Page 123 of Dirty Mafia King
But love doesn’t prepare anyone for the real world. My sons wouldn’t survive if I didn’t roughen them up. Sacrifices are part of the norm. They resent me for the demands I’ve made.Soon,when they become princes in my new kingdom, I’ll restock the pond again. Soothe Sandro’s wedding blues and lure Renzo back by setting my own bait.
Alessia’s cart disappears over the hill, and seconds later, they’re screaming.
I fling myself from my cart and up the hill.
“We’re sinking,” Zoey bellows, “and going to drown.”
I hit the hilltop at a full run, and don’t stop until I’m knee-deep in pond water and their cart a few feet away.
Zoey’s halfway across the pond, swimming like a gold medalist.
But Alessia waits for me, seated in the half-submerged vehicle that’s bottomed out in the mud.
I wade through the water and then scoop her up. “You okay?” I demand, carrying her back to my cart.
“I pleaded for her to stop.”
I grunt. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I’m fine.” She pauses. “You terrify her, that’s all.”
“Right now, she should be.”
Alessia doesn’t utter a word during the walk back or after I deposit her on the seat. She looks younger than twenty, with her windblown hair and pink cheeks. A wide-eyed innocent by all appearances, without the slightest glimpse of the little freak inside.
My head begins to pound, and I hit the gas harder than necessary.
She falls back in the seat with a cry.
We’re halfway across the estate when I spy three carts up ahead and racing toward us. I curse beneath my breath. It’s like I’m witnessing some boardwalk carnival game. “Stai scherzando? They look ridiculous.”
Her giggle fills the air.
I soften, briefly. Yet I’ve rules that must be spelled out, and no time for sugarcoating them.
“Your job is to cook and serve me, capisci?”
She stiffens. “Serve you …how?”
“Not my fucking cock.Me.”
Her chin rises in challenge. When exactly did Alessia morph into this beautifully bold woman? Or delude herself into believing she can defy me?
“Look at them.” I wave toward the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speedfest. “Always on call, always ready to do my bidding. Your role is to be like my men.”
“You spank them, too?” A fierce scowl transforms her pretty face. “Mark them with your come?”
Madonna mia. “Just do as I say.”
“You shove your bull down their throats and make them swallow every delicious drop?”
I slam on the brake but throw an arm out so she doesn’t go flying. I’ve no time for this bullshit. “That was a mistake.”
She gasps, like I gut-punched her.
“Here are the rules. Cook. Serve. Polish whatever you like. No flaunting your body in see-through bathing suits. No sleeping in my bed when I’m not home. No tempting me like some eager Lolita.”
This is my decision. Like my sons have, she’ll learn. Sacrifices, right? I brush lint off my suit pants and ignore the water stains that’ve ruined them. With my demands firmly stated, I move on to Don Lucchese’s call, and what I’d like her to say about her upcoming nuptials.
