Page 82 of Sweet Prison

Liar.

Says you!

It’s not about getting your rocks off. You want to hear her voice, too.

Psst… Did you forget? I hear everything, even when you figure I’m gone.

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. I knew that of course, but I don’t like being reminded of the fact.

You’re me. I’m you. And I’m not going anywhere, so deal with it already. And call our girl.

You’ll keep quiet?

Fine.

Alright.I nod and hit Zahara’s number.

Chapter 20

“No more cognac for Tiziano,” I whisper to the serving maid while she walks by me, carrying a tray of half-filled snifters.

The girl halts, her gaze darting to the group of men seated at the table in the middle of the parlor. “But, he just asked for another. A double. Neat.”

“I know. Bring him a glass filled with flat ginger ale instead. I doubt that he’d even notice the difference at this point. If he does and starts giving you trouble, though, just turn around and leave. I’ll handle him at that point.”

I follow the server’s movements as she makes a brief detour back to the liquor cart before approaching the capos. She then sets their drinks before each man and basically hightails it from the room. My eyes zero in on Capo Tiziano while he tastes his “cognac.” He mutters for a moment, likely confused over being handed the wrong drink, but has enough sense not to escalate the matter or draw too much attention to it.

Taking a sip of my wine, I lean my shoulder on the doorjamb and watch the men in the parlor over the rim of my glass. The Council members. Massimo grumbled all day today about having to host this informal gathering over drinks. I had to remind him several times of his own words:Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

With Judge Collins not being able to shed any useful info, we still have no idea who’s been plotting behind Massimo’s back. So, this was a necessity. A way to observe all the high-rankingmen in a casual environment, maybe get a read on each while their guard is down.Is one of them a traitor?Also though, it’s a way to play a bit to their massive egos. Capos love to be shown respect by being invited into the don’s home. So, while Massimo doesn’t like it, he still has to deal with this dog and pony show. It comes with the job description.

Across the room, Primo appears to be in a heated discussion with Brio. Based on the serious looks on both of their faces, they must be discussing finances. Tiziano seems to have forgotten his drink, because he’s now wandered over to chat with Salvo, who’s been hovering near the corner bookshelf. As soon as my gaze sweeps over the underboss, I quickly look away. The last thing I want is to be snagged in eye contact with him. Over the past hour, I caught Salvo staring at me several times, which gave me the willies. He even complimented me when he arrived tonight, and that felt weird as fuck.

Knowing that the entire Council would be attending this evening, I picked a conservative outfit for myself—simple burgundy pants and a black blouse with a high neckline. It’s nothing that I haven’t worn before and is the typical attire that previously allowed me to easily blend into the background during various social functions. But tonight, Salvo isn’t the only one who’s been stealing looks at me. Even though I’ve kept to myself, picking a spot to stand just next to the entrance, everyone had noticed my presence in the room. Logic tells me that their attention must only stem from curiosity about my being here and nothing else, however, I still feel the need to adjust my neckline and pull down my sleeves to hide my hands every now and then. Unlike with Massimo, I’m still feeling self-conscious in front ofLa Famiglia,and it’s hard to get over that.

“Did you hear what happened to Collins?” Primo asks, his voice loud and a bit tense-sounding. “The poor bastard drowned last week in his own lake.”

Brio nods. “Such a tragedy. The man proved himself helpful on several occasions in his day. It won’t be easy to get someone else like him into our back pocket again.” He looks over at Massimo, who’s been talking with Adriano on the other side of the parlor. “Any judges on your ‘gambling debts forgiveness’ list, boss?”

“Two, actually,” Massimo smirks, his eyes meeting mine across the room.

The instant our gazes connect, an electric jolt zaps through my body. It happens every damn time that man looks at me. I might be covered from head to foot, but Massimo’s eyes have a way of singeing every shred of clothing off me. As I watch him, he runs his tongue over his lips, as if he can already taste me, and that current of energy zips straight to the apex of my thighs. The things that deviant tongue can do… I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks just from thinking about the possibilities.

“That’s new,” Brio throws in. “Care to share the names?”

“During our next meeting.” Setting his tumbler on the nearby side table, Massimo heads across the room, his eyes still glued to mine.

He stops a step in front of me and braces his palm on the doorframe, a mere inch above my shoulder. We’re not touching, but I feel the warmth from his body as if he’s a raging furnace. Or maybe that’s because the look in his eyes as they peer at me is downright scorching.

“How much longer do I need to endure this crap, angel?”

“At least another hour,” I whisper.

“I have way better ideas of how I can spend that hour.”

“I’m sure you do.” I reach into the bowl of pistachios on the buffet stand to my right and grab a handful. I need something to occupy my hands or I might forget where we are and fidget with Massimo’s belt buckle. “Did you discuss the transportation issues with Adriano?” I try to deflect.

“Nope.”

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