Page 67 of Mafia Star

Little cub? My guess is that’s what cucciolo means. This woman who looks like she chews men up and spits them out for lunch sounds like a worried mama. She turns to me.

“Are you all right? Did any of them hurt you?”

“I’m okay, Mrs. C?—”

“Paola.”

She cuts me off before I finish her name.

“Thank you.”

She turns to her brother after she lets go of Marco.

“Are they charging either of them?”

“No. Sal made some calls.”

“Yes. To me. Our brother is too nice for the people I spoke to. The DA is up for reelection. At least, he was. I pulled out of his campaign. He’s effed. The Commissioner already knew I was gunning for him next by the time I called. Jimenez must have been texting Braxton while I was chewing him a new one. The NYPD is working on a public apology. It looks like the FBI is being rather hospitable. I’ll remember that the next time I speak to Director Hollands. He made a wise choice. The ATF is throwing a tantrum. Director Wattling wants to make a name for himself on this one. I’ll bury him. The only name he’ll have is on his career tombstone.”

She turns back to Marco and pats his chest.

“Didja eat?”

She grins and winks at me. That’s the stereotypical Italian— Sicilian —mother. No wonder she calls her nephew little cub. She is in politics. The way she flips the switch from being a shark to a minnow is remarkable. One moment she’s out for blood. The next, I feel like I could bake cookies with her.

“No, Auntie Paola. We didn’t make it that far.”

“Let’s fix that. Gabriele, I can practically hear your stomach from here.”

“My wife was too busy saving this idiota’s ass to make me breakfast.”

Luca snorts.

“Saving him. That’s why she was too busy. Okay.”

Gabriele looks utterly unrepentant, and Sinead looks bored. Was Luca hinting that they were— Oh. He was.

“Luca, don’t be crude.”

“Yes, Auntie Paola.”

I suck my lips in to keep from smiling. He looks duly chastened. The Mancinelli family’s underboss got in trouble with his aunt for making a rude joke. Not only that, he looks guilty as sin. Chelle mentioned at the reception that she thought she’d entered the Twilight Zone when she met the family. They are so fucking normal that it’s unnerving. I think it’s how they survive. It’s not just guns and whatever. It’s their loyalty and love for one another. It must help them get through the grisly shit.

And that reminds me where we are and why. How are they just bantering like they aren’t being watched by practically every set of eyes on this floor? Everyone must be wondering why we’re hanging out. I’m wondering that.

“We need to wait for the right press to arrive. When they’re in place, we’ll head out. Someone will let Auntie Paola know when they’re ready.”

Marco has finally released me but only to take my hand. We’ve laced our fingers together, and we’re leaning against each other’s arm. I glance around, realizing it doesn’t really matter that we didn’t kiss. He held me for so long people couldn’t miss it. Now we’re holding hands.

“Reading my mind as always.”

He leans to whisper in my ear.

“I’m going to give you that kiss when we’re alone. I’m going to do a lot more than that, piccolina. Decide what fantasy you want to act out tonight. I plan to make you forget today at least for a few hours.”

I perk up as our gazes lock. Maybe letting my mind run wild with sexual ideas will help me get through the impromptu— no —strategic press conference we’re headed to. I’m scared to be in front of those people when I walk out. Even if I move aside, I’m going to have to watch and listen to people attack Marco and his family. If I can distract myself just a little, then my fear will ease. And I won’t be likely to sink my claws into anyone who says a disparaging thing about my boyfriend. My hackles are rising thinking about it.

“We’ll forget together, Daddy. Once we’re alone, please stay with me. I?—”

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