Page 19 of Dirty Mafia King
Sandro makes a noise in his throat. I raise my eyes from her gorgeous full tits to her face.
Well, surprise, surprise. As if this day hasn’t already rolled me over and fucked me hard.
I scowl, and study her more closely.
She’s pretty. Lean with big tits and a tight ass. Blond, with soft pouty lips, high cheekbones, and big expressive eyes. They widen as they land on me, and then dart away. Cheeks flushed, she tucks in closer to Renzo.
“Father.” Renzo nudges her forward. “This is Sheila.”
“No, Renzo…” she gasps, but it’s too late.
“Who the hell is Sheila?” Amato’s tone is incredulous. “Alessia, is that what you told your soon-to-be brother-in-law?”
Sandro guffaws.
Renzo frowns in disappointment.
And I grow impatient. “We’ve a family of liars in our home.”
Everyone freezes. The room’s so quiet, you can hear a pin drop. Amato’s screams will be all the more memorable in comparison. I gesture to the two vacant chairs. “Sit down.”
Alessia turns, about to bolt. Renzo throws an arm around her shoulder. “I’ve got you, Sheil—Alessia.”
Chivalrous. Kind. Ready for another taste of Miss Innocence’s sweet pussy after their romp in the grass? My eyes dip. The grass stain on her breast only enhances her hard nipple. Another Amato who can’t keep her thighs closed?
I smash my clenched fist on the desk.
Everyone jumps.
What the fuck? Am I attracted to a little baby like her? I track their progress toward the chairs. Judging by her flushed state, she’s well aware of who I am.
“There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding,” her father says, drawing my attention back to the matter—or rathermatters—at hand.
“Then how about you explain this to me?” I flip open the file on my desk, push it toward him, and point to the letter he wrote to the local Atlanta gambling commission on Conti’s behalf, introducing himself as the future East Coast Gaming Commissioner. News I didn’t want announced yet. Not until everything was in place.
His eyes widen, and he shifts in his seat. “Um…”
“Isn’t this your signature?”
He stares at his name scribbled in ink on the paper before him. I’ve a shitload of other signed documents with this exact signature.
“Yes or no?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Yes.”
I lurch across the desk, grab him by both arms, and flip him onto my desk. Face up because I want to see his lying mug as I rain punches down on it.
His nose breaks. Blood sprays everywhere.
His daughters scream, their white dresses soiled by their father’s stupidity. Then Miss Innocent slumps in her seat, passed out cold.
“Did Conti approach you or you him?” I demand.
“He came to me.”
“He know who you are?”
Amato nods, then winces. “Yes. He told me you sent him. He said you asked for me to introduce myself to the local committee who oversees the extensive sports gambling operations around the Atlanta metro area.”
