Page 5 of Mafia Kings: Dario

He wore a navy blue suit with a light blue shirt open at the throat. I could see tattoos at the top of his chest, extending up his neck.

He appeared to be the oldest of the group, possibly close to 30.

The thing that stood out about him – other than his devastatingly good looks – was the sense of authority that emanated from him. The other two men seemed to be his subordinates.

The Bear looked threatening because of his size…

And the Hothead looked unsafe because of his anger…

But the man in the middle was mysterious and calm… and that made him all the more dangerous.

Not to mention that he stared at me like a hawk looking at a baby rabbit.

I stared back at him, my mouth slightly agape.

Then he smiled the tiniest bit… just a slight upturning of the corner of his mouth…

And my heart skipped a beat.

“I understand something happened here tonight,” he said in a deep, smoky voice.

I swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak.

I felt like I was drowning in his eyes – and then his voice mesmerized me even further.

Just at that moment, my father emerged from the kitchen. “Excuse me, we’re clo– ”

But the words died in his throat when he saw the three men.

Actually, when he saw the man in the middle.

The handsome stranger looked at him. “Do you know who I am?”

“O-of course, Don Rosolini.”

As soon as Papa said the name, my blood froze in my veins.

Don Rosolini.

Il Mostro.

The Monster.

The Rosolinis were a family ofmafiosos,and they had controlled this region of Tuscany for over 50 years. The grandfather had come from Sicily half a century before and staked out his claim with blood and fire.

The name inspired fear. No onecrossed the Rosolinis –no one.

Those who did either lived to regret it… or disappeared without a trace.

The head of the family was often referred to asil Mostrofor his horrendous acts of violence against his enemies. The don did not hurt innocent local folk, who fell under his protection – but he destroyed othermafiososwho dared infringe on his territory.

But the nameil Mostrowas always whispered, as though speaking it might summon the devil himself.

Certainly my father appeared terrified. He trembled slightly as he said, “I was so sorry to hear about your father, God rest his soul.”

…your father?

God rest his soul?

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