Page 62 of Dirty Mafia King
“No bars allowed.”
“You’re so damn obedient.” She arches an eyebrow. “Areyoua good girl?”
I wobble to my feet and stagger toward the pool. “I want to be. But I shouldn’t be. I really, really shouldn’t.”
“What do you mean, you shouldn’t?” she asks, but I dive into safer waters without answering her.
* * *
“Hey, Sandro,” Zoey hollers. “Looking fine in that suit.”
I sink lower in my chaise as Sandro flashes her the finger and disappears into the main house.
He’s home today for a big meeting. Mafiosi have been filtering into the mansion all day. Sandro arrived around nine o’clock without so much as a greeting. Offering me a taste of married life, though I’m struggling to decide if being ignored by him—and his father—deserves my bitterness or a celebration.
“Please don’t antagonize him, or you’ll be banned from the estate.” After yesterday’s animated discussion about Bastian’s enormous bull, it’s a wonder we’re still permitted to hang out.
“He’s such an asshole. Your first time shouldn’t be with that selfish jerk.” She glares at the direction Sandro disappeared in.
“Zoey, please. This isn’t helping.”
Hangovers should never be accompanied by loose tongues. Admitting I’m a virgin to Zoey is like handing her a blowtorch, and then telling her not to use it. She hasn’t stopped and is now hyperfocused on “fixing” the problem.
“Gosh, me and big mouth. It’s not like you have achoice.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re still doing it.”
“I’ll shut up now.” Pause. “He sure is a shit fiancé.”
It’s true. I’ve had no interaction with Sandro.
“He looks relaxed. Probably has some poor woman tied up and waiting for him in New York.”
“Zoey.”
“Oh crap. Sorry.” Pause. “Even if it’s the truth.”
I sigh. “He flipped you the bird. That’s him being relaxed?”
Our eyes collide, and then we burst out laughing. How did I manage without her? We’re wearing identical bikinis again. Red ones twice as skimpy as yesterday’s. No one informed us a meeting was scheduled. But no one pays us any mind. Why would they when Bastian waits inside his office?
Several minutes pass.
Until Zoey slides right back into her topic of choice. “We’ll sneak out and find someone suitable to stamp your V-Card.”
Yep. Yesterday’s margaritas are today’s kiss of death. “‘Stamp my V-Card?’ What decade are we living in?”
Zoey falls somber. “It hurts the first time.”
“So does childbirth, yet people continue having sex.”
“It can’t be Sandro. He’ll cause you pain in ways you can’t imagine.”
But I can imagine it—though not with him.I silently curse the margaritas. “He hates me.”
“He hates everyone. It’s in his nature.”
“Bastian isn’t like that.” I freeze. “I meant Renzo…”
