Page 145 of Dirty Mafia King
He exhales sharply. “I’m sorry.”
I nod. “What’s important is that you recover.”
“No. What’s important is teaching that prick a lesson.” His fist curls around the bedsheet. “I promise you this. I’ll bring you Conti.”
I let him believe it. “Go to your villa in Sardinia after you’re released, and allow yourself time to heal.”
I stay by his bedside long after he drifts off to sleep. Sandro might want revenge, but for me, this is all about respect.
Phone in hand, I issue the order: Bring me Emilio Conti.
CHAPTER52
ALESSIA
With each passing week, Bastian grows more and more distant. It doesn’t help that the man behind Sandro’s kidnapping has disappeared. Or that Bastian blames himself for underestimating him.
He’s obsessed with hunting him down.
Part of me understands why.
Part of me worries rage might be the only emotion he connects with.
It’s like being trapped in a cage with a wounded puma, who is either hissing and snarling while pacing around, or locked inside his den.
The guards prevent me from approaching him. To keep me away or keep me safe, or possibly both?
Yet I remain inside the main house and prepare dinner each night, hoping he’ll dine with me. At least in this small way, I make my presence felt.
School has begun, and I throw myself into my studies, spending hours in the room off the kitchen. Not that I’ve abandoned efforts to redirect his attention toward me. By preparing his favorite dishes. By positioning myself where he might notice me.
If he notices, he never acts on it.
I tuck the fresh tomatoes into my apron and straighten, offering my face to the sun. It’s a warm September. The garden is flourishing, and the pool is still open. At least the weather’s cooperating.
A rumble of voices sends my pulse racing.
I wait until Freido and Bastian are on the path closest to the garden before looking at him.
Our eyes lock.
But Bastian keeps running.
CHAPTER53
BASTIAN
The little worm Conti has dug a hole so deep, it’s taking longer than anticipated to hunt him down.
I lean against the doorjamb and drink my whiskey while I watch Alessia work. The loyal little Lolita has her head bent, caught up in the online lecture, and is oblivious to my presence.
I should allow her to return to the casita.
She doesn’t deserve a life of lockdowns and murder, shady business dealings and being exposed to the darker sides of mafioso life. She’s gentle and sweet. Loyal and patient.
And her presence calms me.
I’m a selfish fuck. My men keep her away, yet not too far away.
