Page 132 of Dirty Mafia King
“Stop calling youwife?”
Lord, does he have to ruin our moment?
The elevator pings once more. We turn toward it as the doors open and Stephano appears.
“Not yet,” Sandro tells him.
The doors close, and the elevator descends.
“I should be going.”
“Not yet. Soon.”
I roll my eyes. “The poor guy’s anxious. He understands there’s a lockdown.”
“A day late and a dollar short.”
I return to my meal, as does Sandro.
I’m full by the time another text comes in. Unease spreads over me at the downright gleeful look in his eyes. “What is it?”
“Showtime.”
“What?”
He retreats toward the kitchen and uncovers the uneaten food before packing it into a tall bag. “You can take the leftovers with you.” So polite. So kind.
“Are you drunk?” I look from the empty bottle to him.
“Nope. But finish your glass, because you’re going to wish you were.”
The elevator chimes.
The doors open.
And a raging bull charges into the room, yelling up a storm. “You have a death wish, disappearing during a lockdown? Do you have any goddamn clue what could happen to you?” Bastian rakes his gaze over the enormous space until his eyes settle on me. Then he makes a direct beeline for me.
I jump from my seat.
His hands find my arms, his body halting inches from my own.
“Take it easy on her.” Sandro comes to my defense. “She didn’t know about the lockdown.”
Bastian is like a wild animal struggling for control. I’m terrified—yet slightly, ever so slightly thrilled he cares enough about my welfare to lose his mind.
“You had to push my buttons,” he growls.
Wait. I pushedhisbuttons? My chin goes up. “You mean … tempt you?” I wave toward Sandro. “Even he’s a better choice to seduce.”
“Oh, shit,” Sandro utters. “Alessia. Stop.”
“Why?” I cry. I’m hurt, so hurt. Broken, and fragmenting into pieces all over Sandro’s white carpet. “The wedding venue is booked, as he demanded … Ahhh!” My world spins as I’m hauled off my feet and over his shoulder.
A litany of curses accompanies us as Bastian carries me into the waiting elevator. But not before shouting orders at Sandro. “Tommaso better be with you at all times. Capisci?”
“Jesus Christ. I’ll never prove myself capable, will I?” I don’t need to see Sandro to know he’s devastated.
“Just do as I say,” Bastian snaps back, then punches the down button like he can’t get us home quick enough.
