Page 29 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
Damn it.
I open my good eye and brace for the inquisition.
Predictable isn’t a word you’d use to describe my father. “You okay?” His tone’s hoarse and brimming with emotion.
Hell, no. This is worse than opening our discussion with “You disappointed me, you little shit.”Where is the ambitious capo? The demanding asshole who holds my life by the balls?
I’m unprepared forhim.
The man who spent every summer fishing with Renzo and me.
The same man who, when I was ten, built me a high-tech fort on our Rhode Island estate. A month later, construction started on Renzo’s golf course. I hate golf—loathe it even more after my father’s blatant show of favoritism.
But watching him now, something in his behavior makes me question if I had it all wrong.
I get right to the point. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”
“You’re alive. That’s what matters.” He drops into the same chair Renzo vacated. I wait for him to settle before sharing the news.
“Emilio Conti is behind this. He put hits out on both Renzo and me.”
I study his reaction—he doesn’t seem surprised. Damn, he’s been busy. “My men will find him and take care of him,” I say, as if dealing with Conti is a mere inconvenience.
“Leave Conti to me.”
No way in hell. “Conti’s mine,” I snarl.
Capo Sebastiano Beneventi leans in, his tone cold and threatening. “You think you can negotiate with me, you little shit?”
I stand my ground. “Fine. Whoever finds him first gets to finish him.”
His jaw clenches, and I can see the inevitable question forming on his lips. Finally, he demands, “Who is she?”
“Who?”
In response, he slams his fist into the monitor, sending it crashing to the floor. “Your little fucking sidepiece?”
“I’m too busy with the casino—”
“Don’t lie. Who is the woman you risked breaking lockdown for? The reason you were pulled off a Brooklyn street, beaten within an inch of your life and nearly dismembered?”
Madonna, he’s been thorough.
I keep my tone neutral. “No one important. Just a fling.”
“Let me get this straight. You left your Soho apartment, with security tighter than a supermax prison, during a lockdown, for ‘no one’?”
“Correct,” I reply, leaning in with a hint of challenge. “A nobody, like sweet little Alessia.”
His eyes narrow, warning me not to push too far.
We’ve clashed for months over Governor Amato’s daughter. I might be arrogant, but I’m not blind to his weakness. And my father is stubborn, especially when it comes to his favorite plaything.
He sits back, folding his hands in his lap. I’ve managed to piss him off again. What’s new?
“Tommaso will be questioned.”
Motherfucker. “Tommaso follows my orders.”
