Page 120 of Carnal

Massimo admits, "Because I'm going to kill Leo, and you know how Papà is lately about making moves on high-ranking crime family members. I wasn't going to risk him saying no."

"You could have told us. We could have helped you," I claim, but I can't blame him. He's right about Papà.

Massimo adds, "And risk Dante going to Papà? No, thanks. But I do want to know how you knew I was here. The only possibility is you followed me."

My chest tightens. I grind my molars, wishing I hadn't done what I did.

He hurls, "Are you serious? You followed me?"

No one speaks.

He demands, "You've been following me? And Dante knows about this? What the fuck, Tristano?"

"You've been making bad decisions," I remind him.

His eyes darken. "You put trackers on me? Do you have my plane bugged, too?"

"Seats five and eight, and the bedroom," Pina admits.

He gapes at her. "You little—"

"You heard us in the bedroom?" Katiya frets.

"Nope! There was too much interference, but we did hear some rather interesting things in the main cabin." Pina smirks.

Katiya's cheeks turn red.

Massimo shakes his head at Pina, snapping, "Hope you enjoyed the show."

"I actually think Chanel is the most interesting character," she admits.

"What?" Massimo asks in shock.

"Sure. She's into girls...but not. I wonder if she's ever been to the club. I bet she's watched a lot of things," Pina states, which is bizarre since she's always there with Chanel.

"What club?" Katiya questions.

It becomes clear what Pina is up to when she dramatically opens her mouth then replies, "What? Massimo didn't take you to the club yet? Especially with what you're into?"

"Meaning?" Katiya pushes.

Pina's smirk grows, but it's also laced with disgust. She turns to me, and my gut drops. "Ask him. He was there just the other night."

Frustrated, I snarl, "I told you I had to go for work."

She puts her hand on her hip. In an annoyed voice, she answers, "Sure. I could work on Fifth Avenue at two in the morning, too. Would you like that?"

I groan. This is getting old. I ask, "How many times—"

"This is the thing about men in their thirties. You only know how to play," she argues.

I slide my hands in my hair and tug on it. "Are you kidding me? This is getting old, Pina."

"Are you two fucking?" Massimo asks with a shocked voice.

We freeze. I can actually feel the blood draining in my cheeks.

"You are!" he shouts, as if he won the lotto.

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