Page 64 of My Mafia King

He peeks at me through his good eye. The one that is not swollen.

“Her father will come looking for her,” he says. “You can’t keep that woman. She’s trouble. Besides, you don’t want that kind of attention from the police or the FBI. The man is nuts, and you have no idea how much noise he can make when he’s drunk or high. I did my research. I know what kind of man he is.”

I crack a smile while making sure my suit jacket sits right.

“Let me give you a piece of advice, Anthony. Try not to stick your nose into other people’s business. It doesn’t serve you well, as you can see. Well, you can’t see. So never mind. Just forget about her and where she is. If I get word you didn’t keep it to yourself and you ran your mouth about her and her whereabouts, I’ll put you out myself. And when it comes to her father, I can’t wait to have a word with him, too, if he has nothing better to do than show up at my door.”

With that, I gesture at my men to take him out of the room.

Shortly after, the cleaning crew comes in. The real cleaners.

I leave the room before they start working and head straight upstairs. The club manager, the one Carmina has had an interview with, runs into me and wants to talk to me.

I tell him I don’t have time for him and also remind him he has an interview tomorrow morning.

On second thought, I turn around, call his name, and give him instructions about tomorrow morning.

He flicks his chin in acknowledgment, and I head straight to the elevator. No matter how clean my clothes seem, they still stink of blood and violence. Or so I think.

So I go way up to my suite and shed my clothes as soon as I enter my place. I shower, run a towel over my body, and head to the walk-in closet.

It’s too early to call it a night.

Most nights, this is when I get out.

So I select a different suit, a new shirt, shoes, and boxers.

Content with how I look, I run my fingers over my jaw before my eyes go to my watch.

It’s late, but not that late, so I exit my place and go to Carmina’s room, telling myself it’s to make sure she’s okay.

Something I’ve never done in my life. Not since I lost that girl in Italy. Or what I thought it was my girl.

And that should be a sign to me that this is something new to me and she is different than the others.

This isn’t about making sure she’s getting a good night's sleep, tasty food, and a job tomorrow morning.

This isn’t even about making sure she won’t lose her life or get in trouble with her ex.

Or her father.

This is about reliving something I’d lost many years ago and wanting to know if it was possible to relive that thing again.

* * *

CARMINA

I tiptoemy way to the door and press my ear against it.

There’s no use for that as I can’t hear a thing.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“It’s me.”

His voice has become familiar to me.

It’s like I’ve lived his low, raspy tone in my ears for a while now.

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