Page 66 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
“Fuck no,” is my firm response.
She frowns, confused.
“Same size.”
“But it doesn’tfit,” she protests.
I raise my arms and run my fingers through my hair. The same fire from earlier reappears in her eyes.
Fucking attraction.
“The only reason I’m keeping you around are those tits. Same size or no uniform—your choice. I want to see those beautiful knockers all day and every day. Capisci?”
Her jaw drops, and, issue resolved, I walk away.
RILEY
People dreamabout escaping to a place like Sardinia, with its white-washed villas, soft sandy beaches, and water as blue as a cloudless sky.
My thoughts are preoccupied with escapingit.
I glare at the tracking device anchored around my ankle, a reminder the only way I’m leaving paradiseis if he allows it.
A day has passed since he paraded around in a towel, barefoot with damp hair and familiar scowl. I’m still mortified he caught me checking him out. His body battered, bruised, and beautiful in a rugged, manly way.
He seems stronger. But maybe it’s because I now know he’s a mafioso and have witnessed him in action. Strong? That’s an understatement. He leads his men with a sharp bite and an iron fist. They respect him, though. Some men—like the soldier who provided me with a new uniform—even fear him.
Even with a bedsheet wrapped around my waist and concealing more than that horrid uniform, the poor man studied the white rafters overhead while I traded soiled clothes for fresh clothing. His response is familiar. Alessandro’s soldiers pretend I don’t exist.
And the brunettes are more aggressive. I avoid them but don’t always succeed. Like yesterday’s incident with the tomato sauce. If a pitcher was within reach inside the refrigerator, I’d have hit her harder this time.
Reluctant to wear the uniform, I toss the new package onto the bed and head outside. Sunshine and time away from a villa full of vipers might ease my mood. I quickly unfurl the sheet and toss it over the balcony balustrade, obstructing the view from below. With a sigh, I settle into a chair and close my eyes, letting the sun’s warmth melt away my troubles.
I’m nearly asleep when his punishing voice penetrates deep. “You almost finished in New York?” he demands. A few heartbeats pass. “Good. I’ll have a car waiting at the airport … Miss you? Like a bad case of limp dick.”
Who is he talking to? Tommaso? But he’s in Atlanta. Is there another soldier Alessandro’s on familiar terms with?
“Update me on Atlanta. Was Conti’s great-uncle any use?”
Whatever is being relayed takes time.
“Fuck. How can an asshole as stupid as Conti just disappear?” I jump when something crashes against the wall. “And did you find any helpful information in New York? Did she talk?”
I roll up to sit, suddenly chilled to the bone.
“Still believes her boyfriend ran off with Riley?” Pause. “Best friend, my ass.”
Oh my God. Is Tommaso with Emily?
“Bleeding like a stuck pig yet still denies knowing anything about that fuckhead’s deception?”
I cover my mouth with my hand and stifle a cry. No. No. No.
“If she has nothing more of value to say, then end it. Capisci?”
The room next door grows quiet.
But bells echo through my thoughts like I’m summoned to a Sunday mass.
