The name of the boat was Palco Carina. It was a gift from the underboss to Alfredo and Penelope Riva on their wedding day. In four years Alfredo set foot on the thing maybe three times. Said he hated the fuckin' water. Didn't swim. But Penelope, she loved it. It suited her. Powerful. Flawless. She and the boat both. Alfredo had always been into model broads. Blondes. Why those same broads kept flocking to him was beyond me. Money and a name went a long fuckin' way I figured.

Penelope started coming on to me months ago. Putting ideas in my head, then putting my dick in her mouth. She said I shouldn't let Alfredo treat me like a farm animal. What did she expect? I could hardly be considered a soldier for the Riva family. Then she started saying things that did make sense. How we could be together all the time. How she could help me climb the ranks if Alfredo was gone. How he was losing his balls, and the other capos knew it. She said the money would keep coming in only if the Rivas went to war with the Colombians. The Punisher too if need be. Penelope wasn't Italian, but she damn sure had our ambition.

She sat on the bow of the Palco Carina like a mermaid. Long legs hiding under a white sundress. We were heading to the marina for a meeting with her agent. The sun cooked me. Danny Fierro drove the boat like a monkey, but he didn't know any better. Penelope finished her scotch and amaretto, then tossed the glass into the water. I couldn't figure why she did that. The next thing to go was her sand-colored floppy hat. I watched her hair get ravished by the wind.

She told Danny to stop the boat. The monkey listened. Then she told him to go away for ten minutes and he did, disappearing into the boat's interior. I stood there on the deck, alone with a goddess.

"Come here," she said to me.

Making my way to the bow, I started to get woozy. It might've been the water, or the fact that I was falling in love with her. Maybe it was the promise I made that Alfredo Riva would be in Hell by week's end. She sat there and watched me come closer. We both knew what would happen if I didn't make good on my promise. If I fucked up. I spotted a melting fragment of ice in her mouth. She bit and sucked on it. There were just inches between us. If her husband lived to attend Sunday mass, or if his murder could be traced back to her in any way, I was fuckin' fucked.

She pulled up her dress, placed her hands on her inner thighs and pushed them open. I glanced at her wedding ring.

"Hurry," she commanded.

I tried to breathe. Only once before had she allowed me to fuck her. She guided my hands to her panties, and I pulled them off as fast as I could. Then we worked on my belt. My pants hit the deck so quick you'd think they were being shot at. She grabbed my mouth. Muffled my rapid breathing.

"Remember what you promised."

"Yes." It was all I could manage.

She scanned my eyes for deceit, then nodded. Her legs locked around my waist and I eased into her. She didn't make a sound. I kissed her neck, knowing I wouldn't last long. I blamed it on the smell of her hair. Sweet acidic citrus. I blamed it on the thought of exploding inside of her. I wanted to so badly. If this week didn't go according to the script, she was gonna have me whacked. My body shook as I emptied myself. I nearly sent us off the boat. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the citrus. She put a hand over my face and pushed me off of her.

"Pull up your pants."

She reached down to pick up her panties. Her fingers pinched at the lace. She held them over the side of the boat and let them go. She called out to Danny Fierro, telling him his break was over. Then she went off to clean herself.

I stood there on the deck like the farm animal that I was. Sweating under the sun. Alfredo Riva was gonna die.