Billionairess Thief (An Erotic Tale) Read online

  The Billionairess Thief

  by

  Leo Sullivan

  Copyright 2013 by Leo Sullivan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  First Edition January 2013

  Printed in the USA

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  I sat in the palatial lobby of the Ritz Carlton, waiting with trepidation, watching as people passed. Most of the men ogled me, a few of the women too. I was fastidiously dressed in a skintight red pencil skirt that hugged every inch of my curvaceous body. A simple pearl necklace cascaded down my cleavage, offsetting the creaminess of my ample double D breasts. My delicate lacy blouse was enticing to all, exposing the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. My blond hair was stylishly coiffured, and it descended over my slender shoulder. The four-inch stiletto heels only seemed to enhance the geometry of my curvy figure.

  My name is Marilyn Buck, and I have a unique occupation; I’m a jewel thief. Actually, I come from a long line of gypsy jewel thieves, dating back to the 18th century. The uncanny thing is that I am a totem reflection of my grandmother, the spitting image. This revelation did not come apparent to me until I was about four, and family members would come from miles and even distant countries just to see me. When I was twelve, I was caught stealing out of a jewelry store. Well, I actually wasn’t caught, my father discovered the stolen jewelry in my Barbie dollhouse.

  I had stolen the jewelry from Tiffany’s. The six rings were valued at over one hundred thousand dollars. The diamonds were easy to steal; I simply went in, asked the clerk to try on the jewelry, and switched the ring with an identical one. Everyone knows that my family’s opulent wealth dates back centuries, so there was never any suspicion of me. My finagling charade of stealing jewelry had been going on for months, undetected.

  The discovery of my thievery prompted an emergency family meeting where I was the topic of discussion. The entire time, my mother stood to the side, weeping piteously as my grandfather sat me down and showed me an old vignette photo of a young girl about my age. My heart leapt into my throat. The young girl was a doppelganger of me. We looked eerily identical. It was as if someone was playing a weird practical joke. My grandfather went on to explain that some in the family believed that I was the reincarnation of my ancestor Mary Buck.

  Our family lore is filled with all types of incantations, superstitions and traditions. However, in this instance, there was palpable evidence to give good credence to the thought that something supernatural was going on, and it centered on me

  My ancestor, Mary Buck, in 1792 led my family in stealing the French Crown jewels from the Garde-Meuble during the French Revolution. It was a daring caper and one of the most famous in history. Most of the jewels were recovered, except the famous diamond known as The French Blue, which later became known as the Hope Diamond.

  The Hope Diamond, at the time, was the largest diamond in the world. The diamond weighed nearly half a pound with a staggering forty-five point fifty carats of deep blue splendor. Its previous owners included Kings Louis XV and XVI. As the old folklore goes, not only was my Mary a thief, as was the rest of my family; she was also a murderer.

  My grandfather and my father have since orchestrated similar heists, but nothing of the magnitude of what my ancestor, Mary, had pulled off. Still, by using sophisticated technology and empirical ingenuity, my family had amassed millions of dollars. It has always been in our blood to steal precious diamonds. My grandfather says it is a gypsy curse. However, my avaricious dad says it’s a blessing. He bought his first yacht at the age of twenty-five, courtesy of his ill-gotten riches.

  After the family meeting, I was almost unanimously voted to be indoctrinated into the family’s arcane gypsy tradition of thievery. Everyone voted their approval, except my mother. I was placed under the sagacious tutelage of my grandfather, Willie Buck. As his protégé, he taught me so much. I learned everything from the mastery of lock picking, to safe cracking. One time, I had a sleepover at a famous celebrity’s mansion. In the wee hours of the night, I was able to short circuit a state of the art burglar alarm system as the family slept. I took a small fortune in diamonds from their safe. I slept with them in bed until my grandfather picked me up the next morning. The family never suspected me. My first real joy other than making my grandfather proud of me was to see the heist being reported on national news for weeks.

  It was in my blood, it was innately imbedded in me, the insatiable desire for thievery. It wasn’t until I turned eighteen, that I was caught doing what my family considered a cardinal sin. The debauchery led my mother to take me to a psychiatrist. My father had come home a day early from a vacation from France and caught me in a compromising position. I was indulging in a ménage a trois with two men. They were brothers, the muscle-bound maintenance man and the handsome chauffer.

  The maintenance man had his cock up my tight ass, while the chauffer fucked my vagina unmercifully at a jackhammer speed. The erogenous sensation was ecstasy as the two men wantonly pounded me in every crevice and orifice. Their molestation had been going on for years, since I was sixteen. It all began one day when I caught the maintenance man masturbating while I sunbathed nude by the Olympic sized swimming pool. I gave him a staunch ultimatum. Either he fucks me with his super-sized cock, or I tell my dad. He chose the former, with no hesitation. That’s when I suggested he bring in his handsome brother.

  Needless to say, after the discovery, both employees were fired. I was later diagnosed as being a nymphomaniac as well as a kleptomaniac. I really didn’t have no problem with that, because even at that tender age, I knew it was true. What I didn’t know, was that my grandmother, Mary Buck, had the same psychological perversions, only she had a predilection for murder. My family knew this, and yet no one told me. I had never harmed anyone in a heist.

  At least not yet.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Rivalry

  The only thorn in our family’s business has been the Italian family, the Gotti’s. Their father, Jonny Gotti used to be friends with my family. Then, due to rivalry, competition, and a big heist that the Gotti family reneged on, they have become my family’s nemesis. A few years back, in Antwerps, Belgium, a team of Gotti family members were able to circumvent a thousand dollars’ worth of high-tech security equipment by breaking into a subterranean bank vault three stories underground. They made off with a haul of cash, precious metals, gems, and of course, a huge quantity of cut and rough diamonds. The heist nabbed one hundred million in loot as well. The bag of diamonds alone weighed forty pounds.

  What caused the rift between our families was the fact that my grandfather had provided all the expertise and technical knowledge, as well as data he had gleaned over years of studying for the caper. The Gotti family was to work in synergy with us. Instead, without warning, they pulled off the job a day early without telling us, and made off with the lick scot-free. To this day, Belgian authorities still don’t know who masterminded the heist.

  Therefore, as you may have guessed by now, the coveted allure of a heist brings me all the way across the world. Like some morbid thrill seeker, an enthralling addiction was so innately in my biological make up that it was hereditary. My insatiable thirst was for a mission that was as daring as a mo
dern day Brinks heist. It consumed me. It wouldn’t let me go. I had to take my chance, no matter how risky it was.

  A few weeks ago, in Pretoria South Africa, a peasant minor was trolling for diamonds thirty feet below the earth’s surface when he spotted what he thought was a flash of light the wall just above him. It was a diamond, weighing a ridiculous one point thirty pounds. The diamond was given to the mine’s owner, who was astonished by the spectacular find. A diamond cutter and appraiser were quickly flown in. The diamond was cut into nine large stones, and one hundred smaller ones valued at over 200 million dollars. The whole operation was to be clandestine, and it would have been, had it not been for the fact that the guy who appraised the diamond was in the business of purloining precious jewels for his benefit. John Micheves, a seventy-one year old jeweler and gemologist also worked subterfuge with the netherworld of thieves. He and my grandfather went back decades, robbing plutocrats for millions of dollars in jewelry.

  The proprietor of the diamond mine was Thomas Cullen. He sold the precious stones to British Monarchy. Originally, the diamonds were to be smuggled out of Africa and be put on display in the Tower of London with Britain’s other crown jewels next to the Sovereign Royal scepter. My father and his operatives, after careful reconnaissance and key furtive information provided by the jeweler, Micheves, discovered that at the last minute, on a sudden whim, the monarchy decided to sell the precious stones to the Russians for an exorbitant amount of money. That was when my family decided to abandon the mission. Russia is known for being the most cutthroat and ruthless nation in the world when it comes to the precious diamond exchange.

  My grandfather once admonished to me that the Russians were the ones who invented espionage and thievery, it was their common way of life. He said they were not to be dealt with under any circumstance. At the time, I didn’t know that my great-grandmother had been killed for trying to steal from the Russians. She had been skinned alive, doused with gasoline and burned. The Russians delivered her body to our doorstep in America. That was a clear message to let us know that they knew who we were and where we lived. The Russian’s name was Nestor Kativor.

  In the end, I convinced my father that I too would abandon the mission, and that I was going to stay in Africa for an extended two-day period to do some shopping and a little bit of sightseeing. In reality, the jeweler, Micheves had debriefed my father and grandfather as I sat on the hotel bed in a smoke filled room, listening, dreaming. I knew what time the Russians would arrive, and I knew what room they were staying in. I know if it was any way possible, I was going to steal the diamonds. What I didn’t know was how I was going to do it. But I had every intention of doing it, and nothing and no one was going to stop me.

  My reverie was disturbed when I detected movement in my peripheral vision. I looked over and saw the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my life take a seat across from me. He was tall, dark, and gorgeous. He wore a tailored gray suit, his brawny shoulders were wide, his skin was tanned bronze, and his blond hair was slightly mussed, giving him that untamed urbane look, combined with a sexy five o’clock shadow. He turned and caught me staring at him. He had the most dazzling emerald colored eyes. We exchanged curt smiles as his eyes roamed the contours of my svelte figure. I had intentionally positioned my body to show off my hourglass figure.

  Instantly, I got moist and began to throb between my legs. Then, it dawned on me that his face looked familiar. His features, I remembered. I found myself leaning forward and craning my neck as I began to squint my eyes, causing my smile to turn into a frown. The handsome man I was admiring was none other than Mark Gotti, Johnny Gotti’s youngest son. He and I used to play together when we were children. As teenagers, we attended the same schools in Europe. It seemed like ages since I’d last seen Mark. I was twenty-eight years old, and we were about the same age. I suddenly found myself glaring at him disdainfully. He and his family had betrayed our trust. There was no longer honor amongst thieves.

  “What are you doing here, asshole?” I mouthed to him.

  “The same as you.” He smiled, showing off his dimples.

  There was even a deep cleft in his chin. He looked like a Greek god. I averted my eyes and turned around in my seat, pretending to ignore him. The entire time, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. This was a problem. If the Gottis were here, they were on to the diamonds. The jeweler, Micheves must have put them on to the caper to insure that the diamonds were stolen and he could still get his cut.

  Instantly, my mind began to wander as I inconspicuously looked around the lobby. Espionage seemed to lurk with the shadowy figures. Every person that passed suddenly looked suspicious to me. I envisioned the Gotti team skulking in every corner, ready to pounce. If the Gotti family was involved, I was not prepared. They played by different rules, different standards. I had to respect them for being excellent jewel thieves, but they were also ruthless and treacherous. I knew that they would stop at nothing, including murder, to possess the diamonds. After all, they were Italians. As my grandfather had told me, the Gottis were connected to the mob, which meant they were capable of anything.

  Mark nonchalantly folded up the newspaper, then he strolled over and sat down next to me. The scent of his cologne permeated the air. It was a sexy, yet bold, fragrance that suited him perfectly.

  “My, my, Marilyn, you’re beautiful!” he said flirtatiously. The whole time, his eyes roamed the contours of my hips, breasts, and thighs. I felt like he was literally undressing me with his eyes. He was sitting too close. As people passed, I am certain they thought we were a couple.

  “Don’t fucking talk to me. You and your family stole from us, and why are you here in the first place?” I raised my voice.

  An elderly man who was being assisted by an African bellhop turned and looked in our direction. There was something about this character that I couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  “That was a misunderstanding. I had nothing to do with that. My family decided to move a day ahead of schedule. But the question is, what are you doing here? This is out of your league. This is dangerous.”

  “Misunderstanding? How convenient,” I retorted. “After we provide your family with the blueprints and know how to pull off the caper, you all didn’t even have the decency to at least compensate my grandfather for all the years he put into preparing for the heist!” I snapped.

  He gave me a subtle shrug, as if the millions of dollars that was owed to my family was no big deal. The entire time, he never took his eyes off me.

  Then I added a second thought. “How dare you say that this is dangerous and out of my league! Did you forget my last name? My family is legendary.”

  “But I thought your family had pulled back. I am using a different tactic,” he said, with his brow furrowed, forming a tight line across his forehead. His eyes began to skirt around the lobby, then back to me.

  “Well, think again. This operation is ours, so you and your cutthroat hooligan family can pull back!”

  He chuckled jovially as if he found humor in me as he leaned forward and leered down at my breasts. For some crazy reason, I found myself turned on, as I looked deep into his alluring eyes. So many years had passed. We had grown, matured. He batted his girly eyelashes at me. I wanted to scoot away from him, get up, and walk out. I felt a familiar throbbing between my thighs as my lady parts seemed to call out to him. My attraction for him was strange, as if his masculinity was pollenating my femininity.

  “Marilyn, let me make it up to you, but not now. You need to leave. In a minute, it’s going to get real ugly in here,” he said in a heavy Italian accent as he eased closer.

  I turned and scowled at him as if he had lost his mind. That’s when I saw it, the elongated erection print in his pants; it looked like he was trying to conceal a small baseball bat. Despite my ill temper, I was aroused. Italian men are born lotharios. They have a high appetite for sex.

  I suddenly had a flashback. One time when we were teenagers, riding in the back of a
limo on our way home from school, I let him finger me and squeeze my breasts. It was one of my early inductions into the world of lust. Even back then, he was sexually aggressive and handsome. I remember creaming all over his fingers.

  “You surely have blossomed like a delicate rose, so beautiful. We need to get together, but I am warning you to leave. Tell your family to abort the mission. It is not worth it. They have amassed millions of dollars. Your grandfather is not just a good thief, but a shrewd businessman. He bought out Verior Com Enterprise. That company is now worth over a hundred million dollars,” he said, and reached to caress my hair.

  I swatted his hand. He played it off and inched closer. His dick moved further down his leg.

  I did my best not to stare, as I responded curtly, “I am going to be the first billionairess in my family. With this heist, my family’s worth will be in the billions, and I stand to inherit it all.”

  He chuckled derisively. “You’re a woman, and a very beautiful one at that, but this is out of your league. Trust me. Walk out while you still have the time.”

  “Humph.” I retorted. His machismo should give me some advantage. I thought to myself. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about how handsome he was. I quickly snapped out of it. I needed to keep my mental faculties intact.