Page 98 of Dirty Mafia King
I close my eyes. Envisioning the scene, and then Bastian’s rage if I disappeared. Why does breaking his trust bother me this much? I shake my head. “My father works for the Beneventi famiglia. Sandro keeps tabs on my sister. And Thelma and Louise drove their car off a cliff.”
“Oh crap. They did, didn’t they?”
My chest tightens. “There’s no avoiding marrying that asshole.”
Zoey is quiet for half a heartbeat. “Sandro’d be thrilled if you moved to Rome to finish school, and left him to pillage and plunder unsuspecting women. He can’t control you the way he likes, so he’ll ignore you. If you’re careful and discreet, you can have a revolving door of lovers.” She pauses, then frowns. “Scratch that. Mr. Beneventi will freak.”
“You think so?”
“Totally. Respect means everything. He chopped off some guy’s fingers for skimming from the payroll. After he’s capo di tutti capi, he’ll be twice as vicious, mark my words.”
I thought about him the same way, didn’t I? Fear and violence distorting my perception. True, he radiates undeniable power and, like Sandro, thrives on control. True, the consequences of betraying him are severe. Bodies may or may not be buried on his golf course. But he’s intelligent, with good business sense, and an excellent strategist. He loves his sons, even if both are a handful. There’s a possessive side to him that draws me in. When his focus is on me, I never want it to stray. In fact, I crave it … and everything that comes along with it.
Stockholm syndrome. My reality’s become distorted, twisting in his favor.
“Ever skinny-dip?” Zoey abruptly asks. Her bikini top hits the pool deck before I can respond.
“The guards.”
“It’s not like they haven’t seen everything before.”
Zoey tucks the empty margarita glass beneath her chin, then wiggles her hips. Everything that follows happens in slow motion: The glass breaks free and tumbles toward our feet. She screeches, then pivots, reaching for it, but the bikini around her knees restricts her progress and throws her off-balance. Her arms flail as she swan dives toward me, and then the next thing I know, we’re both in the pool.
I surface, gasping and treading water.
Her head breaks the surface next to me. “Holy shit.”
We burst into laughter.
It takes us both several minutes to notice the stringy white cloud floating around us.
“Um, Alessia. Your bathing suit is disintegrating.”
I sink into the water to assess the damage, then readjust and reassemble the messy clumps over important areas until I’m out of air.
Resurfacing, I give up hope. Zoey’s no longer in the pool and can toss me a towel. Then I’ll change into a more reasonable bathing suit, and the afternoon can resume.
Zoey waves at me.
“Aren’t you proud?” I raise my voice. “I’m basically skinny-dipping.”
She gestures toward the main house.
“The guards can’t see me.”
“Get. Out. Of. The. Pool.” Her voice is low but her tone sharp. So foreign from her typically loud hilariousness.
“I can’t. Not until you toss me a towel.”
I tread water, waiting and watching, while she tugs on her bottoms and a T-shirt. Where is she going? She suddenly looks up, and her lips form anO. Then her movements become downright frantic.
“Is it the guards?” I call out.
She shakes her head. “Worse. Much worse. Sorry, Alessia. I gotta go before … he kills me.” She sprints toward the casita, then around the back, and takes off in the direction of the golf course.
I blink and paddle quicker in a half circle.
There’s a loud splash behind me, then a wave of water.
