Page 40 of Mafia King: Matteo
When Dima pulls into my parents’ driveway, the house is lit up like a Christmas tree.
“That’s odd. They usually sit in the doom and gloom,” I say. “Like a Russian gulag in winter.”
“Sarcasm? Already?” Dima tries not to laugh.
“Haven’t you heard? Sarcasm is just an insult delivered as a joke. You have to admit my parents have been acting weird lately. What’s going on with them? You must know something. I don’t want to walk into an ambush or spend all night getting waterboarded with personal questions.”
“I can’t help you. What about Kirill? Have you asked him?”
“He would have texted me if it was news that I needed to know.”
“True.”
“I wonder if Dad’s business is in trouble.” His entire life is wrapped up in the family business—and he’s not even the Don!”
“Be mindful of what you say, Alena. I’d hate for you to piss off your father.”
“As if he couldn’t be in a pissier mood than last week when he found out I was working at a hotel owned by the Borelli family.”
“Why does he care? He okayed you finding a job.”
“Apparently, he doesn’t like the Borellis. Who are they?”
“Their name has been around for years. They are another well-connected family.”
“Wait, I work for a company owned by the mob? Why didn’t you tell me?” No wonder Dad is pissed.
There has to be bad blood with the Borellis for Dad to get so riled up.
“I have no clue. The design company, Indigo, is owned by a shell company, but the hotel is legit and in the Borelli name.”
“I’ve never heard of them. I thought the Morellis were the feared Italians. That old man is bonkers if you ask me.”
I mostly hang out with Kirill rather than other girls my age from other syndicates because it’s too easy to become involved with the wrong person. Besides, I rarely travel to Brooklyn. I never mingle with young adults from other syndicates because it’s too easy to get involved with the wrong person.
Izzy is from the Moretti family, and when her mother fell for a Russian, her family was all pissy about it. They forbade Izzy’s mother from seeing her boyfriend. It all ended tragically when they got caught in the crossfire between the Russians and the Italians.
I don’t want the same thing to happen to me. It’s bad enough that someday, I will be forced to marry some stranger who controls my every move for the rest of my life. I can’t understand why people bother to flee oppression and move to the United States only to impose their restrictive customs on their children.
I’m lucky Dad let me attend college, and it bought me some time for myself before I was married off in a barbaric tradition. I don’t know why my parents bothered coming to the United States if they are still committed to maintaining the good old ways of repression.
“Prearranged marriages between our families are meant to build trust and form alliances that prevent conflicts. There hasn’t been a mafia war in years.” I am quick to point out this fact.
“The problem is it’s too easy to offend everyone nowadays. Territory lines get blurred. One never knows when there’s a beef until someone ends up in the hospital or the morgue. Then a meeting is called,” he says. “These things happen all the time, and you never hear about them.”
I take his words to heart and will study them later. I need to learn more about the world before I get married. If no one will tell me what’s going on, I’ll investigate it myself.
“I’d better be going.” I resign myself to the fact that my parents are probably entertaining friends and want to show me off. I hope tonight’s worst-case scenario is that their friends are shopping for a new car, not a wife.
Double yuck.
I was prepared for that life until Mr. Grey showed up. Now, I’m not so sure. I’ve never had my toes curl during an orgasm. I’ve never had a man’s voice make me wet between the legs. I’ve never been so excited to see his face as his lips hover dangerously over mine, to the point I’m panting with anticipation.
Who is this stranger, who fucks the hell out of me and leaves me wanting more?
The hand necklace he gave me was my first, leaving me wanting to know what else he had in his sexual toolbox.
No, I can’t settle for the average Joe. I won’t go down without a fight. Mr. Grey has taken me to new heights. Fucking with him all over the city is exciting. I’m not sure another man will ever measure up to him. I wonder what he’s like in real life.
