Page 43 of Dirty Mafia King
“You’re marrying a heartless son of a bitch. A total control freak,” Zoey hollers. “Renzo thought you should know.”
“Zip it, Zoey,” Freido barks.
“Be prepared for some major passive-aggressive bullshit. Chin up, Alessia, or he’ll eat you alive.”
Freido forces her toward the door, and the air goes out of me. A second friend met by happenstance. A second time they’ve been literally dragged off.
“Oh, I almost forgot. One more thing I think you should know.” Zoey grabs the accordion doorframe. “If Sandro’s ice, Mr. Beneventi’s fire. Avoid the bull at all costs.”
She releases her grip, then makes a call-me gesture, before Freido drags her away.
CHAPTER16
ALESSIA
“Did Zoey make it home?” I demand the next morning when Freido appears at the accordion door.
“Yes.” He scowls. “She’s not permitted on the grounds without Sebastiano’s permission.”
“So, I’ll get his permission.”
Freido looks doubtful. “Mr. Beneventi requests you join him for lunch at noon.”
I anticipated this moment. Don Lucchese arrives tomorrow, and Bastian has trust issues. He likely needs reassurance I won’t fuck things up.
If I impress Don Lucchese, it’ll go a long way toward earning Bastian’s trust. Without it, my new life as a Beneventi will be miserable. This isn’t a coin flip; I understand which side I must be on. I’m nothing if not a survivor.
“The food will get cold.” Freido looks me up and down, from my tank top and shorts to my daisy flip-flops.
“He said noon?” I’m hurrying toward my bedroom to change. “Semiformal, correct?”
Freido grunts, not answering either question.
I dress in low heels, fitted slacks, and a button-down blouse, then comb my hair to a shine and layer in a few curls. Very classic. Very Hampton chic.
Not that Bastian will notice.
Not that I’m hoping he will.
I follow Freido across the pool deck and lawn toward the stone pavers leading up to the veranda. I immediately spy the tall dark-haired figure waiting beside a long, rectangular table. His grim expression hits home harder than a lead pipe.
Sandro. He’s back.
Of course he is. His big announcement ismybig announcement. Even if I’ve avoided thinking about it.
I draw near, and he glances at his watch. Like I’m late—except it’s five minutes to noon.
He’s going to make things difficult.
This is your life. Don’t allow your marriage to begin this way. Befriend the arrogant jerk. It’s pointless making an enemy out of your soon-to-be fiancé.
He pulls out a chair—it’s a start.
I slip into it and murmur, “Thank you, Sandro.”
Phone in hand, he settles into the seat across from me, then ignores me.
My brow furrows. The way his thumb glides across the screen—is he playing a game?
