Page 31 of Maddest Temptation

“Then what’s that trailing down your chin?” Like an idiot, I reached to wipe it off, but there was nothing there.

My cheeks blazed, and I forgot what I’d come here to do. Instead, I turned around and ran back to my room. Locked the door and hit my head against it.

“Great, Francesca,” I cursed. “You did great.”

9

CASSIO

Numbers stared back at me causing my head to spin, I’d been looking at them for the past two hours and still nothing seemed to get into my brain. It was early Saturday, the club was closed for now, but the crew was already working hard to get it ready for opening hours. I skimmed through some of the files, in case something else caught my attention, but honestly, nothing would. Numbers had never been my strength, but they were one of the many evils of this job.

Pulling my chair back with a loud sigh, I stood and stretched my back like an old man and cracked my neck, working at the small knots that had formed over the last few hours. I checked my phone, it was still ten o’clock, and the day already showed signs of being a monotonous one.

Mobsters lived a pretty calm life, all things considered. Most of the time, my job consisted of looking at our numbers, brokering deals with fellow mobsters, and attending boring meetings to discuss more deals with fellow mobsters. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d pulled out my gun and used it. The poor thing was gathering dust these days.

Aside from the war with the Russians, everything was flowing as it should. Which I couldn’t complain about, but it gave me ulcers. I knew they were planning something and sitting here looking at numbers wasn’t going to help me.

I had Luciano and some of his men look into the spy situation, but until now, he hadn’t come up with a single lead. The Russians were still attacking and stealing our cargo, and there was nothing I could do but shoot them on the spot, like the rats they were. I ran my thumb under my lip as annoyance coursed through my veins.

Was it that hard to find a spy? Volpe, as the fucker liked to be called. The situation was under control until now, but eventually, I wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret anymore. I would have to tell my underbosses and then all hell would break loose. A spy was the worst kind of traitor, one the Outfit would gladly dismember and feed to the vultures.

A knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts and I turned from where I was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window—watching the club from above.

“Come in,” I shouted, my head starting to pound with the beginnings of a headache.

Donato Manci walked into my office wearing one of his old Brioni suits. He was the stereotypical mobster, with a generous Italian nose, balding head and healthy build. The man was so fat, I wondered how he still managed to walk.

“Cassio, come stai?” I had been good until he arrived.

“Bene,” I grunted out. “What do you need?”

It was rare that he visited me here, we usually talked via phone or video calls. He wasn’t ailing or anything, he was just a lazy fucker. I didn’t mind, the more he stayed away from my business, the better things flowed.

Donato and I butted heads almost always and it was tiring. He knew I hated him, and I had a feeling he hated me, too, but he was loyal to the Outfit—which meant he had to be loyal to me.

He pulled one of the chairs before my desk and sat his heavy self on it, the poor thing groaned. “I don’t have all day, Donato.” I made myself clear I wasn’t interested in talking.

I had work to do, work I hadn’t been able to do because I couldn’t help thinking about his daughter.

“I’ve heard the Russians attacked another one of our cargos,” he said.

“Yes.” There was no point in lying.

“They are growing bolder.” Donato shook his head. “When is our next shipment coming? We should?—”

“Donato,” I stopped him. “I’m sure you haven’t come here to discuss that, so let’s cut to the chase.”

Although he was my consigliere and these were the things we should be talking about, I knew he hadn’t come here for this. We had had a meeting three days ago. He knew when our next shipment was, and when the next one after that was coming. He wanted something and he was testing the waters first.

“Have you heard my daughter is back in town?” The change in subject took me by surprise, but I had time to hide it.

“I might have.” The same way I might have been dreaming about what it would be like to have her around my cock, screaming my name… “Why?”

He didn’t show any kind of emotion, but his eyes were shimmering with subdued rage. “She refuses to come home.”

“Some widows live on their own,” I reminded him. “It’s not law that they return home.” And I wouldn’t blame her for not doing so.

He gritted his teeth, and he was beginning to vibrate. “And what a shame that is,” he spat. “Francesca is my daughter, therefore mine to deal with.”

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