Page 38 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
There’s a short pause, before he charges forward and hands me the cell phone. I look at it, and then at them.
All eyes are on me—and everyone is confused.
Slowly I bring the phone to my ear and clear my throat.
“Speak,” an impatient voice demands.
“Hello?” I squeak. “Before you…” …kill me… Sorrow has me choking on my words as everything hits me at once.
I’ll never see my grandparents again.
Or laugh with Emily.
Or fall in love.
So much time wallowing, numb and disinterested in life, a new guest star inThe Walking Dead, and now I’ll be just that—dead.
Like Ciro.
Over something Ciro hasdone.
Tears roll down my cheeks, and I sniffle, trying to get a grip.Think, Riley. Crying won’t help you. A powerful mafioso like him probably gets off on your anguish.
“Stop fucking sniveling, and tell me where you’re from?”
His question confuses me. Where am I from? So he can do what? Hunt down my grandparents? Still he waits, until the silence becomes unbearable.
“Fresno,” I blurt. Never been, and never will visit … now …
His men scowl at me as I wait for him to speak.
But instead of words, I hear chaos. Things crashing. People screaming. Him shouting profanity.
Until everything falls quiet.
And I wait … and wait …
Finally, his muffled voice breaks the silence. “Hand the motherfucking phone to Guido.”
That’s it? No more questions? No opportunity to persuade him not to kill me?
“Please,” I croak. “I’d like to explain…”
“And I’d like to pump a bullet into your lying throat.”
Oh, hell in a handbasket. Why did I lie about Fresno? Something about his voice may read familiar but his threat completely, utterly terrifies me.
I thrust the phone at the kid. “He wants Guido.”
Eyebrows raised, Scarface snatches the cell from my hand and begins speaking before he even raises it to his lips. “I’ll toss her ass into the cement truck along with that friggin’ traitor’s…” His eyes lock on me, and confusion fills his expression. “Help her up.”
The kid grabs my arm and tugs me to my feet.
“The stupid ciglione got it wrong. She’s taller, five foot seven. Hair is dark red, a warm Cabernet color.” He pauses briefly, his expression more and more perplexed. “More like Pinot Noir? Yeah, that’s right—a deep red with blond highlights around her face.”
Dread has me stepping backward.
Why the physical description? The highest statistic for female abductions is within my age group, eighteen to twenty-three. Is their boss considering trafficking me?
