Page 47 of Mafia Betrayal

I lifted my head enough to look at the phone. I tried to speak, but nothing would come out.

“Sweetheart,” her dad said, looking straight at me, “I have some business I want you to take care of tonight—cartel business. Be at the river at one a.m. Don’t be late. Prove to me that you can lead this family.” And then he clicked off the phone and smirked at me. “Tommy,” he said, staring me in the eye and nodding toward the door.

My heart dropped, and I gathered all the strength I had in me to scream at him not to. “No!” I screamed. “Don’t touch her.”

But it was too late.

Tommy was gone. He was going to kill Chiara.

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I didn’t even wantto go on this stupid fucking mission. Dad had tried to make it seem like it was supposed to be important. Get the rest of the money from the cartel and hide it somewhere. But it wasn’t that much money—at least not as much as last time—and my guard was here, watching my every fucking move.

We sat in the car in the same place we had been last time, and I stared through the windshield at the empty garage, waiting for the cartel to finally show up. The time on the car read12:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes until they were supposed to be here.

I wrapped my hand around the steering wheel and blew out a deep breath. I had texted Alessandro three times today, asking where he kept all his shit in his house, but I really wanted to know if everything was all right and when he’d be back.

I didn’t know why I had this little obsession with him. I didn’t want to be involved with another mafia man. I wanted something simple and easy outside this family. Someone to go out on dates with, someone I didn’t have to keep my shit together with, someone I could love.

But … something drew me to him.

He hadn’t gotten back to me all day, and I didn’t know if something was wrong. Maybe I was too overbearing. We weren’t in a relationship. He’d said that he didn’t want one with me. But he cared at least.

What if something was wrong? What if something had happened in New Jersey last night? What if the Sicilian Mafia had found him and was bringing him back to Italy and I never saw him again?

My chest tightened. I didn’t want to never see him again. I wanted to see him now, hear from him now. I wanted something to tell me that he was okay.

Yes, I was falling for him even though he got on my every last nerve.

It was hard to admit, but here I was, admitting it to myself.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out quickly, hoping it was him. Dad’s name glared on the screen. He never called this late.

I took a deep breath and tried hard not to sound pissed off when I answered it. “Hello?”

“Chiara, are you at the meetup point?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“What’s wrong?”

I clenched my fist. “Why don’t you believe in me?”

He paused for a long time. “I do believe in you, Chiara.”

“So, what’s your reason for calling?” I asked, watching the road to see if any cars were approaching. But there were none. “Why’re you calling me in the middle of a job?”

“I’ve been thinking of your mother lately,” he said.

I listened to some glasses click on the other side of the phone, and I knew he was drinking. He always drank when he thought about her.

My heart sank at the mention of her name, and I glanced down at the steering wheel. Mom. I missed Mom too.

He paused for a second. “Know that I love you.”

I curled my lips into a frown. “I love you too.”

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