Page 125 of Dirty Mafia King
The mafioso man lights up when he sees me. “There’s my girl.”
“Buonasera, Don Lucchese. Come stai?” I greet him.
“In vita.”
Alive.
He switches to English. “Your cookies keep the old ticker going, I’m certain of it.”
“Then I’ll bake more batches.” Given his friendly demeanor, it’s difficult to reconcile he’s a mass murderer.
“Especially the biscotti. After the wedding, you’ll come and stay at my villa, and bake for me. Nothing better than Italian ingredients.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Don Lucchese.”
Bastian steps inside the theater room. I blink. He’s changed into dark jeans and a tight, fitted T-shirt. I pretend I don’t see his approach and continue my conversation. “And what will Sandro be doing?”
“He can go pick grapes.”
I laugh.
So does Don Lucchese.
Bastian scowls beside me, where he’s settled onto an armrest. Lord, he’s barefoot, and a poster child for the expression: “Big feet, big cock.”
“And Bastian, how’s he treating you?”
I roll my bottom lip, three sets of eyes hyperfocused on my response. Will the old man sense a lie? I settle on an honest reply. “As to be expected.”
The old man grins like a proud grandpa. “Demanding, right?”
I sigh. “HeinsistsI prepare his meals.”
“Smart man. Always has been.”
My tension evaporates. Don Lucchese loves Bastian, doesn’t he? And oddly enough, that makes me happy.
Why be happy for him? Why not, once and for all, squash any and all emotions I feel for him?
Oh sweet Lord. No. No. No. Do I love him?
“Bastian tell you I’ve booked my flight?”
I nod, unable to form words, and still processing the disaster wreaking havoc on my sanity. Love him? How did this happen? Why him, of all people? Is it Stockholm syndrome? Unfulfilled lust? Delusion?Don’t cry. Don’t react. And whatever you do, don’t look at Bastian.
“How about I fly you to Rome so you can purchase a lovely wedding dress?” the old man croons.
I catch Freido’s stern look.Just make Don Lucchese happy.“Bastian gave me money, and I bought the most beautiful dress. It’s classic and feminine, with sheer sleeves, a princess neckline, white silk bodice, V-waist, and a full tulle skirt. The saleswoman said it was designed after Sophia Loren’s dress in the movieThe Black Orchid, except the veil I ordered won’t have flower accents.”
I pause to catch my breath.
All three men are dead quiet.
And foolish, foolish me, a glutton for punishment, glances Bastian’s way.
Our eyes lock.
His hungry.
