all behind. Flee with Lola or stay. Staying would be an option even if chaos would surround them in the aftermath of the great Don Castellano's death.
Or maybe his brother could take over. In which case he could not stay guiltily behind and watch him morph into a more vicious version of Alberto. But the point would be that he wouldn't have to.

"I made my desires to you about that topic very clear-"
"Desires? You will do no such thing. Your father may not be there but you will honour his wishes," interjects Caterina as Carlos forgets for a moment his mother is present.
There's a pause before Carlos states, "we can discuss it later. Once we know father's status."
Their silence is something Carlos takes as agreement.

The wait for Dr. Hunt is short and like a professional the man's demeanour does not change even after he closes the door for privacy.
They all rise, gathering around Alberto's bedside as only the beaps of the machines fill the strained silence.
"When Don Castellano was admitted he displayed symptoms of...mercury poisoning. The numbness of his hands, the slurring speech, ataxia are all consistent with mercury poisoning. But after analysis it seems that this is not exactly mercury poisoning."
"Then what is it?"
"There's a compound called dimethylmercury. It is one of the deadliest biosynthetic poisons ever produced. Since the introduction of Grignard reagents, it's use became invalid and as such the hospital's never encountered it, at least not in the last decade or so."
Carlos's eyebrows draw together as he tries his hardest to flatten all that emotion bubbling within him.
"So how the hell did someone manage to slip him some of this mercury stuff? If it's not in circulation."
"Oh it can be synthesised. Not much would be required, a few drops of a low concentration. It would not even have to be necessarily ingested. The poison can seep through latex, PVC and a range of other material and is really very easily absorbed through the skin. From there it's then in the body's circulation and can even pass through the blood-brain barrier and-"

Mumbo-jumbo. Carlos doesn't care how the damned thing works. Just...just what the damned cure is. Then after his father is well, he can seek out the bastard that would kill a man the coward's way and seek retribution.
"Just tell get to the cure. What can be done?" he impatiently demands.
To be a mob doctor of course, requires a level of impassiveness greater than most doctors must be but with this particular case, Stephen can feel the sweat beads gather at his forehead.
"Well...you see. Symptoms can take months to develop and by then it really is too late. In fact, there is no cure for it I'm afraid. No treatment to assist either in the...process."

Carlos cannot find his tongue. His mouth is too dry to speak and his vocabulary non-existent. His mother steps up though.
"How long does he have? How much lucid time? There are still options for him aren't there?" statically interviews Caterina the slightest hints of fear actually tinging her words.

 The doctor exhales slowly, tensing in obvious discomfort as this is not only his patient but also in some regards his boss.
"The best we can do is track his symptoms. We have no way of knowing how quickly he will deteriorate. It could be a few days and at the best a few weeks. Eventually he will slip into a coma and I'm afraid we won't be able to place him on life support, because to be frank, there would be no point. The bottom line is...this is not treatable. Mrs. Castellano I truly am sorry to be the one to have to tell you all this. The Don and my father were good friends, despite...everything."

Carlos cuts him a sharp look, holding the man's cool gaze as he states, "then you'll understand this was a coward's doing."
"A thorough coward," mutters back Hunt.
"A coward nonetheless. So tell me, when was the act committed? Can you run any analysis to show any indication of the bastard?"

"I'm afraid not. The incident could have taken place months before, weeks before or even a few days ago. Due to it's delicate nature dimethylmercury there is no telling. Normally the response of a drug would depend on it's dosage but with this even a few drops of it can be extremely detrimental. There's no knowing how much the Don was given. As for the when...Well, there's a factor of human metabolism. There's no knowing how much and how fast the poison travelled through his bloodstream or even when it will cross his blood-brain barrier. It may be-"

 "Basically," snarls Carlos raising a hand and stopping the man's useless explanations, "you have no idea of telling when he was poisoned or how much with. In fact, you can't tell me anything useful can you?"

A brief flash of fear crosses the Hunt's features and Carlos is sure a large part of it is due to his no doubt ferocious expression. It's not the doctor's fault and he knows it but that doesn't excuse his anger. His irrational fury at the whole situation. Yes, he wanted his father to step back and allow him to forge his own path but...not like this.
"I'll make sure he is as comfortable as possible, Mr. Castellano. If you have any further questions, you know how to contact me. I'm sure you're well aware that news such as this will travel fast. I'm sorry for your loss."
With a brief nod the man exits as rapidly as he entered leaving more questions than answers for the Castellano's.

"He's right. News will travel fast. We need to plan the funeral," hollowly states Caterina.

 Carlos's eyes widen as he snaps, "he's not dead yet mother."
Caterina struggles to tear her eyes away from Alberto's can decidedly see the hints of despair fraying on the edges of those seemingly lifeless eyes.
"Not yet. But the vultures will be circling Carlos and so we must act fast. Our mourning must be private because publically you will need to step seamlessly into your father's duties, Carlos."
"Mother I told you, we can speak of father's...wishes for me to be his heir later-"
"There is no later. It is time you step up Carlos, no more of this tortured soul act you play. Time to grow up son."
The sting of rebuke his mother's harsh is not one he'd anticipated and as such, Carlos flounders for words in his state of shock.
But as that sting soothes, his own temper flares. Enough is enough. He will not listen to a dead man. He is a man and he will make his own decisions.

"I am grown a man, Mother and I will not-"

"He will not allow his father's murderers to go unpunished," cuts in Marco.

Strange his normally mouthy brother hasn't spoken up until now. Carlos can only ponder at the possibilities as to why that could be. Marco has always been the one inflicting the pain, rarely the one receiving it, especially this type of emotional and psychological blow than a physical one. Carlos wonders whether it is because this entire situation of grief is unknown to his brother or because it makes him uncomfortable. Maybe his brother does feel something for their father lying like that? Or maybe he doesn't. Despite his brother and his father working together and spending far more hours of the weeks together than Alberto and himself, Marco seems...more detached. It's almost like the relationship Alberto and Marco have-had-was like a employer-employee one rather than a father-son.
Either way, Carlos is confused by the contribution his brother makes to their discussion. Surely the sooner Carlos can announce of his plans not to descend on the jagged, thorny throne Alberto has left for him, the sooner Marco can.

Although his brother does have a point. He needs to find the people who did this. Not for his father, because in all honesty an assassination is not exactly a surprise for a man who's determined as he is selfish. But he needs to find out for himself. To understand why and how. The kill is not like a normal mob hit. There appears to be no signature for it. Rather it is there only to serve its duty to render the victim invalid.
However...with so much circulating through his head, Carlos cannot think straight.

"I suppose that is a priority," concedes Caterina reluctantly, "your father would want the son of a bitch as painfully reprimanded as possible."