Page 85 of Dirty Mafia King
A mafioso capo, who’ll soon rule all the famiglie.
And he took my advice and went to check on Renzo in Maine.
It’s early afternoon, and I’m inside the main house for the very same reason—to search for Freido to inquire about Renzo.
I locate Bastian’s main man in the great room, as he’s closing a secret door disguised as a tall bookcase. He locks it, then places a key inside a hollowed book, catching my interest.
My curiosity runs rampant. Keys to a hidden room? What could the room be used for, exactly? Torture? Sin? Pleasure?
I hesitate a few seconds more before clearing my throat.
Freido spins around.
I hide the fact I’m beyond intrigued and offer him my most innocent expression. “Did they find Renzo?” I ask.
He frowns. I can tell he’s debating whether to answer. Probably afraid Bastian won’t like his business being discussed with the likes of me.
“Please. I’m worried.”
He nods yes.
Thank heavens. “And Bastian arrived at the facility safely?” I blurt out. Lord, I sound like a concerned wife. The sexy man slept naked and curled around me without initiating any sexual contact, and now my brain’s rewired.
Freido’s head rears back in surprise. That I’m aware Bastian is in Maine or that there’s only one way I’d know this—that Bastian confided in me?
“Where our capo goes is of no concern to you. If I were in your shoes, I’d make myself scarce whenever he’s about.” Freido stalks toward me. “Tomorrow, he arranged a private viewing at the Providence Art Museum, an afternoon at the Mandarin Hotel spa, dinner, and a night out with that hoodlum Zoey.”
“He forbid me from going to bars and clubs.”
“He’ll allow you into Beneventi-run bars and clubs, but you’ll take a guard with you.”
I nod, pleased with the additional freedom.
“Pack a bag because you’ll be staying overnight in Providence.” He lowers his voice. “And if you’re smart, you won’t let Zoey raise hell, or we’ll have a problem, understand?”
Understand? One night, I’m in Bastian’s bed, and the next I’m at the swankiest hotel in Rhode Island? A night on the town—withZoey?
Is this Bastian’s way of thanking me?
“A car will pick you up at ten o’clock.”
“Does Zoey know?” I ask, my excitement overshadowing any lingering puzzlement. Because the Providence Art Museum is hosting a traveling exhibit featuring several Italian artists. I’m thrilled about the private showing and about chatting with the curator.
How thoughtful. Proof Bastian understands my passions, and my vices.
“Zoey’s already pressed her luck by asking for spending money,” Freido grumbles, then hurries off, probably avoiding any more questions he likely can’t answer. Is he surprised by Bastian’s consideration, too? Is that why he warned me to make myself scarce whenever his boss is around?
My lips curve.
Because, after last night, I intend to do the exact opposite.
The painting across the hall draws my attention, and I study it with an entirely different mindset. Bastian sees himself as the king, doesn’t he?
If so, then who is the woman at his feet?
I listen carefully until I’m certain I’m alone before positioning myself on the carpet in the same manner, legs curled beneath me and eyes raised, pretending I’m seated between Bastian’s parted legs with my cheek pressed against Bastian’s muscled thigh.
“My dirty little slut,” he’d murmur, wrapping his fingers in my hair and tugging hard, forcing my head back and our eyes to lock.
