Page 14 of Dirty Mafia King
I’ve mentored Dante for years. No one likes it, but too fucking bad. I earned the old man’s respect a long time ago and continue to do so.
Everyone knows the biggest crooks operate from white dome buildings within every state capital, with the largest cluster located in Washington, D.C.
I promised Don Lucchese the sleaziest and most influential of them all.
And the Amatos have made me a chump.
Heat radiates off my laptop, and I contemplate smashing it into the wall.
The only saving grace is that Dante is in Vegas to negotiate a new joint venture with Luca Ricci on my behalf. Translation: Don Lucchese won’t hear about my being screwed six ways to Sunday from him.
I can hear Xavier Moretti’s laughter all the way from Chicago.
I hurl the glass at the wall.
If only I’d kept my mouth shut.
If only she’d kept her thighs closed.
If only Amato weren’t a disloyal motherfucker.
I scratch the back of my neck. Think, Bastian. What’s the next step? What needs to happen to fix this before word gets out?
My mind calms yet remains blank. Some Molly and three mouths on my dick will take the edge off. Then perhaps I’ll see things clearer.
But not before I settle on an explanation to feed Don Lucchese as to why I murdered the politician we’ve courted for months.
* * *
ALESSIA
Renzo Beneventi is the sunshine on a snowy day that gives you sunburn when you least expect it. Playful and hilarious, with an inner darkness that cuts through his give-no-fucks bravado. He’s so charismatic, I forget my shyness.
“You’ve got a grass stain on your breast.”
I glance down and grimace. Regretting driving a golf cart across the expansive lawns of the Beneventi estate, then caving into Renzo’s heckling by taking a few swings on the family golf course.
My first drive landed halfway down the green, and Renzo danced around like I was the next Tiger Woods. Ten strokes later, I sank my first ball, and he pulled me in for a hug. Turns out, I am anaturalat golf.
Problem was … is, I’m wearing a white Tom Ford dress.
I look down once again, the green stain marking one breast unmistakable.
From the golf cart seat beside me, Renzo catches my dismay. “Martian tit.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I fucked a girl dressed up like a martian once.” My eyes widen as he winks at me. “The sex was out of this world.”
I burst into laughter. How can I not? His wicked humor puts me at ease. If Sandro’s anything like his twin, Sienna’s marriage may not be so horrible. Relief for my sister washes over me, but it’s sprinkled with hope. With Sienna successfully married and Father’s dealings with Mr. Beneventi concluded, I’ll find a way to make my escape—with Father’s support or not. If I can drive a tiny white ball one hundred and forty yards with a club, I can attend art classes in Italy on my terms.
“Do you have a passport?” Despite knowing Renzo for just over an hour, I’d like to keep in touch with him. It’s strange how quickly our friendship’s formed. How comfortable he is joking with me. How free I feel in his presence. We’re opposites, yet we gel.
Besides, the Roman streets would look different with him by my side.
He gestures toward the Beneventi mansion in the distance. “My passport’s inside a drawer beside my bed. Why? Thinking we should run off and elope?”
Um, awkward. My sister marrying his twin and us running off to get hitched. My brows draw tight. What kind of friendship is built on a lie?
