Page 107 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
She shrugs a shoulder, nonchalant. “Your staff enjoy keeping me entertained.”
With a frown, I search the room. It’s completely bare. No chairs. No lamp. No goddamn bedding.
“Jesus,” Tommaso exclaims. “You said bad, not viciously bullied.”
“The service here sucks.” Her eyes narrow on me. “But you like that, don’t you?”
“Bullied?” I charge across the room to the closet, throw the door open, and find it completely empty. “Where are the clothes I bought you?”
“Did you think your fuckdolls didn’t notice?” Her voice is calm, her tone cold, and I almost don’t recognize it. “You favored me temporarily. They didn’t like it. And this is what I’ve been reduced to. While you were fucking them, they were fucking me over.”
“I wasn’t fucking anyone,” I grind out. Should have been. Every. Goddamn. Day.
She comes up on her knees, spitting fire. “Fucking, spanking, testing out your new chaise.”
“Easy,” Tommaso warns her.
Her attention snaps toward him. “Hard to get in his face …” She jabs a finger in the air at me. “…when it’s buried between another woman’s thighs.”
“Christ’s sake,” Tommaso mutters.
“If I want to eat pussy, I eat pussy,” I thunder. “If I want to fuck, I fuck. If I want my women crawling and begging for my dick, that’s what they do.” And like some limp dick stronzo, I’ve gone days without any of it.
“Must be lucky to have that freedom,” she sasses back. Her cheeks are flushed. Her gorgeous green eyes a shade darker in anger. Without an ounce of fear. No longer afraid of me, is she?
“Sandro …”
“Freedom,” I proclaim. “You believe you’re trapped? Join the fucking club, baby. If I had a choice, this…” I mimic her gesture and jab a finger between us. “…would be different.”
“Don’t,” she chokes out. She’s shaking, and I don’t like it.
Not. At. All.
“Riley…”
“I should have answered you during the car ride home.”
“But you didn’t.”
She glances down at her folded hands. “No.”
“Go on. Say it now,” I push. Except do I want her hatred? Or do I crave the opposite? That thought eases my anger better than yesterday’s joint.
“You’re cruel.”
“You’re goddamn beautiful.”
Tommaso clears his throat. “On that note…”
“Wait,” I demand. Calmer. “Staff meeting. Getthem.”
“Now? It’s close to 1 a.m.”
“Just do it.”
“Yes, boss.” Except he doesn’t immediately leave. “Tell him what they’ve been saying to you, sweetheart.”
I go rigid. “Sweetheart…”
