Page 19 of My Mafia King

And now I don’t know what to say.

I’d like to leave.

I need to track down the man I have a job interview with, Jen’s cousin’s connection, and then…

Things are in the air with Beau.

If I know anything about him, he’ll wait for me outside or slash my tires just to make sure I can’t leave this town or have a place to sleep.

He’ll also make sure I pay for this––for his humiliation in front of this man––and I’ll never get a job in this town and never get back to LA unless he takes me back.

He’ll also tell my father about my new adventure and fuck my life and Tina’s in perpetuity.

If my father gets word that I’ve attempted to pull away from him and take my little sister with me, he’ll stop at nothing to crush me like a bug.

“Are you hungry, baby?” he asks softly, and I glance at him, startled.

He talks to me again––like he really talks to me––and I mumble a yes. A little food won’t hurt, and I’ll have time to think this through.

He listens to me, his focus split between me and my ex.

“Look forward, motherfucker,” he barks again, his eyes throwing flames in Beau’s direction as my ex seems to have hit a snag and lingered for too long in front of the door for my new acquaintance’s taste.

“Do you want to have my people escort you out of the building?” he asks when Beau swings his eyes back to us, and the men behind my new friend become restless again.

Beau raises his hand.

“I’m gone.”

“Keep it that way,” my friend says in a tone that fits him perfectly as if he’s born to bark orders that people obey.

Beau does just that, although he’s procrastinating, hoping to hear the rest of my conversation with this man who glances at him one last time before breaking away from me and reaching inside his jacket.

“I said out,” he snaps, and Beau vanishes like he’s never been here and the door has never closed so quickly behind him.

Smiling, satisfied, the man turns to me.

It was a joke for him––I can see that––and I’m glad he thinks it was funny.

I wonder how I’ll feel when that motherfucker comes back, swinging at me and seething with fury while seeking revenge.

It’s only us in the corridor when the door to the hotel room opens widely, and I see his men.

They wear suits but look rough.

They don’t attend a convention in town and don’t look like accountants or lawyers.

They’re all in their late thirties, while the man in front of me appears younger than that.

The flicker in his eyes gives away his age, although it’s a cruel dark glint.

He stretches his hand out.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

I give him my hand.

“Carmina.”

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