Page 17 of Dirty Mafia King
“But want to know what’s the worst part of being Lorenzo Beneventi?” He stares off into the distance, and I’m convinced he’s not going to continue. “He ruined any hope of love.”
My response is instantaneous. “You’re in love? Who is she? Where is she now?”
“Out of fucking reach, that’s where she is.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Lord, he’s passionate … and deeply, deeply troubled.
His smartwatch buzzes, and we both freeze on the seat.
“We have to get back.” Renzo jumps out of the cart and runs around to my side. “Scoot over.” There’s an unfamiliar urgency about him that’s unsettling.
My stomach drops. Mr. Beneventi must be home, and the announcement about to happen.
We cross the lawn at a breakneck speed, airborne most of the time.
“You sure you’re sober enough to drive?” I yell out at one point.
“Too fucking sober. I’ll need another drink to get through this.”
Seconds turn into minutes until we’re off-roading across the perfectly landscaped back lawn. The cart stops at the steps leading up to the stone veranda, and I quickly slip my kitten heels on.
“Before you head inside,” I say in a rush, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Beforewego inside,” Renzo replies, jumping out of the cart. “Come on.”
For the briefest second, I contemplate escaping.But, if Sandro’s anything like his brother, everything will be okay. Sienna will live her life, Father his, and I’ll finally be free from them and the burden I always carry. I exit the cart with shaky legs.
“Hurry. Or do you want to get me killed?”
“Killed?” Dread sinks in. Because he’sserious.
“No one keeps my father waiting.”
He stops long enough to clasp hands and together we climb the stone stairs.
“Wait.” My toe snags on a stone and I stumble.
He catches me before I fall.
“I’m frightened,” I confess.
“You should be. My father locks himself inside his office for two hours, and now calls a meeting?” His fingers tighten around my hand.
“Everyone present should be afraid.”
CHAPTER6
BASTIAN
Joseph Amato enters my office with a confident swagger.
His daughter follows behind him, her laughter designed to draw attention.
Sandro comes to stand in front of my desk, his eyes locked on mine in complete understanding that shit’s about to go down.
“Where’s your brother?” I demand.
Amato’s grin slips, and his daughter chokes on air.
