Page 47 of My Mafia King

The tone he uses with me is different.

They have hate for him, not so much for me.

“Am I coming back?” I ask, picking up my purse, keys, and the little things that go into my tiny handbag.

“Probably not,” he says, reaching inside and collecting my duffel bag.

He slams the door, but the twisted metal prevents it from getting closed.

“He did that?” he asks, looking at me.

I nod.

“Uh-huh.”

“Yo, Louie. Look what your boyfriend’s done,” the man clutching my elbow says, tilting his chin toward my car.

They laugh, amused, and the man named Louie gives Beau a few smacks upside the head, earning a grunt from him as he gets dragged toward a big, black, shiny car.

“What the fuck did I teach you, motherfucker?” Louie says, hitting Beau again. “These fuckers never want to learn how to treat a lady.”

I shake badly as we edge closer to the car.

A man sits behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone, smiling, completely oblivious to what’s going on, having a flirting expression on his face.

“Hey, Boss? Mind putting your phone down and helping? This motherfucker’s heavy, and he has baby deer legs right now.”

The man behind the wheel, who is also part of Damaso’s crew, makes an obscene gesture.

“Vanffanculo,” he says before continuing his phone conversation.

Fuck off.

“Hey, princess,” Louie says to the man behind the steering wheel, propping Beau against the car, who’s slowly beginning to slide down. “Our Boss will cut our balls off if we drag our feet, and he gets wind you’re using your phone––you know you’ll be grounded. Put that damn thing down and help me with this motherfucker.”

The man in the driver’s seat checks us out, still murmuring words before covering the microphone.

“I’ve worked on getting this woman for a while and just made some progress. If you cock block me this time, Louie, I swear I’ll cut your balls off.”

“Get in line,” Louie says while the man handling me opens the back door and places my bag on the farthest seat.

“Watch your mouth,” the same man says to the driver. “We’re not alone, as you can see.”

He also makes a soft gesture, inviting me in, while the driver pivots and tilts his head to check Beau.

“Uh… No. He’s not getting in. I just had the car cleaned,” he says, pointing at Beau, who’s propped against the car, blood dripping from his chin. “I can’t fucking believe it. His blood is dripping on my car.”

Annoyed, he brings his phone to his ear.

“I have to call you back, darling. Something’s come up.”

The woman talks at the other end of the phone line.

“Uh-huh… Later.”

He ends the call while I slide into the back seat, trying not to make a mess in his car.

His ride is clean, and I’m not in great shape with all that dirt and blood smearing my knees.

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