Page 41 of Dirty Mafia King
So sexy.
So selfish.
Don’t do it. Don’t take pleasure in his pleasure.
I turn away as he licks his lips.
Several seconds pass. I feel him studying me. Feel the energy his presence emanates. My throat hitches while my heart squeezes tight.
“I’d like you to prepare a special dish for Don Lucchese.”
“Nonna’s compiled a menu.”
He’s silent.
I’m close, so close, to telling him where he can stick Don Lucchese’s meal. Except he scares me shitless.
What’s he thinking? Punish me for my subtle defiance? Spank me—like he likely spanked those women this afternoon?
His sharp sigh makes me jump. He charges by me and offers a low-pitched warning. “Just fucking do what I ask.”
CHAPTER15
ALESSIA
The estate buzzes with excitement as preparations for Don Lucchese’s arrival get underway. I’ve overheard the guards talking. The elderly mafioso’s in poor health and rarely travels. His attendance is an honor, and a sign my father-in-law will assume power after Don Lucchese’s death.
They say it’s a done deal.
Part of me recognizes his need to be merciless, even to his own sons—though that needle plunged into Renzo’s neck still horrifies me. Foolish men—like Frankie DiCapitano—don’t become capos. Weak men certainly don’t become capo di tutti capi.
Sebastiano—Bastian—isn’t foolish or weak.
A lesson I should take to heart if I hope to survive this life.
Avoiding Bastian as much as possible is my new objective. So, while chaos overtakes the estate, I hide away inside the casita.
For Don Lucchese’s visit two days away, I’ve decided on lamb stuffed with homemade ricotta. It’s risky—a lot could go wrong with the preparations. But I’m aiming for the wow factor. If Don Lucchese loves it, so will Bastian.
I toss the cheesecloth into the trash bin beneath the casita kitchen counter, and then place the cheese inside the refrigerator. It has to chill for twelve hours before I can add lemon and oregano.
I glance down at my shirt. I’ll never be Martha Stewart neat. They say the best cooks put themselves into their food. No one tells you it’s a mutual arrangement, that food has a mind of its own and often ends up all over you. Unless you’re Martha, damn her. I believe the sticky, wet cheese creation covering me means I’m simply a passionate cook. You can’t touch food without getting your hands dirty.
I chuckle, then head into the bathroom to clean up. Mission accomplished, I return to the great room.
“Hellooo?”
I freeze just as I’m entering the room, the unfamiliar voice startling me.
No one aside from my father and the Beneventi mafiosi know I live on the estate. Aside from Nonna, Freido, and a few guards, I’ve had no contact with anyone else. I could disappear, and few would miss me. And, of those few, who’d care?
“Alessia, are you here?”
A young woman, with blue-tipped brunette hair, a pierced nose, bright red lipstick, and a warm smile, stands in the great room.
“Wow. This place is something. I expected you’d be set up inside Sandro’s suite, but instead Mr. Beneventi’s given you these sweet digs.”
I stare at her.
