Page 45 of Dirty Mafia King
“What?” I cry out.
His smile’s pure evil. “I found her, now what to do with her?”
“Do with her? Nothing. I agreed—”
“We’re not married yet. Hell, we’re not even engaged, not until Don Lucchese meets you.” He leans in a fraction of an inch, then hisses, “Fear me now?”
“Don’t hurt her.”
He withdraws and then, ever so calmly, finds his seat. “I won’t be humiliated, disrespected, or disobeyed. Capisci?”
I nod. Until now, I never considered Sandro’s feelings. How mortified he must have felt when Bastian showed us that video. How frustrated he must be at being ordered to wed first Sienna, and then me.
“You’ll pretend to love me while we act like the perfect couple. I give the orders, you obey. I say jump, your feet better be in the air. I want you to sit on my lap, you hop on. I kiss you, you kiss me back and pretend I’m the man of your goddamn dreams. I want your undivided attention. Eyes on me, and only me, and at all times. Then, we’ll see.”
“And your father?”
Sandro gestures for a server to clean up his mess. “What about him?”
“What are his expectations?”
“Expectations.” He rubs his fingers across his chin and contemplates my question. “He has rules, not expectations. Rule number one: embarrass him in front of Don Lucchese, and he’ll kill you.”
I shudder. “And after we wed?”
“After?” Sandro sneers. “You fade back into the woodwork, and I live my life.”
He makes it sound horrible.
Except the woodwork—particularly Italian woodwork—is exactly where I’d love to hide.
CHAPTER17
BASTIAN
“Look at them.” Don Lucchese pulls his chair in close and throws an arm around my shoulders, grinning like a romantic fool. “Sandro è pazzo di lei.”
We’re seated around a table on the veranda and ready to feast on the elaborate meal Nonna has prepared. The party has gone off without incident. I’ll make the formal announcement after we eat, then the old man can bless the union.
The happy couple sits a few feet away. Sandro runs kisses across the little deviant’s lips as if he’s crazy in love. Touching her—on the back, thigh, breast—like he can’t wait to bed her. As if the coldhearted prick within him is on vacation. Little Alessia plays along, a persistent flush warming her cheeks. Her innocence is like a drug. Like the finest whiskey—though no one expects the mind-blowing kick beneath the initial sips until half a bottle in.
She’s sexy and sophisticated in a refreshing way. Blond hair swept up into a knot with a few locks hanging free. Short black dress showing off long legs. A classy pearl necklace setting off her pretty face. Makeup subtle, allowing her natural beauty to shine through. Fuck-me high heels drawing attention back to her shapely legs. I couldn’t have found a more perfect bride.
Her eyes dart my way, sensing my perusal, before shifting elsewhere.
Subtle glances. Just like Sandro’s.
Confirming this is for show—that they’re both full of shit.
Still, Don Lucchese eats it up.
The old man’s pleased with everything I’ve proposed. Dante will oversee the Atlanta expansion on my behalf while I focus on New York. And bringing a puppet like Amato into the family definitely has a few side perks.
“I reran the numbers.” I flash a smile. “With the new tax incentive legislation Governor Amato passed to lure new businesses to New York City, our expansion into Brooklyn presents a more profitable income stream than even Atlanta.”
“New tax incentives?” Delighted, Don Lucchese thumps his fist on the table. Drinks spill as everyone jumps. “Brilliant move. Amato’s certainly proving his worth.”
The good governor, hearing his name, pauses his conversation. I’ve placed the shady figlio di puttana at the opposite end, far away from Don Lucchese. His role today is to look pretty while puckering up and kissing my ass. Putting his mouth to a better use than sharing my secrets. For the most part, I ignore him.
