Page 55 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
“How about you drop it now?” Because I can tell by his bullshit expression, he’s about to give me bad news.
“It’s okay to be vulnerable.”
What. The. Fuck.
“We’re best friends. I’d take a bullet for you, Sandro. Hell, I bodysurfed a city sidewalk after sailing off a car hood for you. If that isn’t proof of my friendship.”
“You lose your dick somewhere on that sidewalk?” For fuck’s sake, maybe I stopped the drugs too soon? “Am I not holding your hand tight enough when we take a fucking stroll? Or will you surprise me with an unwanted pregnancy?” Vulnerable? Even the word rolls my stomach.
Because vulnerability—Renzo’s, not mine—ruined the life I imagined.
“Think about it.”
“One, two…” I count. “Done. No further discussion required.”
His sigh fills the gym. “Whatever you say, boss.”
“Got something right, today.” I change the subject to a more urgent matter. “So there’s no sign of Conti?”
“Not since you asked me five minutes ago.”
“And the tech experts? Have they hacked into Ciro’s bank accounts yet?” I toss the soiled towel into a bin. “Follow the money, isn’t that what they say?”
“No word yet.”
“For Christ’s sake, then get on your phone and demand an update.”
“It’s three in the fucking morning…”
“Since when have you become so soft?”
Six foot five and pure muscle, the stone-cold killer has crushed a man’s skull with his heel without the slightest flinch. A heartless mafia enforcer, my right hand, and a friend whose reputation with my father is also at stake.
If there’s anyone who understands how weak—goddamnvulnerable—I truly am, it’s Tommaso. Is that what brought this on?
“Fuck.”
“Maybe you should. You’ve house staff on call who are exactly your type.” He grins because the fucker likes any filthy brunette who swallows. “Wake them up. Trust me, you’ll rest better.”
I search his expression. “That why you sleep like the dead?”
His shrug is answer enough. But I don’t mind sharing. Tommaso can have his pick of the fuckdoll litter, even Barbara when she’s not keeping me occupied.
Occupied. Right. I scowl. Yesterday’s session went ass end up. I normally get off on a good, hard scene, but my concentration was shit. My attention kept shifting to the third woman in the room, her shocked expression and pretty pleadings making me harder than anything else.
“And the locksmith? That cell will be operable tomorrow, right?”
“About that …”
I stiffen.
“On further examination, the door is rusted and needs replacing. It should take a week—”
“A fucking week?” I curse beneath my breath. “The men are assembling for a briefing tomorrow afternoon.”
He stares at me, not getting the picture.
Of gorgeous green eyes brimming with tears.
