Page 104 of Dirty Mafia King
CHAPTER36
ALESSIA
My head falls back against the shower tile with a moan as I climax to Harry Styles singing “Watermelon Sugar,”and to the memory of Sebastiano Beneventi licking me like he believes every word of the song.
The music abruptly stops, and the bathroom goes black.
My hand drops from between my thighs. Not only is the bathroom’s electricity out, but the spray from the state-of-the-art shower has stopped running. Have I popped a fuse? I smirk. Sex can be so earth-shattering, can’t it?
Exiting the shower, I fumble around for a towel. Finding it, I secure it around my body before I head into the living area to investigate.
A man looms outside the glass doors … Freido. That was quick.
“I’m not dressed,” I holler.
He enters anyway. “Start packing.”
“Packing?” I bite my lip. “Where am I going?” Oh no. Bastian’s sending me to New York, isn’t he? Same song. Same dance. We overstepped boundaries, and now he regrets it. Why deny the attraction? Why push me toward his son when he could officially claim me for himself?
Disappointment numbs me. Famiglie first, and always. He announced I’d be marrying Sandro, and that’s that. His promise is nonnegotiable. No going back on it, or the other famiglie might think he’s indecisive. And untrustworthy—because what father proudly announces his son’s engagement, then steals his bride away? I’m Bastian’s pawn and occasional plaything, nothing more.
“I was directed to help you.”
I grimace. “Can I at least get dressed?”
“Be quick.”
Between my phone and the moonlight filtering in, I find yoga pants and a tight sports bra. At least I’ll be comfortable on the miserable ride to New York City. To finish the outfit, I pull on ankle socks and sneakers. Then I drag two suitcases out of the closet. There won’t be enough room—Zoey and I spenta lotof time online shopping, with her nudging me to spendhismoney. “Mr. Beneventi said to purchase whatever the fuck you want, right?” My wardrobe isn’t nearly as conservative as it used to be, though compared to Zoey, I dress like a nun.
I’ve changed, too, right? Less shy, more familiar with those around me. More free, and less concerned about keeping family out of trouble. I’ve grown bolder, too, drawn to him like a moth to a raging flame, aware of the danger yet still consumed by the fiery depths.
And now Bastian’s shipping me off to his son.
“I’m decent,” I inform Freido.
“Better be,” he mutters in such a low voice, I wonder if I’m imagining things.
“The dresser first, I guess.”
He opens the suitcases and begins packing clothing from the drawers. I run a comb through my damp hair before knots can form, then cull through the walk-in closet. “Can you ask him to send someone to bring whatever’s left behind?”
He grunts. “Sure thing.”
“I’m going to miss this casita.” My voice cracks. Sandro setting a wedding date hurt, but this is hell. “Does he plan on saying goodbye?”
“Why would he do that?” Freido asks, confused.
I flinch. Right. Why would he?
“I prepared his dinners. That, at the very least, is a reason.”At the very least—I keep quiet about the details of my complicated relationship with his boss.
“And you polished the ancestral silver—he boasted about it for days.”
I exit the closet to stare at Freido. “He did?”
“Bastian likes traditions. When he decides how something should be done, that’s it, and a routine is set. Which, I suppose, is why it takes time for him to make up his mind.”
It makes sense, knowing Bastian as I do.
