Page 2 of Dirty Mafia Torment
I offer my hand, but Massimo tugs me into a bro-hug. “Hungover as hell, brother,” he informs me.
Last night’s a blur of good whiskey, cigars, and women. We first painted Providence red, white, and green, and then red, white, and blue. One drink at a time, we burned the city down.
I smirk at him. “Pussy.”
“Massimo,” Sandro says flatly, greeting my friend like he’s naming an object he’d rather ignore.
My friend smirks. “Sandro.” Then he turns his back on my twin, giving me all his attention. “DJI Mavic 3. Worth every dollar.”
I roll my eyes. “For a Harvard-bound fuckhead, you’re clueless. Full military is the way to go. Insitu ScanEagle is built for reconnaissance. Costs more, but the battery life and range? Untouchable.”
“Not easy to fly.”
“Neither is graduating from an Ivy, but somehow some dickheads pull it off.”
He chuckles. “I’ll give you a day before you’ve mastered the controls.”
“This a geek-off?” Sandro cuts in. “You two competing to be the next Sheldon on aBig Bang Theoryrevival? What the hell are you even talking about?”
“Drones,” Massimo says, unbothered.
Sandro lifts a brow. “Toys?”
Massimo and I are locked in a heated battle over the best drones for covert surveillance. I’ll argue specs and strategies all day, trading barbs and counterpoints until we’ve dissected every possible advantage. We both know high tech could shift the balance of power in mafia organizations worldwide. But to most old-school mafiosi, drones are overpriced toys bored rich kids fuck around with. I’ve no interest in trying to change their pea-brain mindset. Let Massimo be the one to drag them into the future.
“I’m headed back to the hotel,” he says. “We good for tonight?”
I nod. “Meet you in the lobby at eleven.”
The Cosa Nostra heir stalks off, leaving me alone with Sandro’s bullshit.
“Quite the bromance,”he says.
“You can come out with us if you want.”
“He’s the enemy.”
I smirk. “He’s an ally now.”
“Don’t kid yourself. He doesn’t take you seriously. You’re a distraction. A good time, nothing more.”
“I’m the highlight of your goddamn day.” Sarcasm rolls off my lips. “Must be a sad little life if I’m your best entertainment.” The problem with Sandro, lately, is he buys into my give-two-fucks persona, missing the razor-sharp monster underneath.
One day, when I finally unleash on these condescending assholes, I’ll carve my mark so deep it leaves the whole room bleeding.
Maria glances our way, and Sandro groans. “Fuuuck.”
“Tap that, and you’ll regret it.”
He groans deep in his throat, and I study him more closely. His expression … a smug confidence … that been-there-done-that vibe…
My mind races over the past few hours. We separated for a short time once, when I stopped in the hallway to listen to Don Lombardi—The sly bastard.“You didn’t?”
“Of course he did,” a voice behind us interrupts.
“What the fucking hell?” Sandro exclaims, as we both spin toward our unwelcome visitor. “If it isn’t the first-rate clinger. Go get a life and stop stalking us.”
“Me,” I add. Because every time I turn around, Elia Seraphina Lombardi is there, hot on my tail.
