Page 37 of Mafia Star

“Sorry. I was thinking about the plumbing crack at T&A. I think there’s a slab leak.”

“Bullshit. You were not thinking about a strip club, though you might have been thinking about tits and ass.”

“I got bored with your rambling. Thinking about work was more interesting than you talking about something that doesn’t exist.”

“Liar.”

“Fucking ask Vincente about the leak.”

There is a leak, but I was thinking about a certain set of tits and ass.

“Whatever. They aren’t my problem anymore.”

I know. I don’t want the trouble of dealing with the women there. We have managers who are good at what they do, but one of us still oversees the payroll and liquor inventories. We don’t trust anyone outside of our family with ultimate control of any of our businesses. At one point, all the men in my generation were single and rich. I’m the only one left that’s true for. Some dancers and waitresses care a little too much about that. I’m not in the mood to fend off false interest. I’m not into arm candy, and I prefer to play the stock market than the gold digger one.

“Don’t remind me. I’m going in the morning before any of the women arrive. I’m not in the mood for any bullshit. I want to deal with the plumbers and go.”

“What? You don’t want Denise trying to swallow your tongue again?”

Motherfucker.

I look up to notice Beth and Chelle in the doorway just as Enzo finishes speaking.

“I didn’t want it near me the first or last time, and I don’t want it near me now. Who the fuck knows where it’s been.”

Well, shit. That just made me sound like a dick. But I don’t want Beth thinking I fuck strippers. That I fuck employees.

“Maybe—”

“I’ll deal with the leak and any damage. Carmine can send a crew over to deal with any plaster or baseboard repair. I can order new furniture if it’s as bad as we think. The guys can be there to receive the shipment when it comes in. I’m not wasting my day there.”

I plug in the last cord and stand. Beth doesn’t know where to look, and I can tell Enzo is being a smug bastard. He was testing me, and in the process made Beth feel crappy. But if I point that out, then I’ll confirm there’s something between us.

Chelle looks at Enzo, then me, then Beth.

“Are you doing a remodel or something?”

I glance at Beth before settling my gaze on Chelle.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that. It’s just one of the back rooms. We might need some new tiles and chairs.”

“If it’s a bigger job, you know an interior designer.”

Beth’s stomach sucks in at her sister’s comment, but her expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t move, and she doesn’t look at me. At least not in the eye. I think she’s looking at my right shoulder. She knows there’s an ace of bastoni— clubs —there. She doesn’t know it means “boss” or that I got it when I became a capo. My tank top strap always covers it since it’s as unique as the map of Italy is large.

She probably guessed what A vita o a morti— life or death in Sicilian —means when she saw the small print on my right ribs. I got that after my first mission. I hid it from my mother for eight months because I was fifteen. My dad found out the day I did it, and that was horrible. But it was my first tattoo, and Mama cried. She said she’d made a perfect little person, and I’d defaced her creation. Guilt from a Sicilian mother rivals any in the world.

“I know how big Liz’s high-rise project was. I don’t know that she has time for something so boring.”

I try to get her off the hook, but now she meets my gaze and cocks an eyebrow. Is she challenging me? Does she think I’m trying to keep her away for any other reason than I don’t want her to go somewhere I don’t want to linger? I’m happy to pick shit from an Ikea catalogue and order that.

“Do you?”

I give her the option, expecting her to turn me down.

“If it’s not that big a project, I’m sure I can squeeze it in. What time should I drop by?”

She sounds casual, but I recognize the hint of stubbornness from the first time we encountered each other at the club. My gaze hardens, and her lips twitch. She is testing me. She wants to play a little game— a private little game. Very well.

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