Page 51 of Dirty Mafia King
“When I’m not thieving, murdering, or whoring, I like a round of golf.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alessia stiffen. The whiskey-charged devil inside me reacts. “Or corrupting innocents.”
Her club wavers in the air, my words hitting their mark. Arms raised, she’s about to tee off, and I’ve ruined it.
I smirk. If I’m not careful, reminding her about my finger in her tight cunt will become my next guilty pleasure. Good thing I like experienced partners and don’t do kinky little virgins.
“Keep your arm close to your body, or your drive will be weak.” Sandro tosses his hands in the air. “Why’d I get partnered with a woman.”
Dante responds. “She’s your fiancée, asshole.”
My lips draw tight. “Sandro, grab us some beers from my cart, will you?”
It’s not a question. His eyes widen, as do everyone else’s.
Don Lucchese snorts. “It’s ten a.m.”
“And four o’clock in Tuscany.”
Still, Sandro hesitates.
Our eyes lock, before he stalks off to do my bidding. Fuck. I better throw him a big fat bone, or he’ll ruin everything.
“Fore please,” Alessia repeats, her words laced with anger. Surprised, our attention falls on her as she swings.
A deafening silence spreads over the group. Even her father—who runs his mouth more than a greedy politician at a fundraising event—shuts up long enough to witness her ball sailing through the air and then landing perfectly in line for her next drive.
Figo—fucking fantastic.
“Goddamn,” Dante comments. “Did you see that?”
Don Lucchese claps his hand before hurrying toward Alessia. “Beautiful, honey. Where’d you learn to swing like that?”
“Renzo taught me how to position my body.”
“I bet he did,” Dante murmurs beside me.
I elbow him in the ribs and he stumbles sideways.
Alessia approaches, her eyes darting to me. Like she’s searching for my approval.
“You’re good.”
Her lips curve.
My dick stirs.
“I’ll order new clubs sized better for your height and body type.”
She stares at me like I’ve offered her the world. So responsive. So naive to the man I am, and the man I’ll never be. “Consider it a wedding present.”
Her smile drops.
Sandro smacks a cold beer into my chest. “Is there anything else I can do for anyone?”
“I’ll take a beer, baby.”
Sandro spins on Alessia. “Don’t you fucking ‘baby’ me. And it’s too early—”
“I’ve a toast,” I grind out, interrupting the scene.
