Page 92 of My Mafia King

Again, he doesn’t glance in my direction.

Like I’m not even in the room.

Like this isn’t about me, and I haven’t suddenly become a contentious issue for these men, who honestly have nothing to do with me.

I wouldn't be here today had I not tried to get away from that jerk, Beau Anthony, and run into Damaso Salla.

Although, in Damaso’s case, I wouldn’t have a job if it wasn’t for him. Or this kind of job. Or him as my boss, although that might’ve happened anyway.

Oh, fuck it.

It was bound to happen. My fate was sealed, and there was no way around it. People like me only exist to get into this type of stupid situation. It’s a given.

And when it comes to these men?

They’re like vultures, and I can’t escape them.

The Russian looks at Damaso with a crazy expression on his face.

I’m unsure whether he’s annoyed that my boss has placed a higher bid or not.

And is he for real? My boss? Would he really pay this guy two million dollars so I can stay and make him go away?

What has the world come to?

It doesn’t matter how much money gets spent so I can stay or not stay. My fate will be the same.

And if it won’t happen today, it will happen in the future.

The end of me is so damn predictable I want to cry.

I won’t make it out of here alive. I don’t see how.

And why didn’t I pay attention to the guy who’d given me directions?

Although something tells me I was supposed to cater to them––the men in the room.

It was so unfortunate that I had to touch that bookcase.

One time, I touched a stack of books, and I almost lost my life because of it.

How ironic.

“You’re serious?” the Russian murmurs.

Irritated, Damaso signals all of us out of the room.

“No, no. I want to discuss this,” the Russian insists. “I don’t want this woman roaming loose. If you keep her, she better keep her mouth shut, or you take care of her. If not, I will. I don’t care how much money you spend to make our conversation go away. Still…” he says, moving his focus back to me. “You’re spending a lot of money for her little ass.”

I want to smack him.

He swings his gaze to Salla.

“I’m serious. You keep her close to you. And if I go down because some FBI agent pinched her and made her talk, I swear to God, I’ll take you down with me, Damaso.”

Salla flicks his chin.

“Tell your men to walk out,” he says, and the Russian turns to stone.

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