What the Nanny Saw Ch. 11

Chapter 11: A Less Gentle Sting

Romano woke up sore and salty on the deck of his bungalow; Ingrid was nowhere to be seen. Glancing around he saw a note under the whiskey bottle. It was empty now and half responsible for his pounding head. He grabbed the note, wrapped the blanket Ingrid had left him around his waist, and stumbled in, toward blessed coffee.

As the espresso bubbled up on the stove, he collected himself and opened Ingrid's note.

"You were a good boy last night Giacco, let's do it again some time. I'll ask after the name of the blackmail victim. Call me later and I'll tell you what I find out."

Romano felt himself stir a bit, reading, and remembering the night before. But then he remembered his promise to Lydia. Three days, four tops, to wrap this up. And how the fuck was he going to do that? He drank his espresso and considered. Sometimes, if the facts of the mystery wouldn't reveal themselves, you had to push on the parts till something fell out. Drastic action was needed.

Romano had Catterina send Sergeant Carlo to his office. He hadn't liked the way she'd eyed him up and down, practically licking her lips, so he'd camped in his office, scratching marks on the piles of papers, in lieu of signing.

"What's up, boss?" Carlo asked on entry.

Romano recounted his new intelligence regarding the alleged blackmail scheme. "Ingrid says she can find out at least one victim's name. But tying a suicide to blackmail is a hard task, as you know. I have an alternative idea."

Carlo, who'd worked with Romano for almost two decades, and knew him too well, didn't like the sound of that. "Boss, your ideas always end in my humiliation." And then, with a long sigh, "ok, what are we doing?"

"We need to catch her in the act, Carlo. That means we need to be the target of the blackmail. You can understand that, right?"

"You mean I need to be the target of the blackmail, right?" asked Carlo

"She already knows me, it would never work," answered Romano. "You've never actually talked to her. You missed her at the scene and you've been out for both interviews. Did you bump into her on your way back from Palermo?"

"Uh, no. I don't think I did. But what do I have to lose, that she'd think she could blackmail me?"

"Good question, Carlo," answered Romano, "I guess it will be the fear your wife will leave you and take all your money."

"Boss, my wife? What wife now?"

"Catterina!" called Romano. And then to Carlo, "You better get a suit, we're gonna need to stage some photos."

Catterina had sniffed at Carlo. "Not the husband I would have chosen, but I guess you'll do. What kind of pictures do we want. Bikini?" she'd said, starting to disrobe right there in Romano's office.

The men had quickly waved her off. "A dress. A summer dress will do," practically pleaded Romano.

In the end, they got three usable snaps, in wallet size, in three outfits. And Catterina did some computer wizardry to put them in different seasons. She'd also managed to turn Carlo bright red by offering to "consummate" the marriage to improve the cover story. But only if Romano would stay and observe.

Carlo got his revenge by leaving the Inspector alone with his aggressive desk officer in order to go call the Pink Pussy and try to set up a date for that evening.

Catterina had used the opportunity to ask for some hands-on pointers for cuffing a suspect.

"If she's in cuffs, she can't get her hands on me," thought Romano.

In the event, however, it was Romano in cuffs, sat at his desk, a happy Catterina moaning and sighing while bouncing in his lap.

"Please, Catterina, Carlo could be back any minute," pleaded Romano

"Then you'd better give me that cum, quickly," she'd whispered in his ear.

And he had. To her immense satisfaction, he judged, given the way her thighs had shaken and she had stuffed her fist in her own mouth, to avoid crying out.

By the time Carlo returned, they were dressed and restored to their places, though Romano felt the trickle of sweat at his brow.

"Hotel San Marco, 9 pm," reported Carlo. "As agreed, I'm Carlo, a businessman from Palermo. I'll make sure she sees the snaps. The hotel says you can set up in the next room over."

They had spent the afternoon setting up the audio and video feeds. Romano, who didn't understand a thing about how the technology worked, had spent an hour eating at Enzo's and another walking along the jetty, throwing loose pebbles at crabs and thinking. He'd gone home afterwards and called Ingrid to see if she'd made progress on the blackmail victim's name. She hadn't, but offered to come by for dinner. Romano explained he'd be out trying to trap the nanny working as an escort and they agreed to talk later. He made it to the hotel just after seven.

The video feed didn't cover the room door. But judging by what he'd heard and later saw, Romano had a pretty good idea how it all went down.

Carlo opened the door to a knock and found Giulia standing there in the shearest, tightest black cocktail dress, which barely contained her tits and which made it clear that underwear wasn't a consideration. The girl had marched past a silent, and presumably slack-jawed Carlo.

She perched on the edge of the bed and patted it to show the Sergeant where to sit. Carlo dutifully sat, still struck dumb.

This wasn't the shy Giulia they had come to know. She leaned into Carlo, tits pushed into his arm, hand on his thigh, moving dangerously upward. She whispered into his ear, "Do you have something for me?"

Carlo finally broke whatever spell he was under. He cleared his throat. "It's in the bathroom. On the counter. Maybe you want to go freshen up? I just need to let my wife know I'll be at a meeting." He pulled out a cell phone, pre-loaded with a picture from that morning.

The girl had smiled. She ran her fingers up his crotch as she rose and walked off camera. Even with the low-res video, Romano could see that Carlo was breathing heavily.

Carlo was prepared to show the girl more of the pictures they prepared. But when the bathroom door eventually opened, the girl was completely naked. She marched right up to Carlo and flopped to her knees as he sat, rooted to his place, at the edge of the bed. She had his cock out and in her mouth before he could protest.

The picture was grainy, but it looked to Romano like she was trying to get Carlo's cock all the way down her throat. It might look to the casual observer that he was holding her head down. But knowing Carlo, he was probably trying to gently pry her off.

Romano might not be able to see well, but he could hear everything very clearly. The squelch of her mouth on Carlo's cock, the wet, slick sounds of her tongue, playing around the base as she sucked. The slurp of saliva which she kept spitting out on to his cock and then sucking back in. The catch in her throat, not quite a gag, when she took him deep.

And the mouth on her. She talked continuously as she sucked, in between slurps, she would pop his cock out of her mouth and tell him what she was gonna do to him. With her pendulous breasts pushed into his thighs, she told him how she was going to get his cock so very very wet. How she would bend over the edge of the bed. How she was going to reach back and hold her ass for him. How she was going to guide his hard wet cock into her. How she would play with her own pussy while he pumped his hard, fat cock in her ass. How he was going to fill her with his cum. How it would drip out of her while she walked past all the men in the lobby and went home, a reminder of their time together.

She finally took Carlo's cock out of her mouth with a pop that echoed through the room and right through Romano's earphones. She threw herself onto the bed, ass up.

That's when Carlo finally brought proceedings to a halt. He cuffed the girl and waved at the camera. "Inspector!" he said as the girl struggled and spat, "wrong one. She has a mole on her ass."

Back at the station, and now out of cuffs and back into her dress, Malia was calmer. Given the soliciting evidence and the little vial of cocaine they'd found in her purse, it was, seemingly, clear to her she would be better off cooperating.

Malia told them the same story they'd gotten from Giulia - the girls had been abandoned, homeless and desperate when they took on the nanny job for Bonsignore. He'd quickly pressured them into sexual servitude, which Malia had agreed to, to spare her sister. According to Malia, the dungeon was less the fun show that Mirriam had portrayed it, and more a torture chamber where she was conditioned, trained, and ultimately prepared for delivery to the mafia, for a fee. Since her departure she'd been prostituted across half of Sicily, only recently returning to find Bonsignore dead.

"Tell me now, why I should believe you didn't kill him," demanded Romano

"Oh, I would have killed him, I dreamed of nothing else but killing him," she answered. "But two issues, he still had Giulia and her well-being isn't something I'm willing to risk. Also, I'm not the only one who hated him. I didn't even hate him the most."

Romano raised one eyebrow.

"I'm not the only one he conditioned, trained and sold. If I'm any judge, Mirriam hated him the most. He used the pictures he'd taken of her to force her to serve at his parties. I saw her eyes. She hated it, being used by that. By their friends. She was desperate to get those pictures back. I caught her searching for them once and she swore on the bible she'd kill me if I ever told him."

And then, the worst news, "Have you considered the mafia?" she asked. "Once the blockades started, Bonsingore couldn't get the Tunisian girls he had been training and selling on. I know he owed a lot of money, and dealing in girls was his way out of debt. I've been working for Giuseppi Russo for a half year now. He has absolutely killed for less."