Page 88 of Dirty Mafia Torment
Not me—that motherfucking doctor.
He’s why I’m here.
Anger claws at me, trying to surface. It’s too much, though, and I sink deeper into the bed, into addiction’s tightening squeeze.
It was all for nothing.
I’m the Beneventi they whisper about in shadows.
The unreliable fuck.
The weak link.
So weak. So fucking weak.
There’s nothing left to prove, is there?
I lost.
I crossed the line for the final time.
And I’m never coming back.
“Get away from him.”
The mattress shifts beneath me as my bed-partners flee.
Fromherterse voice.
Fina.
I cling to the sound as it claws me from the void.
“Renzo, can you hear me?”
She touches my shoulders, then shakes me. Impatient. Demanding.
My limbs are lead. Cotton balls fill my mouth, muffling words that won’t form. My temples throb.
The mattress sags once more, and she disappears.
Don’t go.
My eyelids drag like they’re weighted with sandbags as I prythem open. Her shape appears, haloed by too-bright light. Pain slices through my skull, and I shut them again, flinching.
None too gently, she places a cap on my head. “Keep your chin down, understand? No one can see you.” I’m pulled up to sit. Every nerve screams, every joint stiff with agony.
“An Uber is waiting outside. Think you can wrap an arm around my shoulder, place your feet on the floor, and then stand?”
I nod, and the motion sends a nauseating wave through me. Still, I force myself upright.
She wraps an arm around my waist.
My knees buckle like they’ve forgotten how to hold weight. I collapse into her, breath catching as sharp, stabbing sensations ricochet between my ribs.
“Where …”
“Where did I find you?” She scoffs with irritation. “Under a pile of bodies at La Vita Nera.”
