Indiscretions of a God Read online

  SYNOPSIS

  1. DON’T TOUCH HER

  2. BUSINESS

  3. ST. TATIANA

  4. CHURCHGOERS

  5. ROCK STARS

  6. NEW ROUTINE

  7. CHILD

  8. ROCKER TALKS

  9. GOOD GOING BAD

  10. CONFESSIONS

  11. SANTA COLOMBINI

  12. MOBESPIERRE SANGUINE

  13. CHAOS

  14. VISIT

  15. TAKEOFF

  16. THE NUN WAY

  17. RULER

  18. MANIPULATIONS

  19. CONTROL LOST

  20. MOUNTAIN TRIP

  21. FILMING

  22. NIGHT

  23. TAKE TWO

  24. TWISTS

  25. OUTSMARTED?

  26. AVANTI, NASCIMBENI

  27. TRECENTOUNO

  28. TOO GREEN

  29. TATIANA

  30. OUT OF SECRETS

  31. FOR HER

  WANT MORE?

  MOBSTER PRINCE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT SUNNIVA DEE

  CONTACT INFO

  OTHER TITLES BY SUNNIVA DEE

  COPYRIGHT

  I’m not a saint. That’s not why I left the mafia.

  I left because I’m god, because I need no one,

  and fail at nothing.

  I’m Isaias Di Nascimbeni, owner of Lucid,

  the biggest adult entertainment studio in L.A.

  Son of Il Lince and second generation Italian in the U.S,

  I’m dirty rich and adored by highlife as well as lowlife.

  Whatever I focus on turns to gold.

  On the Richter’s scale of eye candy, I’m a twenty.

  I’m a hunter who tests limits.

  A warrior who goes shady when the law becomes dreary.

  While conducting business at the St. Tatiana,

  the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen enters my radar.

  Isn’t it interesting that her name is Tatiana?

  Isn’t it bizarre that she’s a nun?

  Isn’t it wild that she’s unimpressed by me?

  Isn’t it fucking insane that I can’t get her out of my head?

  She doesn’t acknowledge me when I return to her church.

  It’s unprecedented. Unheard of. Not happening.

  But the hunt is my fetish.

  Novice or not, she’s only postponing the inevitable.

  Beautiful Tatiana asked for this.

  By the time I’m done, she’ll worship me, because now

  it’s game on.

  Sister Margaret is about to turn me down. Old and set in her ways, everything about her demands obedience. I tilt my head and soften my gaze into what my actresses have dubbed the mating call.

  It’s ingrained in my DNA. Generations in the U.S. can’t rip Italian seduction out of a guy. Not that I’m complaining; besides getting you a shitload of pussy, you get your will in other ways without the disruption of gunfire.

  I crook my mouth, plumping the middle in an inviting smirk while I wait. Her age aside, I’d have no qualms ravaging the good sister if need be. I guess I’d be introducing her to a whole new pagan-type heaven if I did.

  “Please understand, Mr. Nascimbeni. You can’t be here. You’re not family. We accept donations over the internet, and with that, the hospital purchases what we need for the babies. I think you’re aware of this by now.”

  “Oh, come on, gorgeous. Don’t be so heartless.” I breathe the words out quietly. “You know I donate my own weight in gold to the NICU. Shouldn’t you be giving me a break?”

  It’s part of our game for me to strike her carnal cords and for Sister Margaret to fight my pull. Tonight, her response is evidenced by the slow dip of her eyelids and the fine hairs hackling her arm.

  I’m here a few times a week, have been for years, but Sister Margaret’s end of the game never changes. Can’t say I don’t enjoy it; I live for the hunt, no matter how small. Each conquest means satisfaction, another bead on the rosary of my reign.

  “Per favore?” I say with a playful pout.

  She huffs, sends a covert glance around her, and it’s hard to remain serious: as if her colleagues ever wonder who I am when she’s already buzzed me in.

  A small groan escapes her as she commits the understated nun version of an eye-roll. “God give me strength. This man...” She shows God her palms before swatting me forward.

  “Grazie, Sister.”

  “Oh, don’t you grazie me. It’s not because you’re Venetian that I’m letting you in. And I’m only doing it this once. D’accordo?” She stops, turning fully to pierce me with her stare.

  “D’accordo.” I’ll miss it the day she stops fighting me.

  “A new little girl arrived today. She’s in the room next to Kristen.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Tesoro. Her parents are from Guatemala, and she’s their firstborn. She’s sixteen weeks premature and has a hard journey ahead of her.”

  “Tesoro. Treasure,” I translate and swallow.

  “Yes.” Sister Margaret steeples her fingers in a quick prayer, mouth moving quietly before she continues. “We’ll know more in a few days.”

  I nod to the man sitting by Tesoro’s crib in case he can see me. As always, my chest tightens at the sight of a father in here. He’s deep inside his mind, fear burning at the back of his eyes. Not for the first time, I wonder what I’d do in his place.

  “Got some booties made,” I gruff out, handing a few bags to Sister Margaret.

  “Are all of them for Kristen?”

  “Nah, she’ll have to share with Daniel and the gang.” I bite into my lip.

  “What if you’ve brought too few booties? What little darlings aren’t getting any?” Sister Margaret does have a sense of humor.

  I wink. “You don’t think I know how many beds you have? There should be plenty. My chicks have been knitting.”

  She scoffs, surely at the my-chicks part. From her expression, she’s not disbelieving of me having more than one woman. “Well, Kristen is alone right now if you want to visit with her.”

  “I’d like that. Let me know if someone comes?”

  Sister Margaret cuts me a glare. “I wouldn’t dream of allowing you in there with her family in the building.”

  She opens the door and watches me walk in. Kristen’s birdlike body, soft pink and draped in a miniature diaper, breathes fast as moth wings under her electrodes. She’s a miracle I’m sure her family thanks the Lord for every hour. I know I would.

  “Don’t touch her.”

  “Of course not.”

  Hands in my lap, I revel in her fragility. I lift my hand to the glass separating us and splay over the area covering the most perfect little miniature fingers.

  The window giving to the corridor brightens with Sister Margaret’s departure. I get up. Walk to the sink. Eyes on the wall clock, I scrub my hands for one hundred and twenty seconds. I air-dry them before lathering them with disinfectant foam. Then, I air-dry again.

  Pulling my chair up until my knees touch the incubator, I insert my hand and use my thumb, the size of the newborn’s fist, to stroke along her doll arm. Kristen’s skin is so soft I can’t feel it with my jaded, weathered flesh.

  I scan the surveillance window again before I swallow her hand with mine. I lower my head so my mouth hovers above the dome of her crib. Hoars
e, I hum out a lullaby she must know by now.

  Fa la ninna, fa la nanna

  Nella braccia della mamma

  Fa la ninna bel bambin,

  Fa la nanna bambin bel,

  Fa la ninna, fa la nanna

  Nella braccia della mamma.

  Kristen’s body relaxes. In the absence of her family, she and I have done this for weeks. Maybe she’s come to expect it.

  I take surface streets and cut red lights where there are no cameras. In the greater Calabasas area, Sgt. Green keeps Il Lince’s crew informed, and though I don’t work for my father anymore, I reap the benefits.

  My headquarters could be anywhere. Shit gets boring, though, so I stay entertained by turning around businesses. At the moment, I’m on my way to Lucid Entertainment, my HQ as of the last six months. It’ll be a thrill to shoot the place to new heights, surpassing all competition. Once that happens, once I’m number one, I’ll cash out and move on to the next thing.

  “Freak on a Leash” on the speakers fades at the onslaught of a call.

  “Yep.”

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Nascimbeni, but Mr. Alexie thought you’d want to know that the new talent has arrived.”

  “What talent?”

  “It’s... a couple of girls.” Mark, a new Lucid guard, clears his throat uncomfortably, and for a second, unease breezes in. I’ll be double-checking his background. Hopefully, he just hasn’t been at the compound long enough to be cool with everyday business.

  “Why isn’t Mr. Alexie calling me himself?”

  “Oh.”

  I sigh as static takes over my surround sound. Seven speakers throw back his discomfort in the insulation of my Bentley Flying Spur. “Mark. Hello?”

  “Mr. Nascimbeni! Sir. It’s me, William Christopher Paul.”

  That name’s so pretentious his mother probably still needs a good fucking. “What’s up.”

  “Mr. Nascimbeni, I’m at the front gate with Mark Jones—this is his phone, and you just talked to him, I believe...”

  “I’m aware, Bill.”

  There’s a short silence before he continues. “Yes, Mr. Gianni Alexie asked us to alert you to the talents’ arrival, because he’s busy with Belen. She’s.... He said that she’s... Well, she’s preparing for her shoot and being a bit...”

  “Combative?” I smirk, imagining the handful she must be without me in the house.

  “Yes, sir. She doesn’t like one of the talents, and she just— Not sure, sir,” he adds, giving up.

  “Thanks. I’ll be there in five. Don’t let me wait at the gates.”

  “Down with the Sickness” roars from my stereo halfway up Hillside, passing the mansions of some of my stars. In the near future, more of them will own homes here, and the world will talk about them.

  Another call buzzes through the music. “Ciao,” I say.

  “It’s me, Rocco. Your cousin has been trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Yes, but your father needs you.”

  “You’re kidding. He’s using Gabriela to get a hold of me now?”

  “I don’t know the specifics, sir. Just that he needs you at the St. Tatiana. There’s shit going down there with the priest, and—”

  “Altermatt?”

  “Yeah, I believe that’s his name.”

  I rap the dashboard with my knuckles. “I need specifics. I’m not interrupting my day because my cousin’s PA calls me with random intel. If Il Lince wants my help, he’ll have to call me directly, and he’ll need to do it within the hour. I’ve got business to tend to. Tell him.”

  “But you pay me for Gabriela, not Il Lince,” he whines.

  “Do it.”

  “Please, Isaias. Don’t do this to me. I like being alive.”

  “Shut up. You’re famiglia.”

  I slam my phone into the dashboard and toss it to the passenger seat, annoyed with Rocco, annoyed with my father. Unless you’re famiglia, my father’s the devil. As the uncrowned capo of capi in the U.S., he relocated us from New York to California a decade ago, instantly making a name for himself.

  My phone buzzes again.

  “Isa baby,” my mother breathes through the speakers.

  “Ma. Come stai?” My heart always swells from the sweet pitch of her voice.

  “I’m fine. My boy, how about you? Are you okay?”

  I think of her small, fragile frame and my own hulk-like bulk next to her, a foot and a half taller. The feel of her in my arms, the way she whispers how she loves me.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Dad?”

  The press’ll tell you my father is cruel and emotionally stumped. I’m not going to make shit up and say they’re entirely wrong. But when it comes to us, his love is boundless. I fucking love my family, and that won’t change no matter what happens.

  “He’s okay too, baby. He just needs some help with Pater Altermatt. He’s being fickle, and your father needs the church for the Russian trade.”

  Here we go again. I growl under my breath. My thing has always been to manage the balance between autonomy and family. Family’s blood. It’s heart. In my case, sadly, it’s also being on people’s mind for the first goddamn dirty job they can think of. Still, from the day I turned eighteen, I haven’t needed Il Lince to make a living. It’s why I more often than not turn down his requests for involvement.

  “Plus, there’s Gabriela’s trip to Italy,” Ma changes her tactics. “Some of the funds will go to her.”

  I fill my lungs with air and hold it for a moment. “She can’t afford the trip?”

  “Oh, she has some money.”

  I want Gabriela to travel while she’s in Italy. She needs the freedom to do what she always does when she’s there.

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  “Baby, we’re a business. This is your father’s job. We need to be able to pay for what la famiglia needs.”

  I groan out loud.

  “You’ll just be at the St. Tatiana to keep an eye on Pater Altermatt. All your father needs is for you to be backline. He’s not asking for direct involvement, and he’s not sending Gioele.”

  She knows I’ll approve of that. My brother is eighteen, and to put it mildly, he’s uncomfortable in the box my father has created for him as a mafia prince. Gioele and I are my father’s only legitimate children. Everyone else is a result of fallouts between my parents and indiscretions by my father.

  “The priest will recognize me.”

  “Pater Altermatt hasn’t seen you since you were a teenager. You’re bigger, and with that hair, he won’t.”

  I pull into the Lucid Entertainment compound, the gates sliding open before I’m close enough to trigger sensors. “When does he need me there?”

  “Tonight, sweetie. The trade happens at eleven in the Midnight Madonna chamber.”

  I massage the bunch between my brows. “Where’s that?”

  “Downstairs in the crypt, across from the Jesus of Easter.” I hear the smile in her voice as she continues. “It was your favorite when you were little.”

  “Yeah. So make sure the priest doesn’t backstab us is my task, here?”

  “Yes, Johnny and Stefano will handle the exchange. Just keep Pater Altermatt busy and give your father a heads-up if the feds arrive.”

  Mark and Bill run toward my Bentley. Bill wins, why he’s a senior at Lucid Entertainment, I assume. The man is dedicated. He flings my door open and bows.

  “Sir. Happy to have you back at Lucid. Oh, sorry.”

  I nod curtly at his acknowledgment of my phone convo. Then, I point toward the building.

  Mr. Alexie? he mouths.

  I raise my eyebrows in reply. He bobs his head rapidly. Studio 3, sir. I’m sorry.

  He needs to stop apologizing.

  “I’ll be
there tonight, but I can’t keep doing this.”

  “Isa baby, every now and then, your father needs you.”

  Frustration rises in me. As much as I want to, I won’t slam the phone into the wall, stomp on it, or kick it to the curb while Ma’s on the other end. “I’m at work. I have to go.”

  “Your father will be in touch tonight, okay?”

  “Yes, Ma. I love you.”

  “Anch’io ti amo.”

  I switch my phone off. “Let Gianni know I’m on my way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The front doors to Lucid buzz open, and I stride in. White hallways welcome me. I walk until I hit the dead end where glass panels broadcast the sky and the Valley below. The view is uplifting and usually brings my mood up, but now I need to get down the stairs, three flights, until I’m in the makeup stations of Studio 3. I hear Belen shouting all the way from the top of the stairs.

  “You don’t understand! Isaias loves me. He thinks I’m the shit, okay, so don’t even try any of that B.S. on me. She’s a complete newbie. Ha, I don’t care how many prizes she’s won up there in San Francisco. That bitch’s got a whole new level of game on her hands if she thinks she can compete with me, and guess what? If it’s up to me—which it is, because I’m the fucking queen of Lucid—she’s not even trying out for this role!”

  For a few seconds, I enjoy the rush of her mindless rage in there. Gianni tries to speak up. Someone else does too, maybe the new talent, what’s-her-name? Then I suppress my smile as I push the door open.

  Everything goes still in the room. Gianni freezes, the new talent sinks into a seat, and Belen’s eyes go saucer-big.

  “Hey, lover,” she squeaks, quieter than I’ve ever heard her. I feel my nostrils flare with humor. I’m not going to reward her behavior, though. Her tall model-scrawny frame, boobs ready to burst with silicon, swing slowly toward me. Today is a pink-panther day for lipstick, apparently, and it’s shiny with some kind of gloss on top. I hope to god it’s candy flavor.

  “Gianni,” I start, nodding to my director. “All good here?”

  “Mr. Nascimbeni. Of course. Just a little disagreement about roles.”