Page 70 of Dirty Mafia King

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My jaw clenches.

She purchased a goddamn wedding gown.

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ALESSIA

Istraighten my skirt and fight off my nerves as I wait outside his office door. It’s the second time in three days I’ve been summoned—if you count Freido’s manhandling.

My mind races, searching for what this might be about. I’m careful how I dress, which isn’t a hardship as my style’s typically conservative. I spent his money, but he ordered me to get busy preparing my wedding, and they’re expensive. I’ve occupied myself by selecting classes for the fall and even with baking Italian cookies I’ll have mailed to Don Lucchese.

I’ve done everything he asked, and more.

But what I won’t do—refuse to do—is submit to his whims.

“Enter.”

I jump at his command. Pushing the door open, I force myself to step inside. He doesn’t glance up, preoccupied with whatever’s on his computer.

“Take a seat.”

I swallow hard and obey.

He types on his keyboard, looking very much like a corporate CEO with his fine suit and serious expression.

“Did you do as I asked?” His tone’s flat, disinterested.

I hesitate. During my last visit, he demanded I do several things. “Yes. Everything exactly, word for word.”

His jaw tics.

But I won’t deny myself the satisfaction of getting a rise from him.

He taps return on his keyboard a little too hard. Is he still angry with me? Zoey parades around in minimal clothing without reprimand.

But she’s not aBeneventi.

“And the wedding?”

I frown. And? What are we discussing here?

“You set a date?”

Fear races through me. “No. Not yet.”

“Sandro avoiding your calls?”

My eyebrows rise. How did he guess?

“I’ll speak to him.”

Silence falls. Is he expecting a “thank you”?

“Anything else?” he asks.

“No.”

His eyes pierce into me.

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