Page 69 of Dirty Mafia King
I enjoyed it.
I relished every filthy moment.
How could I be so foolish?
IfIneeded a reminder, this domineering man needs a wake-up call. He initiated this, and I submitted. But I’m done being a willing participant in his sick game. I’m Sandro’s, nothis. I strike out. “I should plan the wedding, then.”
He strikes out ten times harder and lightning fast. I’m grabbed, spun around, and forced backward until he has me bent backward across his desk. Without a word, he withdraws his wallet, then a black credit card. Then with one hand, he pins me to his desk, and with the other, he slides the card lightly across my throat.
I blink back tears.
This is why he’ll be the next mafia king. This is why I can never forget how terrifyingly dangerous he is. I might be Sandro’s, but it’s Bastian’s power I’ll live under.
He draws a line with the card across my trembling lips. “Next time you’re at the pool, I better not find you in a tiny bikini.” He steps back, leaving the card dangling in place. “Plan the motherfucking wedding,” he orders. “Now run. Before I ruin you, and everything else.”
I escape his office without looking back.
CHAPTER25
BASTIAN
“Benny paid me a visit,” Dante informs me over FaceTime. “Said he’s reconsidered and wants in on a joint venture.”
“That right?” I drum my pen on my desk. Benny’s run his mouth a few times since the expansion. But nothing like the threats of his little puppet, Emilio Conti. Conti is like that one fly that won’t go away, so small and so insignificant yet annoying as hell.
“We can add one of those trendy shopping plazas in the open lot behind the casino with the additional investment. Upscale stores with greenery and outdoor seating.”
I frown. Why the fuck is Dante giving me a sales pitch on behalf of Bible Belt Benny? “You sign an agreement?”
“Without discussing it with you? Hell no.”
Something’s off. I can feel it in my bones. But I’ve been distracted and unfocused lately, so I chalk it up to that. “Offer Benny a half a percent.”
“He won’t like it.”
I grind my teeth. “Add a clause that, if he kisses my ass for six months and shuts Conti the fuck up for the same length of time, his cut will jump to one percent.”
“He proposed four.”
Soft laughter filters in from the open window behind me. “Hold on,” I snap, then click off the camera and spin my chair around, in time to catch Alessia crossing the grass in the direction of the casita. Her blond hair is in a ponytail. Her pale blue dress reaches her throat and ankles. She wears the sweetest smile. But all I can fucking see is my come on her snatch.
Zoey, in a tube top, miniskirt, and high heels, sporting a Tenth-Avenue-street-corner style, scoops up a bag Alessia’s dropped.
My eyes zero in on the store label—Providence Bridal.
Fuck me.
“Gotta go. Offer him whatever you think will benefit us.”
“Wait,” Dante exclaims. “There’s more…”
I had the foresight to close the camera, which I’m thankful for because the last thing I need is Dante witnessing me—me, the Beneventi capo and the next capo di tutti capi—salivating over virgin pussy that’s been branded by my come. No matter how many times I jerk off, it’s never enough. I’m wound up tight. Saturday night’s entertainment can’t get here fast enough.
“Offer him two, and go ahead with building the plaza. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“But…”
I spin toward the desk and disconnect the call. A few clicks later, and I have my black card account pulled up.
