Page 137 of My Mafia King

And I mean a lot.

There are so many people, voices, lights, and sounds.

The crowd is having a good time while I try not to stumble and make a fool of myself.

I pay attention to how I walk, sit, and speak.

Well, I don’t speak much. I mostly take in the world swirling around me.

It’s strange and intense at times as everyone seems to be a bad joke away from shifting from joyful exhilaration to having a nasty argument.

This world is theatrical and volatile, yet Damaso doesn’t seem to be like that.

He observes everything with undisguised thoughtfulness, reading the clues and participating in the conversations, yet still keeping his cool and being reserved.

I think he’s seeing what I’m seeing.

And maybe I’m learning from him to just sit and listen and, more importantly, read the room.

I furtively glance at him.

His eyes move around the room, but all I see is his magnetism. Pure testosterone flows through his blood, fueling his power over me.

Despite keeping my distance as much as I can and only having a business relationship with him, I find it difficult.

Something in him stimulates my brain and charms my heart. I admire this man, and that’s a first, considering how difficult my relationships with men have always been.

I find myself looking at him, wanting to be like him.

He is not perfect and must do reprovable things, or people wouldn’t fear him the way they do.

I wish I wasn’t so mesmerized with him. And I wish I didn’t feel so attracted to him.

How will this turn out? It’s anyone’s guess.

At some point, Vito approaches our table, and I notice a change on Damaso’s face.

His expression goes from amusement to dark concern, and his eyebrows pull together while he asks questions before Vito murmurs words in his ear. Damaso’s eyes darken even more.

It doesn’t take a mind reader to realize he just received some bad news.

I read his lips as he says,‘All right,’although nothing seems all right.

Vito straightens and makes a clipped gesture to which about a dozen men I haven’t noticed in the room before move coordinately toward the exit.

Before long, Damaso pushes to his feet, and my heart gallops ferociously as something tells me he might be exposed to danger.

That’s part of his life and something I need to ignore.

He seems so disconnected from the room when he pushes out of his chair that he doesn’t even glance at me, yet just before leaving, he talks to a woman and flicks his hand in my direction.

My palms get sweaty.

If something happens to him, things could also happen to me.

He strides away, and I wrestle with disappointment.

Once they leave the room, everything seems too loud.

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