Page 48 of My Mafia King

“I always have to take care of everything,” the driver says, sliding out, stepping to the back door, and inspecting my legs.

“What the hell did he do to you?”

“That’s something you’ll need to explain to your boss,” Louie says, just as he grabs the driver’s phone, pulls out the sim card, and tosses the cell phone out in the street.

“Oh, motherfucker. You didn’t just do that.”

Louie gives him the sim card.

“I just saved your life. Stop complaining.”

“Where do you want him?” the third man asks, tilting his chin toward Beau.

“Bring him here,” the driver says, opening the car trunk and leading them there. They pull Beau up and shove him into the trunk, but not before the driver puts a blanket and a plastic bag down so he doesn’t stain his car.

Other than the mess they created on Beau’s face, the men are sticklers for cleanliness.

They slam the trunk shut and round the car.

Louie sits in the front while the man who’s carried my bag climbs in and sits next to me.

He pushes the duffel down to his feet, and the driver offers me his handkerchief and an ice-cold bottle of water.

“To drink and maybe clean up some of that mess,” he says, gesturing at my legs with his index finger.

“You good?” he asks after watching me drink some of that water.

“Yes,” I say.

“All right.”

He slides back into his seat, and the car slowly rolls away while no sound comes from the trunk.

8

DAMASO

Earlier

“So we’re lookingat the tables thirteen and twenty-five,” I say.

Six of my men are in the room with me.

And six big screens transmit live the activity inside the casino.

“The guy with the white shirt. And the one with a cap,” I say.

We’re all looking at the two men in question.

“Two? That’s it?” Vito mutters.

“They’re the brains of the operation. There are probably three or four men. Maybe more. Perhaps they have girls with them, too. These soy latte-drinking dudes have made the rounds these months and fucked with the system. The other owners couldn’t prove they’d been stealing. And by stealing, I mean…”

“I know what you mean, Boss,” Vito says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want me to do?”

I round my desk and crash into my seat before leaning back and clasping my hands at the back of my head.

All the men in the room look at me as I speak again.

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