Page 98 of My Mafia King

I thought it would give me some clarity, a boost of energy, and some relief.

Instead, it fucks with my brain.

That’s what happens when you take a break from something.

Annoyed, I put the cigarette out, toss the pack in the garbage, and slide the lighter into the drawer.

“So much for fixing things…” I mutter before my fist crashes against my desk, and a curse falls from my lips.

I suck in a long, strained breath, lean back, clasp my fingers behind my head, and plop my feet onto my desk, my gaze trained on the screens.

This is better.

Before long, I spot Boris and his men. He sits at a table, a pile of chips in front of him.

I was right.

I’ll get my money back. That’s not the problem, though.

A few more moments pass before I slide my feet off and reach inside a lower drawer, scoop out a new pack of cigarettes and my lighter from the top one, and try it again.

I slide the cigarette between my lips, light it, and take a drag. It doesn’t feel that bad this time, so I toss the lighter onto my desk and resume my position.

With my feet up, eyes on the screen, back lining the chair, and cigarette dangling from my fingers, I look at the people in the room.

My mind wanders, going back to what happened downstairs.

Before long, the door opens, and Vito and Gianni enter the room.

We lock eyes briefly, their gaze going to my cigarette.

“I’ll quit next week,” I say.

My thoughts are mixed as I'm partly focused on this place and partly reliving what happened in the safe–deposit box room downstairs.

This is not only about me.

Anything I do has consequences for my crew as well.

My grip tightens on the cigarette while the two men claim their seats in front of me.

“I need updates,” I say as if nothing happened this evening.

“She’s in your suite,” Vito says.

I dismiss his words with a flick of my hand.

“I don’t want to know about her.”

“The rest is on the screens. He has a quarter million left. The money’s back as you have predicted.”

“Watch them closely. They might not be that happy to leave it on the table. Not after what happened this evening.”

A few moments pass.

I take another drag off my cigarette and blow out the smoke in a long stream.

“What would you like to do?” Gianni asks.

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