Page 70 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“My destiny. I ruined it.”
“You’re not making sense.” She stands and brushes dirt off her jeans, then glances around the parking lot nervously. “You have to get up.”
“Can’t. Not when I’ve fallen so far.”
She sticks out her hand, insistent.
I take it and somehow manage to stand. “Fina…”
“Don’t,” she mutters, her mind probably piecing together the truth, the reason I’m here.
“My father won’t allow it.”
“Your father will get over it.”
I shake my head. If my father even knew I was in LA, I’d be done.
Her body goes rigid. “You promised.”
“A lot has changed since I made that ridiculous declaration.”
“Ridiculous?” She shoves me hard, and I fall back against a car. “My life, my happiness, my damn future isn’t ridiculous.”
“I’m not the marrying type.”
She throws her hands up. “I don’t care.”
“Even if you’re the only woman I’ll ever want to marry.” I’ll give her this much.
Her eyes go wide. “If we elope…”
I laugh, and it comes out hollow. “My father won’t get over Rome. Why would he get over this?” My stomach curdles, and I’m sixseconds shy of losing whatever food I’ve in me. But I can’t remember the last meal I had. Life’s been a fucking blur.
And now that I’ve told her, now that she knows the situation, I can get back to oblivion.
“Fina, Fina, Fina. I’m nobody’s hero.” I lean into her. “You might not know this about me, but I give out marriage proposals like bottled water. You’re better off finding another asshole to marry. Or better yet”—I get in her face—“just vanish.”
“You asshole,” she screeches. “I’ll ride every dick in Hollywood like it’s my last fuck on earth, while you rot in hell, thinking about it.” Tears roll down her cheeks. “I was counting on you.”
“You’re smarter than that,” I mutter. “Smart enough to escape. Remember what we discussed.” Hard to say if I’m reassuring her or myself.
“I hate you,” she calls after me as I stagger off.
My mind spins as the demons beckon.
Can’t hate me any more than I hate myself right now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RENZO
“I underestimated you,”my father says the moment he picks up.
No hello. No “How is Rome treating you?” Just that.
I savor the compliment like a rare vintage Chianti.
“Did you have to saw Cardini’s head off?” he adds, dry as dust, like we’re discussing another asinine political decision we’ve numbed our ears to.
