Page 54 of Dirty Mafia King
ALESSIA
Nonna clucks her tongue as the kitchen door slams shut behind the three women who just left. Hair mashed, faces flushed, short skirts wrinkled, and wearing satisfied expressions I envy.
Four o’clocks are torturous.
It’s Sebastiano Beneventi’sswitchinghour, more like him switching a flogger across the trio’s bottoms and less like him switching up the body count.
He’s totally shameless.
I should be horrified, not disheartened—and on so many levels.
It’s been over three weeks since the announcement. Has Bastian rubbed elbows with me, inquired after my well-being, or even acknowledged in any way, shape, or form my existence? Niente—nothing. My important role as blushing bride faded with Don Lucchese and Sandro’s departure. What’s worse is I’ve tried to catch his attention—why else would I help Nonna prepare dinner every day and subject myself to his four-o’clock delights if not without the hope of a chance encounter?
I assure myself this is because of school, or that I’m lonely or that I must get Zoey off the Beneventi banned-for-life list if I want her to come over.
But the truth is I’m playing a dangerously twisted game. I’ve shelved shyness for boldness, positioning myself in his path with the hope he’ll notice me. It’s exhilarating, and stupid. Risky, and disturbing. Inexplicable behavior, period. But I can’t help myself. I crave even the slightest glance.
Except he hasn’t given me the time of day.
Too busy. Too preoccupied entertaining a trio of kinksters willingly submitting to his every command.
Nonna shakes her head. Acknowledgment of my disappointment? Or warning me my obsession with her boss can only lead to trouble? Without elaborating, she returns to stirring the sauce on the stovetop.
Someone behind me clears his throat.
My heart skips a beat as I spin in his direction, and then it drops like a containership anchor.
Freido.
“Adesso ha tempo per te,” he says. He has time for you.
A nervous excitement rumbles through me until every inch of me quakes. “He’ll seemenow?” I’m flushed, and panicked. That’s the harsh truth about reality: it can feel like a slap in the face. I craved his attention, but now that the opportunity’s presented itself…
Nonna sneaks up on me, then thrusts her sauce spoon at me. “Non far bruciare la mia salsa.”
I blink, slowly processing what she’s saying.
Don’t let my sauce burn.
He wants to speak to Nonna, not me.
Disappointment rolls through me. Sebastiano Beneventi isn’t interested in foolish girls. Why would he be, when he has a trio of eager women to entertain him?
With a sigh, I return to Nonna’s place at the stove to watch over the sauce. Knowing I still need to speak to him about school. The sooner I do so, the sooner I can occupy my time thinking about beautiful things rather than obsessing over my future father-in-law.
CHAPTER21
BASTIAN
Days before he was murdered, my old man offered me advice. “Soften your enemies with kindness so they’ll have something to compare your punishments to.” It’s laughable in retrospect, considering his type of kindness was a punishment. Want to attend business school? Great. Pay for it by making our fraudulent scratch ticket scheme profitable. Think you can fill my shoes as the next Beneventi capo? Prove it by shooting this cheating stronzo in the head.
A dishonest card player or not, the man was a family friend, a guy who gave me chocolates as a kid.
I flick ash from my cigar into the ashtray perched on the tub and, with the same hand, raise my whiskey glass high.To the mean bastard, may the devil deliver your brand of kindness.
My father would be pissing buckets if he could see me now.
Expensive whiskey. Cuban cigars. A bubble bath scented with my personal favorite blend of leather and spice. Money—and more to come. Life is fucking good. I’ve achieved more than he imagined he ever could.
