Page 52 of My Mafia King

Some of the shadiest deals have been cut in these rooms, and some of the most toxic alliances have been made here.

Not to mention that some of our VIP guests have paid handsomely to have their dicks sucked on this floor, although they’ve never wandered that far away from the club.

The VIP rooms line the back of the club.

They go there, have a drink, select their favorite woman, and have a room set up in the back. Easy peasy.

I wanted these areas to be relatively close to each other because the club is a distraction, and what’s going on behind closed doors is entirely different, and nobody has the time to figure out what’s what.

Large metallic doors separate the areas, and my men guard the entire floor, but especially this side, which is soundproof––there’s a reason for that––swept for bugs, and generally speaking, impossible to listen in on conversations no matter where you are.

We always have fun‘downstairs.’

We also make indecent amounts of money in these rooms.

Five men stand by the wall as I walk down the corridor with purpose, heading to the last door on the right.

The door opens, and Louie’s smirk snags my eye from a mile away.

He notices me and pushes the door to the side. I step in and drag my gaze around the room.

The place has no windows, and it’s roomy and well-ventilated.

In fact, it’s cold in here, and the first thing I see is Carmina shaking in her seat.

Her knees are smeared with dirt and dried blood, and a few strands of damp hair are stuck to her brow and neck.

Our eyes meet, and I notice fear in her gaze, among other things. She’s not only young but she’s never seen the inside of a room like this in her life.

I doubt she’s seen so many men around her, either.

A gray dusty duffel bag lies at her feet next to the chair she sits in with her arms folded over her stomach.

Hugging herself, she holds my eyes.

Next to her is the man who doesn’t seem to want to let go of her.

His eyes are swollen, his face is bruised, and his lip is split.

His arms are covered in ragged lines of dirt and dried blood like her knees, and he attempts to smirk at me while tilting his head back in defiance.

He has no idea how lucky he is to still be alive.

Vito notices the direction of my gaze, catches a glimpse of the fucker’s grin, and smacks him with the back of his hand.

The man groans.

“What’s your name?” I ask, taking off my jacket and draping it over Carmina’s shoulders.

She looks up at me, her eyes glinting with disbelief as if she’s never had a man in her entire life doing that for her.

My focus moves swiftly to the tattooed man tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

One of the guys walks out and shuts the door behind him.

It’s only me, Vito, Louie, and Gianni in the room.

“Name?” I thunder.

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