Page 150 of My Mafia King

It looks like just another night at the hotel.

I find Damaso in an intimate bar with round tables, low lights, and a piano player who fills the air with a sad instrumental tune.

Damaso’s back is turned to me as he sits at the bar, and a scantily dressed dancer is propped against the counter, keeping him company, or so it looks.

I edge closer and take a seat next to him.

He doesn’t turn to me, yet the woman smiles and walks away.

I meet his eyes in the mirror. He is dark.

“Where were you?” he asks, his voice cutting into me like a knife.

He shifts his eyes from the bar mirror to me and locks my gaze. He has a drink in front of him and looks rough.

Like he’s about to kill someone or he has done it already.

The sweet aroma of alcohol and smoke comes to me, and then his hand slides up to me.

He wraps it around the root of my neck, stares into my soul, and murmurs quietly.

“What did I tell you?”

He squeezes me a little, and my breaths are clipped.

“Don’t get mad,” I whisper.

“Don’t get mad?”

He flashes an incredulous smile that is heavy with anger and grief.

“Don’t get mad, Carmina? Did I tell you that you could go outside?”

“No.”

“Do you know why?”

I struggle to suck in air, and he de-tenses his grip but keeps his hand around my neck.

“I didn’t plan to go out.”

He tilts his head to the side, giving me a questioning look.

“I couldn’t sleep. I suspected something bad had happened and didn’t know what to do.”

“I left instructions about what you needed to do,” he says sternly, and it’s like reliving snippets from my past when I couldn’t reason with my father.

The memory affects me so badly that I try to tear his hand away from me while sliding off the chair.

“I need to go,” I say, my voice breaking a little. “I’m glad that you’re fine and you’re back,” I add, pulling away from him.

He doesn’t let go of me.

“Look at me, Carmina.”

I find it difficult to meet his eyes. Eventually, I do. And beyond his indisputable severity and demanding behavior, I notice something else. Concern. He’s been worried.

“You cannot pull away from me. Do you understand? This is not only about you. It’s about us. You can get picked up for no reason other than being associated with me. And it can be anyone from law enforcement to regular thugs or my enemies. This is a matter of life and death. If you do something like that, you also make me vulnerable, and I can’t afford that. Or not to take measures to fix that.”

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