Page 114 of Dirty Mafia King
“He might … insist.”
“Doubtful.”
“You think he’ll call off the wedding?” Dread switches to hope, and suddenly this unexpected exchange with my stoned fiancé doesn’t feel like an imminent disaster.
He shifts in the chair and, elbows on knees, curls his head into his hands. “Know what she said after I told her I was getting married?”
“Who?” My throat hitches.Wait…
“She’s going to ride every dick in Hollywood like it’s her last fuck on earth, while I rot in hell. And believe me, Angel, she meant it.”
“Renzo?” I gasp.
“Who’d you think I was—Sandro?”
“Well, yes.”
“The suit is what got me inside, along with my twin’s trademark glower. Everyone fell for it, even that asshole on the floor.” He pauses. “Even you.”
I rush across the room, and choke on the thick plume of pot surrounding him like a halo. “You’re not in Rome.”
“By way of California—had to break a few hearts before I got here…”
“We thought—”
“We?” He raises his head from his hands. “You, and my father?”
“Well, yes…”
“I told you I’d come for you. That we’d elope.” He gestures at the bed. “But by all indications, you’re on his side now. I knew the first time he met you this would happen. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, could he?”
My heart races wildly in my chest, thrilled by his question and the implications within it. But Renzo is hurting, and the burst of joy quickly fades. I drop to my knees and touch his hand. “I’ll always be on your side, Renzo.”
“That why you ratted me out? How Sergeant Dickwad and his goons hunted me down in the woods?”
“Yes,” I murmur. “That’s exactly why. You need help, Renzo.”
“What if I’m not ready to get clean yet?”
I stare up at him in shock, and then any emotion I’ve ever felt toward any Beneventi rolls up out of me, and I burst into tears.
“Holy fuck,” he cries, alarmed. “Don’t. I don’t deserve your—or anyone’s—tears.”
“If that were true,” I gasp, “I wouldn’t be crying.”
What demons lurk within him? What drives him to self-medicate? What makes him believe he can balance on the edge and not fall off? The Beneventis’ enemies won’t kill him. He’ll do that by himself.
“I’ll contact your California girl…” I grasp at anything to get through to him. “…and explain our situation.”
“Please, don’t,” he hisses. “Her father will kill her, me, then you if he hears about my visit.”
“Lord, Renzo.” I sniffle. “You make an impression, don’t you?”
“So I guess you aren’t going to Europe with me?”
New tears form. “He’d kill me.”
Renzo shakes his head. “Highly unlikely.”
