Page 159 of Dirty Mafia King
“I better get back before he notices I’m gone.”
“Alessia. Trust me when I tell you, he noticed the second you left his side.”
I wish it were true.
But this is reality I’m living in, not some contrived fantasy.
I climb out of the car.
“Give me a few minutes to disappear before you tell him, will you?”
I nod, because it’ll take a few minutes to make it to Bastian’s side.
“Oh, and Alessia?”
I glance back at him. So broken, yet on the mend. So tormented, though he gets off on it, doesn’t he?
His eyes fill with mischief.
“I’m going to enjoy calling you Mom.”
* * *
ALESSIA
I’m drunk, and sprawled out next to an equally intoxicated Sandro on his hotel room floor. Unlikely allies, and even less unlikely friends.
Yet stranger things have happened, right?
It’s almost eleven in the evening. Bastian left the funeral with a handful of other capos, but not before ordering Sandro to take me to his hotel and book a room for me there. His words felt like an anvil crashing down to signal an end to our time together.
On the ride here, I mentioned my conversation with the beautiful redhead. And, surprise, surprise, Sandro actually looked destroyed by the news his girlfriend is heartbroken by his lie.
It was Sandro’s idea to liquor up.
It was my idea I stay in his hotel room.
He touches his whiskey glass to my wine bottle. “Here’s to Renzo, running wild and free.” I shared my encounter with his brother, though Sandro wasn’t surprised Renzo would show up at his godfather’s funeral. He was taken aback when I mentioned we met in the backseat of Matteo Lombardi’s Maserati.
“Wild, free, and sober,” I add, touching my wine to his glass.
“Sober. A state I don’t want to be in right now.”
I touch an empty wine bottle with my toes, and it topples. Two full bottles are lined up and waiting for my attention. “Neither do I.”
Sandro rolls toward me. “You should never have fallen in love with him.”
I snort. “Like I had a choice.”
“Get used to not having a say about anything.”
I readjust my position and place a cushion behind my back. Even in my drunken state, the bed frame is uncomfortable. I poke him in the side. “You, soon-to-be husband, need to learn the power of no.”
“Like you dare tell him no.”
My expression must give me away.
“You told Sebastiano Beneventi no?” he exclaims.
